Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews 1860 - 1936
Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews was an American writer. She is best known for a widely read short story about US President Abraham Lincoln, ”The Perfect Tribute”, which was adapted for film twice and sold 600,000 copies when published as a standalone volume.
Andrews was born in Mobile, Alabama, the oldest child of the Reverend Jacob Shipman, rector of Christ Episcopal Church. She grew up in Lexington, Kentucky, where her father was rector of another Christ Church.
In 1884, she married illiam Shankland Andrews, a young lawyer who would become judge of the New York Court of Appeals and spent most of the rest of her life in Syracuse, New York. They lived on an estate named Wolf Hollow in nearby Taunton, New York, They had one child, Paul Shipman Andrews, who became dean of the Syracuse University College of Law.
For thirty years, the Andrewses spent summers at a wilderness camp about a hundred miles outside Quebec.
In 1926, Andrews qualified as big game hunter. Her experiences with
outdoor activities informed her work, and she became known for her
stories depicting the outdoor adventures of boys engaging in hunting,
camping, and fishing. Many of these stories were published in her
collections Bob and the Guides and The Eternal Masculine.
Aside from her boys' stories, Andrews primarily was known for
sentimental and melodramatic magazine fiction. Many of her works were
published in Scribner's Magazine, including her first published story, "Crowned with Glory and Honor", in 1902. She also wrote The Marshal, a Napoleonic historical novel, Crosses of War, a collection of World War I poetry, A Lost Commander, a biography of Florence Nightingale, and The Eternal Feminine, a collection of stories about women.
Andrews also wrote the chapter "The School Boy" in The Whole Family, a collaborative novel featuring chapters written by different authors, including Henry James and William Dean Howells. Andrews was asked to contribute the chapter about the boy Billy Talbert after Mark Twain declined.
Andrews' best remembered work, "The Perfect Tribute", appeared in Scribner's in July 1906. It depicts Lincoln writing and delivering the Gettysburg Address,
then concluding his speech was an utter failure. Later, he comforts a
Confederate Captain as he dies in a prison hospital, and the Captain,
who does not recognize him, praises the Address as "one of the great
speeches in history". The wildly popular story was assigned reading for
multiple generations of school children in the United States and may be the most popular book ever published about Lincoln, though historians take issue with Andrews' work.
The story was largely responsible for the persistent myth that Lincoln
hurriedly wrote the Address on the train on the way to Gettysburg. That story reached Andrews through her son Paul, whose history teacher, Walter Burlingame, overheard his father, diplomat Anson Burlingame, hear it from Senator Edward Everett, the featured speaker at Gettysburg.(Incidentally, Burlingame's other son, Edward L. Burlingame, was the founding editor of Scribner's.)
"The Perfect Tribute" was adapted into a 1935 MGM short film starring Chic Sale as Lincoln and a 1991television movie starring Jason Robards as the President. Two of Andrews' other works were adapted for film: The Courage of the Common Place in 1917 and Three Things, as The Unbeliever in 1918.
source for biography:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Raymond_Shipman_Andrews
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Raymond_Shipman_Andrews
A GOOD SAMARITAN
The little District Telegraph boy, with a dirty
face, stood at the edge of the desk, and, rubbing
his sleeve across his cheek, made it unnecessarily
dirtier.
"Answer, sir?"
"No, yes, wait a minute." Reed tore
the yellow envelope and spread the telegram.
It read:
"Do I meet you at your office or at Martin's
and what time ?"
"The devil !" Reed commented, and the
boy blinked indifferently. He was used to
stronger. "The casual Rex all over ! Yes,
boy, there's an answer." He scribbled rapidly,
and the two lines of writing said this:
"Waiting for you at office now. Hurry up.
C. Reed."
He fumbled in his pocket and gave the
youngster a coin. "See that it's sent instantly like
lightning. Run !" and the sharp little
son of New York was off before the last word
was well out.
Half an hour later, to Reed waiting at his
office in Broadway impatiently, there strolled
in a good-looking and leisurely young man
with black clothes on his back and peace and
good-will on his face. "Hope I haven't kept
you waiting, Carty," he remarked in friendly
tones. "Plenty of time, isn't there ?"
"No, there isn't," his cousin answered, and
there was a touch of snap in the accent.
"Really, Rex, you ought to grow up and be
responsible. It was distinctly arranged that
you should call here for me at six, and now
it's a quarter before seven."
"Couldn't remember the hour or the place
to save my life," the younger man asserted
earnestly. "I'm just as sorry as I can be,
Carty. You see I did remember we were to
dine at Martin's. So much I got all right and
that was something, wasn't it, Carty ?"
he inquired with an air of wistful pride, and the frown on the face of the other dissolved
in laughter.
"Rex, there's no making you over worse
luck. Come along. I've got to go home to
dress after dinner you see, before we make our
call. You'll do, on the strength of being a
theological student."
The situation was this: Reginald Fairfax,
in his last year at the Theological Seminary,
in this month of May, and lately ordained, had
been seriously spoken of as assistant to the
Rector of the great church of St. Eric's. It
was a remarkable position to come the way of
an undergraduate, and his brilliant record at
the seminary was one of the two things which
made it possible. The other was the friendship
and interest of his cousin, Carter Reed,
head clerk in the law firm of Rush, Walden,
Lee and Lee, whose leading member, Judge
Rush, was also senior warden at St. Eric's.
Reed had called Judge Rush's attention to
his young cousin's career, and, after some inquiry,
the vestryman had asked that the young man should be brought to see him, to
discuss certain questions bearing on the work.
It was almost equivalent to a call coming from
such a man, and Reed was delighted; but
here his troubles began. In vain did he hopefully
fix date after date with the slippery Rex something
always interfered. Twice, to
his knowledge, it had been the chance of seeing
a girl from Orange which had thrown over
the chance of seeing the man of influence and
power.
Once the evening had been definitely
arranged with Judge Rush himself, and Reed
was obliged to go alone and report that the
candidate had disappeared into a tenement
district and no one knew where to find him.
The effect of that was fortunately good Judge
Rush was rather pleased than otherwise
that a young clergyman should be so taken
up with his work as to forget his interests.
