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Cornell University Library 
 PS 3515.U297H6 1910 
 
 His better selfja novel 
 
 3 1924 022 484 319 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022484319 
 
HIS 
 BETTER SELF 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 By 
 
 THOMAS J. HUGHES 
 
 N^ 
 
 THE 
 
 SAALFIELD PUBLISHING 
 
 COMPANY 
 
 AKRON, OHIO 
 
 h 
 
Copyright, 1910 
 
 By 
 
 THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO. 
 
'My son, attend to my words; in- 
 cline thine ear to my sayings. 
 Hear; for I shall speak of excel- 
 lent things; the opening of my 
 lips shall be right things." 
 
 — Proverbs of Solomon. 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 The boy is the father of the man, and 
 in order to know and understand the 
 real man, one must commence with the 
 boy. 
 
 At the age of fifteen, John Andrew 
 Downey was a studious, industrious lad, 
 of a quiet, thoughtful disposition, a 
 good scholar and a great reader. Like 
 all boys, his imagination was colored by 
 what he read, and pictured with all the 
 greatness, beauty and magnificence 
 youth only can imagine. Being the 
 reader of a youthful and most fascinat- 
 ing History of the World's Greatest 
 Men, — Darius, Xerxes, Caesar, Alex- 
 ander and others, — his mind was aflame 
 with palaces, thrones and principalities, 
 and he dreamed of himself being able 
 to live over and repeat the exploits of 
 the world's greatest men. These dreams 
 were the real boy. 
 
 As his mother, a slender, dark com- 
 plected woman, sat at the sewing- 
 machine busily engaged, Andrew, as 
 she always called him, sat near in the 
 s 
 
6 ■ HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 circle of the same light, reading and 
 dreaming what he would he. The fond 
 mother knew little of what was going 
 on in the youthful mind. Such is often 
 the case; parents, sometimes, do not 
 know the real child. He was reading 
 good books, and that was her chief con- 
 cern; he was studious, and that pleased 
 her much. His father had been a schol- 
 arly man and she was happy in the 
 thought that the son showed a like dis- 
 position. She wanted him to have a 
 good education and was willing to work 
 at the machine to assist in their support, 
 having been left at the father's death a 
 few years before with only about a 
 thousand dollars and a little home. 
 
 By the time John was eighteen, he be- 
 gan to see that lives similar to those of 
 Cyrus, Alexander and Caesar were im- 
 possible in these times. More modern 
 men such as Washington, Sherman and 
 Grant became his heroes, and his ab- 
 sorbing ambition was to go to West 
 Point. He quit High School the last 
 year to especially prepare for the ex- 
 amination, but after he had made all 
 preparations, a change in the district 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 7 
 
 occurred, so there was no appointment 
 that year and would not be for several 
 to come. This was his first disappoint- 
 ment, or rather disillusionment in 
 life, and John felt it keenly. He then 
 taught a country school a year, but not 
 liking this, became idle and gloomy, in- 
 tending in a few years to study law. A 
 lady cousin living in the college town 
 of Belle Monte made them a visit about 
 this time, and being enthusiastic and 
 full of college life, persuaded Mrs. 
 Downey to give her son four years at 
 Belle Monte. She could afford to do 
 this, even if it took the thousand dollars, 
 for John's equipment for life would be 
 well worth the money, and he would be 
 able to pay it back soon after he had 
 secured a start. 
 
 So John started out the next fall, en- 
 tered heartily and earnestly into the 
 college life, and thus spent four of the 
 best and happiest years of his life. He 
 was an earnest young man, a good stu- 
 dent, regarded as a deep thinker, and 
 by the time he reached the senior year 
 had become known as one of the best 
 orators in the school. 
 
8 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 The first week home after graduation 
 found him busily reading law. He had 
 no time to lose; the one thousand dol- 
 lars had been spent and he needed to 
 equip himself as soon as possible. A 
 year and a half of law resulted in the 
 small fortune being further depleted, 
 in the little home being well mortgaged. 
 But this did not concern John and his 
 mother greatly : both thought he would 
 be able to pay it back soon and that it 
 was better for him to go on. 
 
 John was now twenty-three, a tall, 
 slender young man, with an intellectual 
 face, the distinguishing feature of 
 which was a dark, embryo mustache. 
 He was a good scholar and wide reader, 
 able to talk intelligently and deeply on 
 all subjects, and was honored and re- 
 spected by the people of Charlton as a 
 worthy, ambitious young man who ex- 
 pected to make his mark in the world. 
 
 As for John's opinion of himself, he 
 thought he had now gotten down to the 
 level of a sane, practical young man, 
 thoroughly knowing his powers, with a 
 confident idea of just about what he 
 could accomplish in life. He was no 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 9 
 
 longer the dreamer of fifteen, eighteen, 
 and even later. Each disillusionment, — 
 life for the young is principally a dis- 
 illusionment — though blasting some 
 beautiful dream with its attendant dis- 
 appointments and regrets, only tended, 
 each time, to open his eyes and make 
 him more sane and reasonable. As a re- 
 sult, he now knew the world; he knew 
 himself. True, he had the life before 
 him all pictured out; but he had gotten 
 beyond the dreamer, and was now the 
 planner. That which in youth is the 
 highly colored dream, in later life be- 
 comes the practical plans and schemes 
 of the sound, level-headed man of the 
 world. All are dreamers, — the older 
 man calls it planning — and even in this 
 matter-of-fact, business age, imagina- 
 tion is an important factor, the essential 
 point being whether one has sufficient 
 knowledge of the world and himself to 
 make his dreams realities. John was 
 quite confident he now possessed this 
 knowledge. He was old enough; he 
 had education enough. He now ex- 
 pected to become a prominent and suc- 
 cessful lawyer in a western State. 
 
