Some lived in a room and read
hundreds of books; another wrote them; one spent his days examining
the stars through a telescope, another hurried off to find the Poles;
hundreds were digging into the ground, ferreting in the air or under
the water. A large number fed animals, then killed and cooked them
when they had been fed enough. Hens laid eggs and eggs produced hens
that laid more eggs. There were always thousands hurrying along the
roads, then coming back again. The millions of living beings were
everywhere extremely busy after something, yet hardly any two of them
agreed exactly what it was they sought. There were sects, societies,
religions by the score, each one cocksure it knew and had found
Reality, yet proving by the continuous busy searching that it had not
found it. Yet all, oddly enough, fitted in together fairly well, as in
a gigantic Dance, though obviously none knew exactly what the tune
was, nor who played it. Would they never know? Would all die before
they found it? Were they all after the same thing, or after a lot of
different things? And why, in the name of goodness, couldn't they all
agree about it? Wasn't it, perhaps, that they looked in different
ways--all for the same thing? Surely the world had existed long enough
for _that_ to be settled finally--Reality! Time prevented always.
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