But Reed was most anxious that this evening's
appointment should go off successfully,
while Rex was as light-hearted as a
bird. Any one would have thought it was Reed's own future he was laboring over instead
of that of the youngster who had a gift
of making men care for him and work for him
without effort on his own part.
The two walked down Broadway toward
the elevated road, Rex's dark eyes gathering
amusement here and there in the crowded
way as they went.
"Look at Billy Strong why there's Billy
Strong across the street. Come over and
I'll present you, Carty. Just the chap you
want to meet. He's a great athlete on the
water-polo team of the New York Athletic
Club, you know—as much of an old sport
as you are." And Reed found himself swung
across and standing before a powerful, big
figure of a man, almost before he could answer.
There was another man with the distinguished
Billy, and Reed had not regarded the two for
more than one second before he discovered
that they were both in a distinct state of intoxication.
In fact, Strong proclaimed the
truth at once, false shame cast to the winds. He threw his arm about Rex's neck with a
force of affection which almost knocked down
the quartette.
"Recky," he bubbled, "good old Recky bes'
fren' ev' had I'm drunk, Recky too
bad. We're both drunk. Take's home."
Rex glanced at his cousin in dismay, and
Strong repeated his invitation cordially.
"Take's home, Recky," he insisted, with the
easy air of a man who confers an honor. "'S up
to you, Recky."
Rex looked at his frowning cousin doubtfully,
pleadingly.
"It almost seems as if it was, doesn't it,
Carty ?" he said. "We can't leave them like
this."
"I don't see why we can't I can," Reed
asserted. "It's none of our business, Rex,
and we really haven't time to palaver. Come
along."
The gentle soul of Rex Fairfax was surprisingly
firm. "Carty, they'd be arrested
in five minutes," he reasoned. "It's a wonder they haven't been already. And Billy's
people it would break their hearts. I
know some of them well, you see. I was
with him only last week over in Orange."
"Oh!" Reed groaned. "That Girl from
Orange again." He opened his lips once
more to launch nervous English against this
quixotism, but Strong interposed.
"'S all true," he solemnly stated, fixing
his eyes rollingly on Reed. "Got Orange-colored
cousin what break Recky's heart
if don't take's home. Y'see...y'see..."
The President of these United States in a
cabinet council would have stopped to listen
to him, so freighted with great facts coming
was his confidential manner. "Y'see wouldn't
tell ev'body only you," and he
laid a mighty hand on Reed's shoulder. "I'm
so drunk. Awful pity too bad," and he
sighed deeply. "Now, Recky, ol' man, take's
home."
"Who's your friend, Billy ?" Rex inquired,
disregarding this appeal.
Billy burst into a shout of laughter which
Fairfax promptly clipped by putting his
hand over the big man's mouth. "He's
bes' joke yet," Strong remarked through
Rex's fingers. "He's go'n' kill himself,"
and he kissed the restraining hand gallantly.
The two sober citizens turned and stared
at the gentlemen. He looked it. He looked
as if there could be no step deeper into the
gloom which enveloped him, except suicide.
He nodded darkly as the two regarded him.
"Uh-huh. Life's failure. Lost cuff-button.
Won't live to be indecent. Go'n' kill m'self
soon's this dizhiness goesh pasht. Billy's
drunk, but I'm subject to...to dizhiness."
Rex turned to his cousin with a gesture.
"You see, Carty, we can't leave them. I'm
just as disappointed as you are, but it would
be a beastly thing to do, to let them get pulled
in as common drunks. What's your friend's
name ?" he demanded again of Strong.
"Got lovely name," he averred eagerly.
"Good ol' moth-eaten name. Name's Schuyler Van Courtlandt Van de Water, ain't it
Schuylie, ain't that your name or's that
mine ? I...I f'rget lil' things," he said in an
explanatory manner.
But the suicide spoke up for himself.
"Tha's my name," he said aggressively.
"Knew it in a minute. Tha's my father's
name and my grandfath's name, and
my great grandfath's name and my great-great "
"Stop," said Rex tersely, and the man
stopped. "Now tell me where you live."
Billy Strong leaned over and punched the
man in the ribs. "You lemme tell 'em. Lives
nine-thous-n sixt'-four East West Street," he
addressed Rex, and chuckled.
"Don't be a donkey, Billy tell me his
right address." Rex spoke with annoyance this
scene was getting tiresome, and although
Reed was laughing hopelessly, he was
on his mind.
"Oh! F'got !" Billy's tipsy coyness was
elephantine. "Lives six thous'n sev'nty four North S...South Street," and he roared with
laughter.
Rex was about to learn how to manage
Billy Strong. "Bill," he said, "be decent.
You're making me lots of trouble," and Billy
burst into tears and sobbed out:
"Wouldn' make Recky trouble for worlds good
ol' Recky half-witted ol' goat, but
bes' fren' ev' had," and the address was captured.
Rex turned to his cousin, his winning, deprecating
manner warning Reed but softening
him against his will. "Carty," he said,
"there's nothing for it, but for you to take
one chap and I the other and see 'em home.
It's only a little after seven and we ought to
be able to meet by half-past eight at the
Hotel Netherland, say that's near the
Rush's. We'll have to give up dinner, but
we'll get a sandwich somewhere, and we'll
do. I'll take Strong because he's more troublesome I
think I can manage him. It's
awfully good of you, and I can tell you I appreciate it. But it wouldn't be civilized
to do less, old Carty, would it ?"
And Reed found himself, grumbling but
docile, linked to the suicide's arm, and
guiding his shuffling foot-steps in the way
they should go.
"Now, we'll both kill ourselves, old Carty,
won't we ?" Rex heard his cousin's charge
mumble cheerfully as they started off, with a
visible lengthening of his gloom at the thought
of companionship at death.
Strong was marching along with an unearthly
decorum that should have made Fairfax
suspicious. But instead it cheered his
optimistic soul immensely. "Good for you
old man," he said encouragingly. "At this
rate we'll get you home in no time." And
Billy, at that second, thrust out his great shoulder
into the crowd, and almost knocked a man
down. The man, whirled sidewise in front of
them, glared savagely.
"What do you mean by that ?" he demanded.
Strong, to whom nothing would have given more joy than a tussle, bent down
and peered into the other's face.