10 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 His life picture contained a well- 
 equipped, up-to-date office in a prom- 
 inent city, — no country town for him, 
 and that is why he would not attempt 
 to start up in the prosperous little city 
 of Charlton. Seattle was the city, and 
 Washington the State, and there were 
 visions of a large and flourishing busi- 
 ness, of prominence in his chosen city 
 and State. And later, why should he 
 not be able to work up to governor, or 
 senator? Many young men had gone 
 west to grow up with the country, and 
 had done this. There were several 
 from his own Alma Mater. Why 
 should he not be able to do the same? 
 He had the ability; no doubt about that. 
 Even back in high school he had fur- 
 nished the solutions for difficult prob- 
 lems in solid geometry which the 
 teacher could not solve and the instruc- 
 tor was a graduate of Annapolis, one of 
 the best mathematical schools in the 
 country. Then he had been called upon 
 for essays upon all prominent occasions, 
 always complimented highly for his 
 efforts, and later, in college, did he not 
 easily take the position of its best 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 11 
 
 speaker and orator? This was no little 
 distinction. Then he had mastered the 
 most difficult .studies with ease, being 
 especially good in psychology. And 
 had not the ancient and venerable pro- 
 fessor of psychology said that he never 
 knew of a good student in psychology 
 not to turn out a good lawyer? And a 
 good lawyer — did that not mean politi- 
 cal preferment, and was not the law the 
 stepping stone to this? And the law 
 itself — had he not mastered the most 
 difficult points with ease and never been 
 obliged to read the same page twice? 
 Yes, he had the ability; what more as- 
 surance could anyone expect? 
 
 The picture contained scenes of mak- 
 ing visits home, stepping off the train- 
 as the well-dressed, dignified and prom- 
 inent John Downey, Lawyer, Seattle, 
 Washington; of his being courted and 
 honored by the good people of the old 
 home town, and in later years, when he 
 became governor or senator and came 
 home, what would they think of that? 
 
 Was the dream impractical? Has 
 not many a man carried it out? And 
 what ambitious young man has not had 
 
12 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 similar visions? What one does not ex- 
 pect to become an eminent lawyer, a 
 famous physician, a merchant prince, a 
 captain of industry, a great man on the 
 top round of the ladder, whatever his 
 chosen business or profession? 
 
 But hold : the picture is not complete. 
 There is something wrong with any 
 healthy, normal young man whose 
 visions do not contain a woman. So the 
 central and prominent figure is John's 
 beautiful and accomplished wife. This 
 was to be Florence Eads, daughter of 
 Dr. Eads, who had located in Charlton 
 the summer of John's graduation. Of 
 striking beauty, graceful and womanly, 
 she was a young lady that attracted at 
 first sight. And should her wonderful 
 eyes, in which dwelt all the grace and 
 charm of maidenly beauty of soul, 
 search the susceptible young man with 
 her wondering, mysterious gaze, — if 
 she should, young man, look out! But 
 it was very few the young lady thus 
 favored; only some one in whom she 
 was especially interested, with whom 
 she was desiring and expecting an in- 
 troduction and acquaintance. Herself 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 13 
 
 fresh from college that summer, with 
 high aims and ambitions in life, she be- 
 came much interested in John. All her 
 new girl friends in the town told her she 
 ought to meet the young man: his 
 friends told him the same. And when 
 at last both were present at the society 
 event of the summer, and the wonder- 
 ous, mysterious search fell upon John, 
 he fell captive to her charms. An in- 
 troduction quickly followed. In a 
 month he was earnestly pleading for 
 her hand; in six months more it was 
 somewhat reluctantly surrendered, and 
 then followed his happiest days. Many 
 a happy hour was whiled away in dis- 
 cussing his plans and ambitions, and 
 their future life together. She became 
 a part of his being and was in his 
 thoughts by day and dreams at night. 
 
 John learned from other girls that 
 three young men had been in love with 
 her while she was at college. There 
 had been three engagements broken, 
 three shattered hearts. Yet no one 
 could think of Florence as being fickle, 
 of intentionally wronging or harming 
 anyone. She never said a word to John 
 
14 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 concerning her former affairs, and 
 when he hinted at them once, an ex- 
 pression of sorrow came over her face. 
 He did not blame her in the least. She 
 could not prevent others from falling in 
 love with her, but on the contrary had 
 been sorry. In fact, her former affairs 
 only raised her in his estimation and 
 made him feel that he, the fortunate 
 one, was obtaining all the greater prize. 
 And prize she truly was. He thought 
 her the most beautiful and accom- 
 plished woman he had ever seen, and in 
 his eyes, she was faultless, and a queen. 
 He loved her with all his being and 
 made her the central figure in all his 
 plans, the idol at whose feet he wor- 
 shipped, and about which everything 
 revolved. And what youthful enthu- 
 siasm and dreams of great things in life 
 lacked to make happiness complete, his 
 intense love and admiration for the 
 woman that was to share them all sup- 
 plied. 
 
