Through what scenes would he drift?
To what port would the will of an awful invisible stream carry him?
To what end would he finally come, in his helplessness?
Again the man drank--and again.
And then, with face upturned to the leaden clouds, he laughed aloud--laughed until the ghostly shores gave back his laughter, and the voices of the night were hushed and still.
The laughter ended with a wild, reckless, defiant yell.
Springing to his feet in the drifting boat, the man shook his clenched fist at the darkness, and with insane fury cursed the life he had left behind.
The current whirled the boat around, and the man faced down the stream.
He laughed again; and, lifting his bottle high, uttered a reckless, profane toast to the unknown toward which he was being carried by the river in the night..