"Is it a man or a monkey ?" he piped, and
shrieked with laughter.
The man's strained temper broke suddenly
and Rex caught him by the arm as he was
about to spring for Strong, and promptly threw
himself between the two.
"Look here, Billy," he remonstrated, "if
you fight anybody it's got to be me," and he
spoke over his shoulder to the stranger. "You
see what I'm up against. I'm getting him
home do just go on," and the man went.
But Billy's head was in his guardian's neck
and he was spluttering and sobbing. "Fight
you ? Nev' ...s' help me...nev'...Fight poor,
ole fool Recky bes' fren' ev' had ? No sir.
I wouldn' fight you Recky," and he raised a
tear-stained face and gazed mournfully into
his eyes. "D'ye think I'd..."
"Oh, shut up !" Rex ejaculated, "and hold
your head up, Billy. You make me sick."
The intoxicated heavy freight being under way again, Rex looked about for the rest of
the train, but in vain. After a halt of a minute
or so he decided that they were lost and
would have to stay lost, the situation being
too precarious, in this land of policemen,
with one hundred and ninety pounds of noisy
uncertainty on his hands, to risk any unnecessary
movement. Billy kept every breath
of time alive and varied. Within two minutes
of the first adventure he managed to put
his elbow clearly and forcibly into a small man's
mouth, and before the other could resent it:
"'S my elbow, sir," he said, haughtily,
stopping and staring down.
"Well, why in thunder don't you keep it
where it belongs ?" snapped the man, and
Billy caught him by the sleeve.
"Lil' sir," he said impressively, "if you
should bite off my elbow, you saucy baggage" and
the thought was too much for him.
Tears filling his eyes he turned to Rex. "Recky,
you spank that lil' sir," he pleaded brokenly.
"He's too lil' for me I'd hurt him" and
Rex meditated again. A shock came
when they reached the corner of Broadway
and Chambers Street. "Up's' daisy," crowed
Billy Strong, and swung Fairfax facing uptown
with a mighty heave.
"The Elevated station's down a block, old
chap," explained the sober contingent. "We
have to take the Elevated to Seventy-second
you know, and walk across to your place."
Billy looked at him pityingly. "You poor
lil' pup," he crooned. "Didn' I keep tellin'
you had to go Chris'pher Street ferry meet a
girl ? Goin' theater with girl." He tipped
his derby one-sided and started off on a cakewalk.
Rex had to march beside him willy-nilly.
"Look here, Billy," he reasoned, exasperated
at this entirely fresh twist in the corkscrew
business of getting Strong home. "Look
here, Billy, this is tommy-rot. You haven't
any date with a girl, and if you had you couldn't
keep it. Come along home, man; that's
the place for you."
But Billy was suddenly a Gibraltar of firmness.
"Got date with lovely blue-eyed girlie couldn't
dish'point her. Unmanly deed Recky, d' you want bes' fren' ev' had to do
unmanly deed, and dish'point trustin' female ?
Nev', Recky nev', ol' man. Lesh be true to
th' ladies till hell runs dry Oh, 'scuse me
Recky f'got you was parson till well
runs dry, meant say. That all right ? Come on
t' Chris'pher Street." And in spite of desperate
attempts, of long argument and appeal on
Rex's part, to Christopher Street they went.
The ministering angel had no hankering to
risk his charge in a street-car, so, as the distance
was not great, they walked.
Fairfax's dread was that, having saved his
friend so far, he should attract the attention
of a policeman and be arrested. So he kept
a sharp lookout for bluecoats and passed them
studiously on the other side. What was his
horror therefore, turning a corner, to turn
squarely into the majestic arm of the law, and
what was his greater horror, to hear Billy Strong suavely address him. Billy lifted his hat to the
large, fat officer as he might have lifted it to
his sweetheart in her box at the Horse Show.
"Would you have the g...goodness to tell
me," he inquired, with distinguished courtesy,
"if this is" Billy's articulation was improving,
but otherwise he was just as tipsy as ever "if
this is Chris-to-pher Street...or...or
Wednesday ?"
"Hey ?" inquired the policeman, and stared.
Repartee seemed not to be his forte.
"Thank you, thank you very much " Billy's
gratitude spilled over conventional
limits "very, very much old rhinoceros,"
he finished, and shot suddenly ahead, dragging
Rex with him into the whirlpool of a
moving crowd, and it dawned on the policeman
five minutes later that the courtly gentleman
was drunk.
The anxiety of this game was its unexpectedness.
Strong, in the turn of a hand grew
playful, after the fashion of a mammoth kitten.
He bounded this way and that, knocking into somebody inevitably at every leap, and at each
contact he wheeled toward the injured and lifted
his hat and bowed low and brought out "I beg your pardon"
with a drawl of
sarcastic emphasis too insulting to be described.
"Billy," pleaded Rex, taking to pathos,
"don't do that again. You'll get arrested, and
maybe they'll arrest me too, and you don't
want to get me into a hole, do you ?"
Billy stopped short with a suddenness which
came near to upsetting his guide, and put both
large hands on Rex's shoulders, and gazed into
his eyes with a world of blurred affection.
"Reck, ol'fel'," and his voice broke with a
sob, "if I got you into hole, I'd jump in hole
after you, and I'd and I'd...pull hole in
after both of us, and then I'd...I'd tell hole
you was bes' fren' ev' had, and..."
"Come along and behave," cut in the victim
of this devotion shortly. "Don't be a fool."
Strong lifted a fatherly forefinger. "Naughty
naughty! Shouldn' call brother fool. Danger hell fire if you call brother fool. Nev' min',
Recky we un'stand each other. Two fools.
I'm go'n behave." He knocked his derby in the
back so it rested on his nose, stuck his chin up
to meet it, and started off in the most unmistakable
semblance of a tipsy man to be met
anywhere. "See me behavin' ?" he remarked
sidewise, with a gleam of rollicking deviltry
out of his eyes.
Christopher Street ferry was reached safely
by a miracle, and inside the ferry-house
Strong made a bee line for a truck and threw
his great body full length upon it with a loud
yawn of joy. "So tired," he remarked.
"Go'n
have good nap now," and he closed his eyes
peacefully.