 Such was the scheme of life John 
 Andrew Downey laid out before him — 
 not a mere dream, but his plan of life, 
 the bright and beautiful mountain peak 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 15 
 
 which he saw distinctly, and which he 
 had every confidence of being able to 
 ascend. And, like the real mountain in 
 nature when seen at a distance, the way 
 seemed short and the ascent easy. But 
 he did not expect to mount it at a leap 
 and bound. No, not he; he knew too 
 much of the world for that. He would 
 work up to it, step by step. And by the 
 time he was ready to start, like the gen- 
 eral who maps out the country, locates 
 the position and strength of the enemy, 
 and plans the battle before him, each 
 step was mapped out so accurately that 
 he knew just what was before him and 
 what to expect. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 In the first place, the handsomely, 
 furnished, up-to-date office of John 
 Downey, Lawyer, Seattle, Washington, 
 would require some money. Then he 
 desired to place his mother in easy cir- 
 cumstances, and the sooner he acquired 
 a competency^ the sooner he could 
 marry Florence. Though she had 
 never said it in so many words, she had 
 given him to understand that he should 
 possess something before their mar- 
 riage. But aside from that, he could 
 not think of marrying her until he was 
 worth at least ten thousand dollars. 
 The first thing, then, was to make some 
 money, and for a long time to hit upon 
 some scheme had occupied his earnest 
 attention and thought. 
 
 One day, upon his return home from 
 a brief visit at Indianapolis, he rushed 
 into the sitting-room, and without tak- 
 ing the time to salute his mother, broke 
 out enthusiastically: 
 
 "I have it, mother! Just the thing 
 I have been looking for so long!" 
 
 At the same time he pulled an 
 
 16 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 17 
 
 Indianapolis paper out of his pocket 
 and spread before his mother a large, 
 full-page advertisement: "Encyclo- 
 pedia Britannica. Now within the 
 reach of all. Ten cents a day," accom- 
 panied by the picture of a freight train 
 representing the amount of books sold 
 the last month. 
 
 "What do you think of that?" 
 "I don't know. What about it?" 
 "I'll have to tell you the whole story. 
 In the first place, while in the city, I 
 noticed these advertisements in all the 
 papers. One morning I was passing 
 the Britannica office and thought I 
 would just step in. Who should I find 
 at the head of things but Jim Hopper — 
 you know Jim Hopper I have spoken of 
 so often, who was graduated in my class 
 at college?" 
 "Yes, go on." 
 
 "I was greatly surprised, especially 
 at the way Jim has been doing. He has 
 one of the finest offices in the city, — 
 bookkeeper, treasurer, and several 
 stenographers in the office, besides over 
 twenty men working the city and all 
 parts of the State. And he has cleared 
 
18 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 over eight thousand dollars in less than 
 ten months, and started with nothing." 
 
 "He's done well." 
 
 "I should say so ! I told him that was 
 just the thing I was looking for. He 
 thought so too, and let me into the de- 
 tails of the business, and gave me all the 
 pointers he could." 
 
 "That was very kind of him." 
 
 "We were good friends in college, 
 you know. Well, the next day, the pub- 
 lisher was there from Chicago and said 
 the business was meeting with great 
 success everywhere. You see it's a high 
 standard work; heretofore it has cost 
 two hundred and fifty dollars; now it 
 can be sold for thirty-five, enlarged, 
 new American Edition, too. Then the 
 ten cents a day plan, and the coupon 
 books by which certain merchants give 
 a ten per cent, discount to persons using 
 the coupons and paying cash, thus en- 
 abling them to acquire the work for 
 practically nothing, is a new scheme, 
 and taking with the people. As luck 
 would have it, nothing has been done in 
 the West, and the publisher was glad 
 to have me take the State of Colorado, 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 19 
 
 and after that, such other States as are 
 still open. I told him I thought the 
 West would be good territory, as the 
 people are an educated class, have 
 much money, and are accustomed to 
 high prices, for all of which reasons a 
 low-priced, high standard work would 
 sell easily. He thought so too, and said 
 there was no reason why I should not 
 succeed as well in the West as others 
 have done in the East." 
 
 "One would think you could." 
 "There is no reason whatever why I 
 should not. I asked him whether tak- 
 ing the States of Colorado, Wyoming, 
 Utah, Oregon, and Washington, he 
 thought I could make ten thousand dol- 
 lars. He said I ought to make that in 
 Colorado alone." 
 
 "That's a lot of money, Andrew." 
 "Yes, mother, but look what Jim has 
 done in eight months ! I ought to do as 
 well as Jim. He never amounted to 
 much in college. I excelled him then, 
 and I ought to equal him now." 
 
