A few days afterwards, while passing the pleasant home where
Brantley had been residing, I saw a bill up, giving notice that the
house was for sale. A few days later I met him on the street. He did
not see me. His eyes were on the pavement; he looked pale and
careworn; he walked slowly, and was in deep thought.

"He is of tougher material than most men, if the heart is not all
taken out of him," I said in speaking of him to a mutual friend.

"And he _is_ of tougher material," was answered, "that is, of finer
material. Brantley is not one of your common men."

"Still, there must be something wrong about him. Some defect of
judgment. He is a good climber; but not sure-footed. Or, it may be
that beyond a certain height his head grows dizzy."

"If one gets too eager in any pursuit, he is almost sure to make
false steps. I think Brantley became too eager. The steadily
widening prospect as he went up, up, up, caused his pulses to move
at a quicker rate."

"Too eager, and less scrupulous," I suggested.

"His honor is unstained," said the friend, with some warmth.

"In the degree that a man grows eager in pursuit, he is apt to grow
blind to things collateral, and less concerned about the principles
involved."