"See here, Billy, this won't do. You said you
had to meet a girl what about that ?"
"Oh, tha's all right," Billy agreed easily.
"You meet girl tell her you got me drunk,"
and he turned over and prepared for slumber.
Strenuous argument was necessary to rouse
him even to half a sense of responsibility. "Recky, dear, you 'noy me," he said with
severity, coming to a sitting position and contemplating
Rex with mild displeasure. "What
kin' girl ? Why, jes' girly-girl. Lovely blue eyed
girly girl kind of girl colored hair," he
swept his hand descriptively over his own
black locks. "Wears sort of skirts, you
know you 'member the kind. All of 'em
same thing well, she wears 'em too. Tha's
all," and he dropped heavily back to the truck
and retired into his coat collar.
Rex shook him. "That won't do, Billy. I
can't pick out a girl on that. Will there be a
chaperone with her ?"
"No !" thundered Billy.
"How is a girl allowed to go to the theater
with you without a chaperone ?" inquired Rex
incredulously.
"This is New York."
Strong brought down his fist. "Death to
chaperones ! A bas les chaperones ! Don't you
think girl's mother trust her to me ? Look at
me ! I'll be chaperone to tha' girl, and father,
'n' mother, 'n' a few uncles and aunts." He threw his arm out with a gesture which comprised
the universe. "I'll be all the world to
tha' girl.
You go meet her 'n' tell her you got
me drunk," he concluded with a radiant smile.
Rex considered. There seemed to be enough
method in Strong's madness to justify the belief
that he had an engagement. If so, he must
by all means wait and trust to luck to pick out
the "lovely blue-eyed girlie" who was the
"party of the other part," and hope for an inspiration
as to what to tell her. She might be
with or without a chaperone, she might be any
variety of the species, but Strong seemed to be
quite clear that she had blue eyes.
The crowd from the incoming boat began
to unload into the ferry-house, and Rex placed
himself anxiously by the entrance. Three or
four thin men scurried in advance, then a
bunch of stout and middle-aged persons straggled
along puffing. Then came a set of young
people in theater array, chattering and laughing
as they hurried, and another set, and another the
main body of the little army was upon him. Rex scanned them for a girl alone
or a girl with her mother. Ah ! here she was this
must be Strong's "blue-eyed girlie." She
was alone and pretty, a little under-bred and
blond. Rex lifted his hat.
"I beg your pardon," he said, in his most
winning way; "are you waiting for Mr.
Strong ?"
The girl threw up her head and looked
frightened, and then angry.
"No, I am not," she said, and then, with a
haughty look, "I call you pretty saucy," and
Rex was left mortified and silent, while a passing
man murmured, "Served you right," and a
woman laughed scornfully. He stalked across
to the tranquil form on the truck.
"Billy," he said, and shook a massive shoulder.
"Wake up. Tell me that girl's name."
Strong opened his eyes like a baby waked
from dewy sleep. "Wha's that, Recky, dear
old Recky, bes' fren' "
"Cut that out," said Rex, sharply. "Tell
me the name of the girl you're waiting here to meet," and he laughed a short bitter laugh.
The girl whom "Billy" was waiting to meet !
Rex was getting tired and hungry.
Strong smiled a gentle, obstinate, tipsy smile
and shook his head. "No, Recky, dear ol'
fren' bes' fren' well, nev' min'. Can't
tell girl's name; tha's her secret."
"Don't be an ass, Billy quick, now, tell
me the name."
"Naughty, naughty !" quoted Billy again,
and waggled his forefinger.
"Danger hell fire ! Couldn' tell girl's name, Recky, be dishon'able. Couldn', no, couldn'. Anythin' else ask m' anythin' else in all these wide worlds" and he struck his breast with fervor. "Tell you anythin', Recky, but couldn' betray trustin' girl's secret."
"Danger hell fire ! Couldn' tell girl's name, Recky, be dishon'able. Couldn', no, couldn'. Anythin' else ask m' anythin' else in all these wide worlds" and he struck his breast with fervor. "Tell you anythin', Recky, but couldn' betray trustin' girl's secret."
"Billy, can't you give me an idea what the
girl's like ?" pleaded Rex desperately. Billy
smiled up at him drowsily. "Perfectly good
girl," he elucidated. "Good eyes, good wind,
kind to mother perfectly good girl in ev...every
r-respect," he concluded, emphasizing his sentences by articulating them. He dropped
his chin into his chest with a recumbent bow,
and his arm described an impressive semicircle.
"Present to her 'surances my most disting'shed
consider-ration soon's you find her,"
and he went flop on his side and was asleep.
Rex had to give it up. He heard the gates
rattling open for the next boat-load, and took
his stand again, bracing himself for another
rebuff. The usual vanguard, the usual quicksilver
bunch of humanity, massing, separating,
flowing this way and that, and in the midst of
them a fair-haired, timid-looking young girl,
walking quietly with down-cast eyes, as if unused
to being in big New York alone at eight
o'clock at night. Rex stood in front of her with
bared head.
"I beg your pardon," he repeated his formula;
"are you looking for Mr. Strong ?"
The startled eyes lifted to his a short second,
then dropped again. "No, for Mr. Week," she
answered softly, and unconscious of witticism,
melted into the throng.
This was a heavy boat-load, for it was just theater time they were still coming. And suddenly his heart bounded and stopped. Of course, he was utterly foolish not to have known it was she Billy Strong's bewitching cousin, the girl from Orange. There she stood with her big, brown eyes searching, gazing here and there, as lovely, as incongruous as a wood-nymph strayed into a political meeting. The feather of her hat tossed in the May breeze; the fading light from the window behind her shone through loose hair about her face, turned it into a soft dark aureole; the gray of her tailor gown was crisp and fresh as spring-time. To Rex's eyes no picture had ever been more satisfying.
Suddenly she caught sight of him, and her
face lighted as if lamps had shone out of a twilight,
and in a second he had her hand in his,
and was talking away, with responsibility and
worry, and that heavy weight on the truck
back there, quite gone out of the world. She
was in it, and himself the world was full. The girl seemed to be as oblivious of outside
facts, as he, for it was quite two minutes, and
the last straggler from the boat had disappeared
into the street before she broke into one of
his sentences.