 "You ought to do as well as others; 
 but ten thousand is so much money." 
 "I am going to be reasonable about 
 
20 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 the thing, mother. Ten thousand 
 is what I want to make before settling 
 down in Seattle, and I am going to give 
 myself two years to do it. Now sup- 
 pose I only do a half or a fourth as well 
 as Jim has done. By the time I am 
 through with Denver and Colorado, I 
 ought to have at least three thousand 
 dollars. When I leave Salt Lake, I 
 ought to have two thousand more, or 
 five thousand altogether. Say Oregon 
 three thousand and Washington two 
 thousand. That will make the ten thou- 
 sand. At the end of the two years I will 
 settle down in Seattle, invest my money 
 in real estate, take a year to get estab- 
 lished in my profession, then come 
 home and marry Florence. And you 
 can depend upon it, I will not forget 
 mother all that time." 
 
 A happy smile lighted his mother's 
 face. "That's a good boy," said she. 
 "I haven't kissed you yet. There's two ; 
 one for coming home, and one for a 
 good son. What you say sounds reason- 
 able enough, and oh! Andrew, I do 
 hope you will do well with it. We need 
 it so much !" 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 21 
 
 That evening he laid his plans before 
 Florence. He was in excellent spirits 
 from the bright prospects before him. 
 As he sat in the luxuriously furnished, 
 brightly lighted room, gazing upon the 
 object of his adoration, who was that 
 night so handsomely dressed in a be- 
 coming shade of pink, which blended 
 harmoniously with her fresh, healthy 
 complexion and hair of delicate auburn 
 shade, he thought her fairer than 
 any rose. More than that, with her 
 finely modeled features and all her 
 womanly charms and graces, he thought 
 her a queen, fit to sit upon any throne. 
 He ended the explanation by saying : 
 
 "You know out West, it's Tike's 
 Peak, or Bust.' With me it's going to 
 be, 'Seattle, Ten Thousand, or Bust.' " 
 
 "I hope it won't be Bust," said she 
 with a laugh. 
 
 "Don't think it; not for a moment." 
 
 Then with a mischievous smile upon 
 her lips, which he knew how to in- 
 terpret: 
 
 "I'm afraid you have missed your 
 calling." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
22 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "You ought to be an architect." 
 
 "An architect?" he inquired. 
 
 "Yes, an aerial architect. You can 
 build such fine castles." 
 
 "That's because I have such a fine 
 lady to put in them. A fine lady should 
 have a fine castle, should she not?" 
 
 "You're always getting the best of 
 me," she concluded with a little laugh 
 and modest blush; and thus the thing 
 passed off in a joke, John no more 
 thinking he was a builder of air castles 
 than he thought Florence meant what 
 she said; for he had passed that stage, 
 and this was as plain and common a 
 business proposition as could be im- 
 agined. 
 
 That was in June. The next month 
 the young lady went to Chicago to visit 
 friends, despite his protests. He could 
 scarcely endure her absence, which she 
 promised to be of short duration, but 
 which had dragged on day after day 
 until nearly two months had passed. 
 He would leave for the West in two 
 weeks and was getting desperate in his 
 desire to see her. What was more, she 
 had not written him for a week. What 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 23 
 
 could be the matter? Could it be that 
 she did not care for him and did not 
 wish to see him again? The very 
 thought of it made him ill. 
 
 "No; it's not that," he then said, glad 
 to escape the horror of the thought. "I 
 have no cause or reason to doubt her, 
 and I will not doubt her, not for a 
 single moment. She is coming home, 
 and that is why she does not write. Yes, 
 she is coming, and now for two of the 
 happiest weeks in my life. The girls 
 have arranged several receptions in 
 honor of my departure. As soon as 
 Florence comes there will be picnics, 
 parties, music and dancing — a gay 
 round, and I am going to enjoy it, for 
 it will be a long time until I shall have 
 anything of the kind again. Yes, two 
 weeks of pleasure, then two years of 
 business." 
 
 He looked at his watch and hurried 
 from the law office, where he had been 
 sitting, to the street. The afternoon 
 train from Chicago had arrived and he 
 expected to see Florence. He watched 
 for the cab returning from the train, 
 but saw, as it passed, that she was not in 
 
24 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 it. This dampened his spirits some- 
 what; but, going to the post-office, he 
 spied in his box the well-known, blue- 
 tinted envelope, at sight of which his 
 heart gave a leap. 
 
 "She will be here soon, probably the 
 next train. Tomorrow morning, at the 
 latest," were thoughts that flashed 
 through his head. He hastily extracted 
 the letter and tore it open to devour the 
 happy words he knew it would contain. 
 
 The letter was short; this was the first 
 thing to attract his attention. "What's 
 this? Dear Friend?" his eyes fairly 
 bulged. "What's the matter now?" 
 
 He read on: 
 
 "You will, no doubt, be surprised to 
 learn that I have cancelled our engage- 
 ment and that I shall be married to a 
 Mr. Bowen of Chicago in October. I 
 shall not be home until after your de- 
 parture, for my presence might be un- 
 pleasant, now, for both of us. I thank 
 you for the very pleasant associations 
 of our friendship, and trust, now that 
 our lives are to proceed in different 
 paths, that we may think of each other 
 as friends. I am sorry, very sorry. 
 
