He carefully examined his feelings. He was running away, wasn't he? It was the most dramatic moment in all his life. There had been psychological crises before, but here was something palpable, dramatic. He was putting himself into immediate communion with some of the choicest spirits of history or legend. Not many other chaps dared do this sort of thing. Then why on earth wasn't he more excited about it? His heart ought to be storming valiantly, but its workings seemed to respect their usual method and speed. He only felt a little dazed and stupid. He was under the ridiculous impression he was only acting! That was absurd, at such a crisis! The vague, the vast, into which he was adventuring, were not merely uninviting, they were, in some inexplicable fashion, not even there. Home and his father and his mother and his arm, all these were realities enough, and the only realities. But this running away, upon which at this very moment he was actually embarked, was a thin dream. And here was another reality, here was Channah coming down the street. "Good-bye, Channah!" he said darkly. "You're not off to a meeting?" she ventured confidently. "Oh no! Oh no!" he replied gloomily. She walked on. It was necessary to be moving. She would probably find the note and the finding would lead to immediate results. He ran along into Doomington Road, and almost mechanically turned up into Blenheim Road. They'd not know which way he was going, he needn't fear that. He slowed down and sauntered along. Where the devil should he go now? that question ought to be decided. His mind was torpid. No sooner was the question formulated than it passed from his mind. Somebody was gesticulating to a crowd on the croft. Aimlessly he turned in that direction. They were talking about Tariff Reform, statistics, Poor Laws, molasses and things. He lacked the resolution to go further, so he stood, neither listening nor thinking, just dull, dimly unhappy. He felt an arm slip round his neck. An anguished voice said, "Philip, don't be such a donkey! Mother's half-mad with worry, you _meshugener_! Is this your idea of a joke, you little fool?" Channah must have realized which way his steps would instinctively turn. Philip threw the arm off and turned to a dishevelled Channah. "I'm not a fool! I'm dead sick of him and I'm going to get out of it!" "Where?" she asked. "Anywhere!" he exclaimed desperately. "Come on now, there's a good lad!" She got hold of his arm. "He'll not know anything about it if you come at once!"