"Why, but I forgot. You made me forget
entirely, Mr. Fairfax. I'm going to the theater
with my cousin, Billy Strong. He ought to be
here where is he ?"
Rex shivered lest her roving eyes might
answer the question, for Billy's truck with
Billy slumbering peacefully on it, lay in full
view not fifty feet away. But her gaze passed
unsuspiciously over the prostrate, huddled
form.
"It's very queer I'm sure this was the
right boat." She looked up at his face anxiously,
and he almost moaned aloud. What was he
going to say to her ?
"That's what I'm here for, Miss Margery to
explain about Billy. He, he isn't feeling
at all himself to-night, and it's utterly impossible
for him to go with you." To his as tonishment
her face broke into a very satisfied
smile.
"Oh, well, I'm sorry Billy's ill, but we'll hope for the best, and I won't really object to you as a substitute, you know. Of course it's improper, and mother wouldn't think of letting me go with you but I'm going. Mother won't mind when I tell her it's done. I've never been alone with a man to anything, except with my cousin it's like stealing watermelons, isn't it ? Don't you think it's rather fun ?"
"Oh, well, I'm sorry Billy's ill, but we'll hope for the best, and I won't really object to you as a substitute, you know. Of course it's improper, and mother wouldn't think of letting me go with you but I'm going. Mother won't mind when I tell her it's done. I've never been alone with a man to anything, except with my cousin it's like stealing watermelons, isn't it ? Don't you think it's rather fun ?"
Staggered by the situation, Fairfax thought
desperately and murmured something which
sounded like "Oochee-Goochee," as he tried
to recall it later. The girl's gay voice went on:
"It would be wicked to waste the tickets. City
people aren't going to the theater as late as this,
so we won't see any one we know. I think it's a
dispensation of Providence, and I'd be a poor-spirited
mouse to waste the chance. I think I'll
go with you...don't you ?"
Could he leave that prostrate form on the truck and snatch at this bit of heaven dangling before him ? Could he...Couldn't he ? No, he could not. It would be a question of fifteen minutes perhaps before the drowsy Billy would be marching to the police station, and in his entirely casual and fearless state of mind, the big athlete would make history for some policeman, his friend could not doubt, before he got there. Rex had put his hand to this intoxicated plow and he must not look back, even when the prospect backwards was so bewilderingly attractive, so tantalizingly easy. He stammered badly when, at length, the silence which followed the soft voice had to be filled.
Could he leave that prostrate form on the truck and snatch at this bit of heaven dangling before him ? Could he...Couldn't he ? No, he could not. It would be a question of fifteen minutes perhaps before the drowsy Billy would be marching to the police station, and in his entirely casual and fearless state of mind, the big athlete would make history for some policeman, his friend could not doubt, before he got there. Rex had put his hand to this intoxicated plow and he must not look back, even when the prospect backwards was so bewilderingly attractive, so tantalizingly easy. He stammered badly when, at length, the silence which followed the soft voice had to be filled.
"I'm simply, simply, broken up, Miss
Margery," and the girl's eyes looked at him
with a sweet wideness that made it harder. "I
don't know how to tell you, and I don't know
how to resign myself to it either, but I...I can't
take you to the theater. I...I've got to...got
to well, you see, I've got to be with Billy."
She spoke quickly at that. "Mr. Fairfax, is
Billy really ill is there something more than I understand ? Why didn't you tell me ? Has
their been an accident, perhaps ? Why, I must
go to him too come, hurry I'll go with
you, of course."
Rex stumbled again in his effort to quiet her
alarm, to prevent this scheme of seeking Billy
on his couch of pain. "Oh no, indeed you mustn't
do that," he objected strenuously. "I couldn't
let you, you know. I don't want you to be bothered.
Billy isn't ill at all there hasn't been
any accident, I give you my word. He's all
right Billy's all right." He had quite lost his
prospective by now, and did not see the rocks
upon which he rushed.
"If Billy's all right, why isn't he here ?"
demanded Billy's cousin severely.
Rex saw now. "He isn't exactly that is to
say all right, you know. You see how it is,"
and he gazed involuntarily at the sleeping giant
huddled on the truck.
"I do not see." The brown eyes had never
looked at him so coldly before, and their
expression cut him.
"I'm glad you don't," he cried, and realized
that the words had taken him a step deeper
into trouble. "It's just this way, Miss Margery Billy
isn't hurt or ill, but he isn't, isn't
feeling quite himself, and...and I've got to, I've
got to be with him." His voice sounded as
if he were going to cry, but it moved the girl to
no pity.
"Oh !" she said, and her bewildered tone
was a whole world removed from the bright
comradeship with which she had met him. "I
see you and Billy have something else planned."
Her face flushed suddenly. "I'm sorry I
misunderstood about about the theater. I
wouldn't for worlds have, have seemed to
force you to " She stopped, embarrassed,
hurt, but yet with her graceful dignity
untouched.
"Oh," the wretched Rex exclaimed impetuously,
"if I could only take you to the theater,
I'd rather than " but the girl stopped
him.
"Never mind about that, please," she said, with gentle decision. "I must go home when
is the next boat ? One is going now goodnight,
Mr. Fairfax no, don't come with
me I don't need you," and she was gone.
Two minutes later Strong's innocent slumbers
were dispersed by a vicious shake. "Wake
up ! wake up !" ordered Fairfax, restraining
himself with difficulty from mangling the cause
of his sufferings. "I've had enough, and we're
going home, straight."
Rex was mistaken about that, but Billy was
cordial in agreeing with him. "Good idea,
Recky ! Howd'y' ever come to think of it ? Le's
go home straight; tha's a bully good thing to do.
Le's do it. Big head on you, ol' boy," and yawning
still, but with unperturbed good nature,
Strong marched, a bit crookedly, arm in arm
with his friend to the street.
Rex's memory of the trip uptown on the
Elevated was like an evil dream. Strong, after
his nap, was as a giant refreshed, and his play
of wit knew no contracting limits. There were,
luckily, not many passengers going up at this hour, but the dozen or so on the car were regaled.