 Florence." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 It took John some time to realize the 
 full meaning of the letter. It was 
 worded plainly and simply enough, it 
 is true ; but so unexpected was anything 
 of the kind that not until he had read 
 it several times did its full force come 
 upon him. And when it did come, it 
 came like a blow that stunned him. 
 But a few moments ago he was 
 in the midst of the happiest antici- 
 pations; but, by a single blow, every- 
 thing had stopped, and the world had 
 come to an end. He lounged about 
 home all afternoon and evening, like 
 one dazed, unable to collect his 
 thoughts, — to think of anything, to hear 
 anything, — the one dull, painful, crush- 
 ing thought ever before him that 
 Florence was engaged to another and 
 would be married in October. 
 
 "What is the matter with you, An- 
 drew?" asked his mother after having 
 addressed a simple question to him a 
 number of times before eliciting a re- 
 sponse. 
 
 25 
 
26 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "Oh nothing, mother." 
 
 "Yes, there is. Don't be afraid to tell 
 me, Andrew." 
 
 "It's nothing much, mother. Only 
 Florence has turned me down." 
 
 "Broken the engagement?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I always thought she had too 
 high notions for a young man of your 
 circumstances." 
 
 Seeing this remark pained her son, 
 she added : "You will, doubtless, make 
 up again." 
 
 "No, mother, she is to be married in 
 October to a gentleman in Chicago, and 
 I know her well enough to know she 
 will do as she says." 
 
 "Yes," said his mother with consider- 
 able spirit, "I suppose she has been in 
 Chicago all these weeks, angling for a 
 husband; perhaps some rich catch. 
 That's what she has always wanted and 
 I suppose she preferred the cash in 
 hand to the cash in prospect. You can 
 be glad the engagement is broken." 
 
 Seeing the subject was painful in the 
 extreme to her son, who cherished only 
 the kindest and saddest thoughts of 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 27 
 
 Florence, the mother ceased, leaving 
 her son, as he desired, alone with his 
 grief. 
 
 Perhaps, if John had not been of a 
 nervous temperament, and had not lost 
 sleep for several nights, what happened 
 to him that night would not have taken 
 place. He retired to his room soon 
 after dark, for the world now possessed 
 no joy or pleasure for him. He rolled 
 and tossed about on his bed for an hour 
 or two, when his burden became well- 
 nigh unbearable. It was trying enough 
 to lie awake all night, but to lie awake 
 with such a burden was more than he 
 could stand. He got up, went down 
 street, stepped into a drug store, and 
 ordered something to make him sleep. 
 
 "Make it strong," said he, "I haven't 
 had a wink of sleep for three nights* 
 and my nerves are shattered." 
 
 "You look like it," replied the clerk, 
 as he handed John a glass of soda in 
 which he had dissolved a sleeping 
 powder. "That will make you sleep-7 
 double dose." 
 
 "Any harm in it?" 
 
 "None whatever." 
 
28 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 John returned home, and for another 
 two hours rolled and tossed upon his 
 bed. If anything, he was more nervous 
 and restless than before, and the longer 
 he rolled and tossed about, the more in- 
 sufferable his burden became. He 
 could have had an arm torn off, a leg 
 crushed: physical pain would be 
 nothing compared with the anguish of 
 heart he suffered, intensified by rest- 
 lessness and nervousness to an unbear- 
 able degree. 
 
 "I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" 
 cried he at last, worked up into a sort 
 of a delirium, arising from the bed and 
 making his way toward a dresser, with 
 a wild determination to end it at once. 
 "I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" But 
 as he reached for a pistol kept in a 
 drawer in the dresser, his restlessness 
 suddenly melted into a flood of tears 
 that seemed to flow through his body, 
 and well up and dim his eyes. "Has it 
 come to this? Has it come to this?" he 
 cried, the pistol in hand, calling out in 
 a real anguish of soul to somebody, to 
 something, he knew not what. "Has it 
 come to this? Must I take this life?" 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 29 
 
 "Have patience I" said a sweet, sooth- 
 ing voice in reply. "Have patience 1" 
 At the same time he beheld the figure 
 of a woman, arrayed in matchless robes 
 of white, and about her a soft radiance 
 shining, revealing in the darkness the 
 graceful outlines of her form. Her face 
 was plain, but in it shone a heavenly 
 calm and composure, good to look 
 upon. 
 
 His nervous, troubled spirit began 
 to calm for her voice spoke to his very 
 soul. 
 
 "Have patience, thou afflicted one! 
 Have patience!" The words came so 
 softly and sweetly that they were like 
 manna from heaven itself. " 'Affliction 
 is the shadow of God's wing,' " con- 
 tinued she. " 'Behind a frowning 
 providence, God hides a smiling face.' 
 Have patience! 'Bless God for your 
 afflictions and your afflictions will be 
 your greatest blessings.' Bear thy grief 
 with submission and complain not; for 
 'choice flowers bloom in the garden of 
 affliction;' 'in deep waters men find 
 great pearls.' 'The gem cannot be 
 polished without friction, nor man per- 
 
30 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 fected without trial.' Then, 'trouble 
 often shows the man.' 'The good are 
 better made by ill, as odors crushed 
 are sweeter still.' Have patience ! How 
 canst thou say but what this, thy great- 
 est affliction, is thy greatest blessing, 
 and the best to happen ? Only years can 
 tell. Have patience! Remember that 
 'black soils yield bright flowers,' and 
 that'bees gather sweet honey from bitter 
 herbs.' 'Patience is a bitter plant, but 
 it bears sweet fruit.' 
 
 "Why grieve, so? 'What can't be 
 cured must be endured'; and 'it is no 
 use your tears to spend over what you 
 cannot mend.' 
 
 "Yes, why grieve so? Oh, thou fool- 
 ish one! 'Many a pearl is still hidden 
 in its oyster.' 'There are as good fish 
 in the sea as were ever taken out of it.' 
 Thou canst not say what the future has 
 in store." 
 
 Saying which the figure vanished as 
 suddenly as it had appeared. 
 
 John stood in the middle of the room, 
 revolver in hand, like one in a dream. 
 He was aware that it was neither a real 
 person nor a spirit that had been before 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 31 
 
 him ; yet it had been impressed upon his 
 consciousness that the one that had ad- 
 dressed him was typical of faith, hope, 
 patience, and submission, all those ex- 
 cellent qualities he had lacked, and that 
 Patience was her name. 
 
 "Andrew! Andrew!" called his 
 mother. 
 
 The words startled him. 
 
 "Yes, mother," he answered, hastily 
 putting away the revolver. 
 
 "What is the matter with you?" 
 
 "Oh, mother! I have just had a 
 strange experience. A most beautiful 
 woman appeared in the room and spoke 
 to me." 
 
 "You have been dreaming." 
 
 "No, I have not, mother. I haven't 
 been asleep at all, and I saw her as 
 plainly and distinctly as I ever, saw 
 anyone in my life." 
 
 "It is like the man you used to. see 
 sitting at the window, cleaning his 
 teeth." 
 
 "That was years ago. But this was 
 different; it was so distinct and life- 
 like — a voice that spoke as clearly as 
 your own." 
 
32 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "I wonder if that injury to your head 
 can be affecting you. Do you think Dr. 
 White gave it the proper treatment?" 
 
 "I think so. He said it would be all 
 right in time." 
 
 "Let me examine it," said his mother 
 who had entered the room and ap- 
 proached the bed to which her son had 
 returned. "Where is it?" 
 
 "If it's so small you can hardly find 
 it," said John, as he guided his mother's 
 hand to the place, a slight depression in 
 his skull, "it certainly cannot affect me 
 much. It may have been the injury, 
 but I think I know now what caused 
 me to see the woman. I took a sleeping 
 powder about ten o'clock; I don't be- 
 lieve it had any effect on me until a 
 few moments ago, when it acted sud- 
 denly, and with full force. At least, 
 my nerves are calmed now, and I have 
 been rolling and tossing for hours." 
 
 "Go to sleep now, Andrew; the clock 
 is striking twelve." 
 
 Before leaving the room, she tucked 
 the covers about the foot of the bed, 
 as she had done many a time when he 
 was a child. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 33 
 
 As John lay in bed, he went over and 
 over again the words spoken to him, 
 and recalled again and again the 
 beautiful image that had been before 
 him. That was all he could think of 
 the rest of that night. He could lie 
 awake now with no discomfort, but 
 soon fell asleep. 
 
 The next morning John wondered 
 greatly at what had happened to him. 
 As to the cause, he was satisfied it was 
 the sleeping powder ; perhaps the slight 
 injury to his head also had something 
 to do with it. The powder, he thought, 
 had thrown him into a sort of delirium, 
 and then quieted him, suddenly, in the 
 midst of that delirium. Thus he could 
 account for the appearance of the 
 figure. But explain as he would, he 
 could not get away from the thought 
 impressed upon him, that a vital 
 struggle had taken place between his 
 better and worse self, and that his better 
 self had been victorious. His better 
 being had cried out from its innermost 
 depths at his thought of destroying 
 himself, and the beautiful person he 
 had recognized as the spirit of hope and 
 
34 HIS BETTER SELF. 
 
 patience was the answer of that cry. 
 Here his explanation ceased. The 
 whole had made so deep an impression 
 upon him that he thought, not so much 
 of the cause, as of what he had seen and 
 heard. Some of the things he heard 
 impressed him more than others. He 
 recognized the fine philosophy in the 
 beautiful saying, "Affliction is the 
 shadow of God's wing." But it was only 
 a mental recognition, and he lacked the 
 faith, trust, and belief to derive the 
 great good to be had from that view of 
 the case. "Trouble often shows the man," 
 appealed to him more. It would show 
 him, not a coward, but a man. Yes, 
 he would be a man! It took all 
 the resolution and determination he 
 could muster, but he would submit; he 
 would be a man. An hour after receiv- 
 ing the letter he had thought of giving 
 up everything, and not trying to make 
 any effort to succeed in life. But now 
 he would go ahead with his plans. He 
 would go West as he originally in- 
 tended ; only Florence would be left out 
 of it all. This last thought left him 
 full of sadness; for though he could 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 35 
 
 submit, he could not, so soon, forget. 
 His disappointment greatly shook his 
 confidence in himself and for a long 
 time he saw the world through a dark- 
 ened glass. There was but one faint 
 ray of hope. Somehow or other, he had 
 the idea they would meet again in the 
 dim future, and he thought of her be- 
 ing in trouble and needing his help. 
 By the time evening had arrived, he 
 made up his mind to write her a pleas- 
 ant little note in reply. It was difficult 
 to write cheerfully under the circum- 
 stance, especially to congratulate Mr. 
 Bowen, but the last message he should 
 ever send her should contain nothing to 
 cause her the slightest pain, should re- 
 veal nothing of the great anguish her 
 last message had caused him. 
 