Billy selected a seat on the floor with
his broad back planted against the door, and
at every station the conductor and Rex had to
reason with him at length before the door could
be opened. The official threatened as well as he
could for laughing to put him off, but he threatened
less strenuously for the sight of six feet
two of muscle in magnificently fit condition.
This lasted for half a dozen stations and then
the patient began to play like a mountainous
kitten. He took a strap on either side of the car
and turned somersaults; he did traveling ring
work with them; he gave a standing broad
jump that would have been creditable on an
athletic field; he had his audience screaming
with laughter at an imitation of water polo over
the back of a seat. Then, just as the fun was at
an almost impossible point, and the conductor,
highly entertained but worried, was considering
how to get this chap arrested, Billy walked
up to him with charming friendliness and
shook hands.
"One th' besh track meets I've ever had pleasure attendin', sir," he said genially, and sat down and relapsed into grave dignity.
So he remained for five minutes, to the trembling
joy of his exhausted guardian, but it was
too good to be true.
Suddenly, at Fifty-third Street, he spied a young woman at the other end of the car. There were not more than nine passengers, so that each person might have had a matter of half a dozen seats a piece, but Strong suddenly felt a demand on his politeness, and reason was nothing to him. He rose and marched the forty feet or so between himself and the woman, and, standing in front of her, lifted, with some difficulty, his hat.
Suddenly, at Fifty-third Street, he spied a young woman at the other end of the car. There were not more than nine passengers, so that each person might have had a matter of half a dozen seats a piece, but Strong suddenly felt a demand on his politeness, and reason was nothing to him. He rose and marched the forty feet or so between himself and the woman, and, standing in front of her, lifted, with some difficulty, his hat.
"Won't you take my seat, madam ?" he inquired,
with a smile of perfect courtesy.
The young person was a young person of
common-sense and she caught the situation.
She flashed a reassuring glance at Rex, hovering
distressed in the background, and shook
her head at Strong politely.
"No, no, thank you," she said; "I think I can find a seat at this end that will do nicely."
"No, no, thank you," she said; "I think I can find a seat at this end that will do nicely."
"Madam, I insist," Strong addressed her
again earnestly.
"No, really," The young woman was embarrassed,
for the eyes of the car were on her.
"Thank you so much," she said finally; "I
think I'd better stay here."
Strong bent over and put a great hand lightly
on her arm. "Madam, as gen'leman I cannot,
cannot allow it.
Madam, you mush take my seat. Pleash, madam, do not make scene. 'S pleasure to me, 'sure you greates' pleasure," and beneath this courtly urgency the flushed girl walked shamefacedly the length of the almost empty car, and sat down in Strong's seat, while that soul of chivalry put his hand through a strap and so stood till his ministering angel extracted him from the train at Seventy-second Street.
Madam, you mush take my seat. Pleash, madam, do not make scene. 'S pleasure to me, 'sure you greates' pleasure," and beneath this courtly urgency the flushed girl walked shamefacedly the length of the almost empty car, and sat down in Strong's seat, while that soul of chivalry put his hand through a strap and so stood till his ministering angel extracted him from the train at Seventy-second Street.
With a sigh of heartfelt relief, Rex put his
arm in the big fellow's at the foot of the steps.
Freedom must now be at hand, for Billy's home was in a great apartment building not ten
minutes' walk away. The culprit himself seemed
to realize that his fling was over.
"Raished Cain t'night, didn' we, ol' pal ?"
he inquired, and squeezed Rex's guiding arm
with affection. "I'll shay this for you, Rex you
may be soft-hearted ol' slob, you may be
half-witted donkey I'm not denyin' all that
'n more, but I'll shay thish you're the bes'
man to go on a drunk with in...in...in
The'logican Sem'nary. I'm not 'xceptin'
th' ..."
"Shut up, Billy," remarked Rex, not for the
first time that night. "I'd get myself pulled together
a bit if I were you," he advised. "You're
going to see your family in a minute."
"M' poor fam'ly !" mourned Strong, shaking
his head. "M' poor fam'ly! Thish'll be
awful blow to m' fam'ly, Recky. They all like
so mush to see me sober always 's their
fad, Recky. Don't blame 'em, Recky, 's natural
to 'em. Some peop' born that way. M' poor
fam'ly."
They stood in front of the broad driveway
which swept under lofty arches into the huge
apartment house. Strong stopped and gazed
upwards mournfully. "Right up there," he
murmured, pointing skywards "M' fam'ly."
The tears were streaming down his face frankly
now. "I can't face 'em Recky, 'n this condition
you've got me in," he said more in sorrow than
in anger. At that second the last inspiration of
the evening caught him. Across the street arose
the mighty pile of an enormous uptown hotel.
Strong jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
"Go'n' break it to m' fam'ly by telegraph'
'em," he stated, and bitterly Rex repented of
that thoughtless mention of the Strongs to their
son and heir.
Good-naturedly as he had done everything,
but relentlessly, he dragged his victim over the
way, and direct to the Western Union office of
the hotel "Webster's Union" he preferred
to call it. His first telegram read:
"Rex Fairfax got me drunk. Don't blame
him. It's natural to him."
That one was confiscated, Strong complaining
gently that his friend was all "fads."
The second message was this:
"Dear Mama: Billy's intoxicated. Awfully
sorry. Couldn't be helped. Home soon."
That one went in spite of Fairfax's efforts,
with two cents extra to pay, which item was the
first event of the evening to ruffle Strong's temper.
"Shame, shame on rich cap'talists like Webster's
Union to wring two cents from poor drunk
chap, for lil' word like 'soon'," he growled,
and appealed to the operator. "Couldn't you
let me off that two cents ?" he asked winningly.
"You're good fellow good lookin' fellow
too" which was the truth. "Well, then, can
I get 'em cheaper 'f I sen 'em by quantity ? I'll
do that how many for dollar, hey ?"
"Five," said the grinning operator, troubled
by the irregularity, but taken by this highly
entertaining scheme of telegraphing across the
street. And Rex, his arts exhausted in vain,
watched hopelessly while, one after another, five telegrams were sent to The Montana, a
hundred feet away. The first being short two
of the regulation ten words. Strong finished
with a cabalistic phrase: "Rectangular parallelopipedon."
"That'll get even Webster's Union for chargin'
me two cents for 'soon'," he chuckled.
"Don't y' wish y' hadn' charged me that two
cents, hey ?" he demanded of the operator,
laughing joyfully and cocking his hat over one
ear, and the operator and two or three men who
stood near could do no otherwise than laugh
joyfully too. Strong straightened his face into a
semblance of deep gravity. "Thish next one's
important," he announced, and put the end of
the pencil in his mouth and meditated, while
his fascinated audience watched him. He was
lost in thought for perhaps two minutes, and
then scribbled madly, and as he ended the little
bunch of men crowded frankly to look at what
he had written. He pushed it toward them with
charming unreserve, and the bewilderment
with which it was read seemed to please him.
"Dear Papa": it ran. "I'm Calymene Blumembachii,
a trilobite, one of the crustaceans
related to the emtomostracans, but looking
more like a tetradecapod, but always your
affectionate Billy."
He pushed it to the operator. "Split that in
three," he ordered. "Don't want ruin the wires
I'm careful 'bout wires. Big fall snow wouldn't
do more damage 'n heavy words like that," he
explained to the listening circle.
"Think I look like tetradecapod ?" he asked of them as one who makes conversation. "Had that in geology lesson when I was fifteen," he went on. "Got lodged in crack in brain and there tish t' thish day ! Every now'n then I go 'flip,'" he appeared to pull a light lever situated in his head "'n fire it off. See ? Always hit something."
"Think I look like tetradecapod ?" he asked of them as one who makes conversation. "Had that in geology lesson when I was fifteen," he went on. "Got lodged in crack in brain and there tish t' thish day ! Every now'n then I go 'flip,'" he appeared to pull a light lever situated in his head "'n fire it off. See ? Always hit something."
It was ten o'clock when, the job lot of telegrams
despatched, Fairfax led his volcano
from the hotel and headed for the apartment
house. He expected another balk at the entrance,
for his round of gaiety had come now
Page 41to seem to him eternal he could hardly imagine
a life in which he was not conducting a
tipsy man through a maze of experiences. So
that it was one of the surprises of the evening
when Strong entered quietly and with perfect
deportment took his place in the elevator and
got out again, eight floors up, with the mildness
of a dove. At the door of the apartment
came the last brief but sharp action of the
campaign.
"Recky," he said, taking Fairfax's shoulders
in his great grasp, "no mother could be
t' me what you've been."
"I hope not," Rex responded promptly, but
Strong was not to be sidetracked.
"No mother 'n the world, not one, no
sir !" he went on. His voice broke with feeling.
"I'll nev' forget it nev' don't ask me to,"
he insisted. "Dear Recky blessed old tomfool I'm
go'n kiss you goodnight."
"You bet you're not," said Fairfax with emphasis.
"Let go of me, you idiot," and he tried
to loosen the hands on his shoulders.
But one of the most powerful men in New
York had him in his grip, and Rex found himself
suddenly folded in Billy's arms, while a
chaste salute was planted full on his mouth. As
he emerged a second later, disgusted and furious,
from this tender embrace, the clang of the
elevator twenty feet away caught his ear and,
turning, his eyes met the astonished gaze of
two young girls and their scornful, frowning
father. At that moment the door of the Strongs'
apartment opened, there was a vision of the
elder Mr. Strong's distracted face, the yellow
gleam of the last telegram in his hands, and
Rex fled.
Two weeks later, a May breeze rustling through the greenness of the quadrangle, brushed softly the ivy-clad brick walls, and stole, like a runaway child to its playmate, through an open window of the Theological Seminary building at Chelsea Square. Entering so, it flapped suddenly at the white curtains as if astonished. What was this ? Two muscular black clad arms were stretched across a table, and between them lay a brown head, inert, hopeless. It seemed strange that on such a May day, with such a May breeze, life could look dark to anything young, yet Reginald Fairfax, at the head of the graduating class, easily first in more than one way in scholarship, in athletics, in versatility, and, more than all, like George Washington, "first in the hearts of his countrymen," the most popular man of the Seminary this successful and well beloved young person sat wretched and restless in his room and let the breeze blow over his prostrate head and his idle, nerveless hands. Since the night of the rescue of Billy Strong he had felt himself another and a worse man. He sent a note to his cousin the next day.
Two weeks later, a May breeze rustling through the greenness of the quadrangle, brushed softly the ivy-clad brick walls, and stole, like a runaway child to its playmate, through an open window of the Theological Seminary building at Chelsea Square. Entering so, it flapped suddenly at the white curtains as if astonished. What was this ? Two muscular black clad arms were stretched across a table, and between them lay a brown head, inert, hopeless. It seemed strange that on such a May day, with such a May breeze, life could look dark to anything young, yet Reginald Fairfax, at the head of the graduating class, easily first in more than one way in scholarship, in athletics, in versatility, and, more than all, like George Washington, "first in the hearts of his countrymen," the most popular man of the Seminary this successful and well beloved young person sat wretched and restless in his room and let the breeze blow over his prostrate head and his idle, nerveless hands. Since the night of the rescue of Billy Strong he had felt himself another and a worse man. He sent a note to his cousin the next day.
"Dear Carty," it read, "For mercy sake let
me alone. I know I've lost my chance at St.
Eric's and I know you'll say it was my own
fault. I don't want to hear either statement, so
don't come near me till I hunt you up, which I
will do when I'm fit to talk to a white man. I'm grateful, though you may not believe it. Yours, Rex."
But the lost chance at St. Eric's, although it
was coming to weigh heavily on his buoyant
spirit, was not the worst of his troubles. The
girl from Orange there lay the sting. He
had sent her a note as well, but there was little
he was free to say without betraying Billy,
the note was mostly vague expressions of regret,
and Rex knew her clearheaded directness too
well to hope that it would count for much. No
answer had come, and, day by day, he had
grown more dejected, hoping against hope for
one.
A knock, the postman's knock, and Rex
started and sprang to the door. One letter, but
he could hardly believe his glad eyes when he
saw the address on it, for it was the handwriting
which he had come to know well, had known
well, seeing it once her handwriting. In a
moment the jagged-edged envelope, torn in a
desperate hurry to get what it held, lay one side,
and he was reading.