 "Friend Florence," he wrote. "The 
 announcement of your engagement 
 was truly a surprise to me. Please ex- 
 tend to Mr. Bowen, for me, my con- 
 gratulations; for he is truly to be con- 
 gratulated. I trust we may always 
 think of each other as true friends ; and 
 if the time ever comes when I can be 
 of any service to you whatever, do not 
 
36 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 hesitate to call upon me, as friend 
 should friend. Wishing you a long life 
 and happiness, I am, 
 
 Your old friend, 
 
 John." 
 
 "That's the end of all those dreams 
 of happiness," said John the next day, 
 as he dropped the letter in the office. 
 "But what a beautiful vision that was, 
 and with what sweet words you con- 
 soled me, 'Patience.' Ah! If I could 
 have some spirit, some angel to love, 
 like that, I would love with a sad and 
 holy love, and no earthly woman would 
 ever know my love again." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 Satchel in hand, John stood in the 
 doorway of the modest, ivy-covered 
 home in which he had spent the happy 
 days of his childhood. The great elm, 
 under which he had passed many a 
 playful hour, cast its branches over it, 
 and he was leaving his mother and the 
 familiar scenes. 
 
 "Be a good boy, Andrew, and I am 
 sure the world will be good to you." 
 Tears overcame her, and she sobbed on 
 his shoulder. "There! Go now, and 
 may God protect you!" 
 
 It was not without a pang that John 
 turned from the house. It was evening. 
 He hastened to the station and boarded 
 a train for Chicago. The parting filled 
 him with sadness, and as he looked out 
 of the car window at the dark clouds 
 that gathered, threatened, and finally 
 burst into a storm, he wondered 
 whether the storm portended what was 
 to happen to him. After an hour or so, 
 however, the skies cleared and the stars 
 appeared. If the storm presaged any- 
 
 37 
 
38 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 thing, it was not to last long, and bright 
 days were to be in the ascendancy. 
 
 He spent the next day in Chicago, 
 making an early call upon his publish- 
 ers, who gave him words of encourage- 
 ment. He then secured a ticket for 
 Denver, after which he idled about the 
 busy, crowded streets in a deep reverie, 
 seeing nothing of the sights about him. 
 He was filled with thoughts of Flor- 
 ence. He recalled the first time their 
 eyes had met in that clear, fixed, 
 wondering gaze, the unmistakable sign 
 of two souls finding each other. It was 
 at a reception. A few weeks before, 
 John, just graduated from college, had 
 rescued a child playing in the street by 
 rushing up on a bicycle, grabbing the 
 little one by the clothes, and lifting her 
 out of the path of a runaway team, his 
 bicycle striking the curb, throwing him 
 upon his head. This was the injury he 
 thought had something to do with the 
 vision. He was unconscious twenty 
 hours, lay in bed three weeks, and was 
 the hero of the town. 
 
 He recalled the many happy hours 
 they spent together since that time, the 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 39 
 
 many unmistakable signs of her love 
 for him, — her happiness in his pres- 
 ence, her whole being attuned with joy 
 that gave her voice a happy, singing 
 note ; her interest in everything he said 
 and did; his never coming too often, 
 nor staying too late, and the thousand 
 and one unquestionable signs by which 
 love is revealed. Only within the last 
 two months, when she first went to Chi- 
 cago, and he had neglected writing her 
 several days, he received this brief 
 note: 
 
 "I am homesick. Write me at once. 
 I am dying for a letter." 
 
 Only love could be prompted to 
 write thus. 
 
 John wandered about the city think- 
 ing of all these things. That Florence 
 had loved him deeply there could not 
 be the slightest doubt. They were two 
 souls destined for each other by every 
 known sign. Now all was ended. Why 
 should it be? He was filled with an 
 inexpressible sadness, — the sadness of 
 one soul longing for another with 
 which it has mingled and become a 
 part, and from which it has been 
 
40 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 cruelly torn. She was in the city that 
 very moment. The paths of their lives 
 were crossing for the last time. Could 
 it be? Must it be? 
 
 Disappointment in love affects 
 people differently. With some, life be- 
 comes intolerable, and they kill them- 
 selves. Others cannot bear seeing the 
 loved one possessed by another, and kill 
 both the loved one and themselves. 
 Others never get over the disappoint- 
 ment and remain true to a shattered 
 love to the grave. A sense of pride and 
 independence seizes others and they are 
 at once through with the object loved. 
 Of these, John's first impulse was sui- 
 cide. Patience had persuaded him from 
 that. Now he was filled with an irre- 
 sistible impulse to go and snatch the 
 loved one, by main force, out of the 
 cruel hands that had taken her from 
 him. The reverie had been preparing 
 him for it. When he thought of al! 
 that had occurred between them, of the 
 love she had had for him that could not 
 be doubted or disputed for a single 
 moment, he felt he must do it. 
 
 "She is mine! I will have her!" he 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 41 
 
 said. "She loves me if ever woman 
 loved man, and for that reason belongs 
 to me. She is mine by. every right of 
 the law that binds two beings together 
 in love, a tie as strong, as sacred, as in- 
 violable, as any on earth. She is mine! 
 I shall have her! Nothing shall keep 
 me from it!" 
 