"Dear Mr. Fairfax": the letter ran; "For
two weeks I have been very unjust to you and
I want to beg your pardon. Billy was here three
days ago, and what I didn't know and what he
didn't know we patched together, and the consequence
is I want to apologize and to make
up to you, if I can, for being so disagreeable.
Billy's recollections of that night were disjointed,
but he remembered a lot in spots, and I
know now just what a friend you were to him
and how you saved him. I think he was horrid,
but I think you were fine simply fine. I can't
half say it in writing so will you please come
out for over Sunday, mother says, and I'll
try to show you how splendid I think you were.
Will you ? Yours sincerely" and her name.
Would he ? Such a radiant smile shone
through the little bare room that the May
breeze, catching its light at the window, clapped
gay applause against the flapping curtain. This
was as it should be.
But the breeze and the postman were not to
be the only messengers of happiness. Steps sounded down the long, empty hall, stopped at
his door, and Rex, a new joy of living pulsing
through him, sprang again, almost before the
knock sounded, to meet gladly what might be
coming. His face looked out of the wide-open
doorway with so bright a welcome to the world,
that the two men who stood across the threshold
smiled an involuntary answer.
"Carty ! I'm awfully glad" and Rex stopped
to put his hand out graciously, deferentially,
to the gray-haired and distinguished man
who stood with Carter Reed.
"Judge Rush, this is my cousin, Mr. Fairfax,"
Reed presented him, and in a moment
Rex's friend, the breeze, was helping hospitality
on with gay little refreshing dashes at a
warm, silvered head, as Judge Rush sat in the
biggest chair at the big open window. He beamed
upon the young man with interested, friendly
eyes.
"That's all very well about the quadrangle,
Mr. Reed. It certainly is beautiful and like the
English Universities," he broke into a sentence genially. "But I wish to talk to Mr. Fairfax.
I've come to bring you the first news, Mr. Fairfax,
of what you will hear officially within a day
or two that the vestry of St. Eric's hope you
will consider a call to be our assistant rector."
Rex's heart almost stopped beating, and his
smile faded as he stared breathless at this portly
and beneficent Mercury. Mercury went on
"A vestry meeting was held last night in which
this was decided upon. Your brilliant record
in this seminary and other qualifications which
have been mentioned to us by high authorities,
were the reasons for this action which appeared
upon the surface, but I want you to know the
inner workings I asked your cousin to
bring me here that I might have the pleasure
of telling you."
It was rather warm, and the old gentleman
had climbed stairs, and his conversation had
been weighty and steady. He arrested its flow
for a moment and took a long breath. "Don't
stop," said Rex earnestly, and the others broke
into sudden laughter.
"I like that," Judge Rush sputtered, chuckling.
"You're ready to let me kill myself, if
needs be, to get the facts. All right, young man I
like impetuosity it means energy. I'll
go on. The facts not known to the public,
which I wish to tell you, are as follows. After
your failure to keep your appointment on the
evening of the 7th, I was about through with
you. I considered you careless both of your own
interests and ours, and we began to look for
another assistant. A man who fitted the place
as you did seemed hard to find and the case was
in statu quo when, two nights ago, my son
brought home young William Strong to dinner.
Our families are old friends and Billy's father
and I were chums in college, so the boy is at
home in our house. As you probably know,
he has the gift of telling a good story, so when
he began on the events of an evening which you
will remember "
Rex's deep laughter broke into the dignified
sentences at this point.
"I see you remember." Judge Rush smiled benignly. "Well, Mr. Fairfax, Billy made an
amusing story of that evening. Only the family
were at the table and he spared himself not at
all. He had been in Orange the day before, and
the young lady in the case had told him how
you had protected him at your own expense he
made that funny too, but I thought it very
fine behavior, very fine, indeed, sir." Rex's
face flushed under this. "And as I thought the
whole affair over afterwards, I not only understood
why you had failed me, but I honored
you for attempting no explanation, and I made
up my mind that you were the man we wanted.
Yes, sir, the man we want. A man who knows
how to deal with the situations of today, with
the vices of a great city, that is what we want.
I consider tact, and broad-mindedness and
self-sacrifice no small qualities for a minister
of the gospel; and a combination of those qualities,
as in you, I consider exceptional. So I went
to this vestry meeting primed, and I told them
we had got to have you, sir and we've got to.
You'll come ?"
The question was much like an order, but
Rex did not mind. "Indeed, I'll come, Judge
Rush," he said, and his manner of saying it
won the last doubtful bit of the Judge's heart.
The Sunday morning when the new assistant
preached his first sermon in St. Eric's, there
sat well back in the congregation a dark-eyed
girl, and with her a tall and powerful young
man, whose deep shoulders and movements, as
of a well fitted machine, advertised an athlete in
perfect form. The girl's face was rapt as she followed,
her soul in her eyes, the clean-cut, short
sermon, and when the congregation filtered
slowly down the aisles she said not a word. But as
the two turned into the street she spoke at last.
"He is a saint, isn't he, Billy ?" she asked,
and drew a long breath of contentment.
And from six-feet-two in mid-air came Billy
Strong's dictum. "Margery," he said, impressively,
"Rex may be a parson and all that, but,
to my mind, that's not against him; to my mind
that suits his style of handling the gloves.
There was a chap in the Bible" Billy swal lowed
as if embarrassed "who, who was
the spit 'n' image of Rex the good Samaritan
chap, you know. He found a seedy one falling
over himself by the wayside, and he called him
a beast and set him up, and took him to a
hotel or something and told the innkeeper
to charge it to him, and I forget the exact
words, but he saw him through, don't you
know ? And he did it all in a sporty sort of way
and there wasn't a word of whining or fussing
at him because he was loaded that was awfully
white of the chap. Rex did more than that
for me and not a syllable has he peeped since.
And, you know, the consequence of that masterly
silence is that I've gone on the water-wagon yes,
sir for a year. And I'm hanged
if I'm not going to church every Sunday. He
may be a saint as you say, and I suppose there's
no doubt but he's horrid intellectual every
man must have his weaknesses. But the man
that's a good Samaritan and a good sport all in
one, he's my sort, I'm for him," said Billy Strong.