 He had Florence's address in his 
 pocket. He pulled it out, approached 
 a policeman on the corner, and asked 
 how to reach it. Ten minutes later he 
 was on a car for the West End. On the 
 way out he thought of the appearance 
 of Patience and all she had said to him. 
 That was a strange experience, — 
 strange, indeed. What she said was the 
 only sensible view to take of disappoint- 
 ment in love, or any other kind of dis- 
 appointment or affliction. And as be- 
 fore, the one saying that stood out be- 
 fore the others was, "trouble often 
 shows the man." 
 
 "Be a man! Be a man!" were the 
 words that rang out in his ears, as he 
 rang the bell at the number that cor- 
 responded with Florence's address. 
 
 It was Florence herself who opened 
 
42 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 the door. At the sight of John she be- 
 came deathly pale and visibly trembled 
 in every limb. 
 
 "Oh John! You? Why did you 
 come?" 
 
 Her voice shook ; she was filled with 
 dread. "I cannot see you. It will only 
 make it worse for both of us," and with 
 this, she slowly but firmly closed the 
 door. 
 
 "Florence!" cried John, from the 
 very depths of his heart. 
 
 Still the door remained closed. 
 
 "Florence!" he cried again, and 
 louder. 
 
 The door slightly opened. 
 
 "After all that has passed between 
 us, am I not entitled to the consider- 
 ation due a mere friend?" 
 
 The doo.r opened wider. 
 
 "I was passing though town. I 
 could not resist the desire to say good- 
 bye. Have you any friend or acquaint- 
 ance you would not grant the courtesy 
 of so small a privilege?" 
 
 "You are right. Come in ! You shall 
 be accorded the treatment due a 
 friend." And as she led the way 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 43 
 
 through the hallway into the parlor, 
 where they seated themselves, she said : 
 "Forgive me. You don't know how I 
 dreaded seeing you." 
 
 "You. are forgiven before you ask it. 
 I can well understand your feelings 
 under the circumstances." 
 
 This reply filled Florence with 
 shame for herself and sympathy for 
 John. She had dreaded seeing him. 
 Why? She had greatly wronged him, 
 — we always dread seeing those we have 
 wronged— and his disposition to for- 
 give her, to entirely overlook what had 
 happened, touched her in a tender spot. 
 And John, instead of being possessed of 
 that all consuming determination to 
 possess her at any cost, to snatch her by 
 main force from the hands that had 
 taken her from him, now that he was 
 in her presence, was in an entirely dif- 
 ferent mood, and one capable of attain- 
 ing his point better. Had he attempted 
 force, she would have resisted, and the 
 true man never uses force with woman. 
 
 "There is only one thing I ask," he 
 said. "Give me one reason why you 
 did that — why you wrote that letter." 
 
44 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 For several moments she sat mute, 
 unable to say a word, alternately blush- 
 ing and paling. The silence was be- 
 coming intolerable. 
 
 "I am not condemning you. I am 
 not angry," he continued gently. "AH 
 I ask is one reason. Can you refuse 
 this to one who has loved you as I have? 
 Can you refuse this to one you have 
 loved, — yes, you know it; I know it; all 
 our friends know it!" 
 
 "Oh, John!" pleaded Florence, 
 "don't press me so ! I beg of you, don't. 
 It is more than I can endure. I am 
 such a miserable, miserable creature. I 
 am unworthy your love; I am un- 
 worthy the love of any man!" and for 
 the first time he beheld her in tears. 
 
 "Tell me why you are unworthy; tell 
 me." 
 
 "I have loved you, God knows, but 
 with a faithless love. God alone knows 
 how I have struggled against this, and 
 tried to be true to you. . But inconstancy 
 is a part of my nature; it is a part of 
 the bone and flesh. I could not over- 
 come it; I could not!" 
 
 Some loves cannot endure the least 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 45 
 
 inconstancy, and such a confession 
 would at once cool the most ardent 
 flame. But other loves partake of that 
 disposition of the parent who loves the 
 crippled child m»st. Affliction, con- 
 stitutional, and incurable faults and de- 
 fects often make the loved one dearer. 
 So it was with John. The confession, 
 sincere and from the heart, the fault 
 acknowledged but so deeply deplored, 
 only made her more precious. 
 
 "What you say may be true. It is 
 not altogether a surprise; I have sus- 
 picioned it before. But from your 
 character and disposition, I know that, 
 once married, you would be as true and 
 faithful as any woman that ever lived. 
 Very often those women who are a little 
 fickle before marriage, turn out to be 
 the truest and most steadfast of wives." 
 
 "You think too much of me. You 
 have always had too high an opinion. 
 I am not the ideal woman you think I 
 am. You would be greatly dis- 
 appointed." 
 
 And as before, the words were 
 sincere and from the heart. Her frank- 
 ness and sincerity captivated him and in 
 
46 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 proportion as she endeavored to lower 
 herself in her own and his esteem, she 
 rose. There is nothing like true hu- 
 mility to increase esteem, love, and de- 
 votion. John's love before was at 
 mountain heights. It leapt now to the 
 stars. 
 
 "Florence, I know you will be every- 
 thing I expect of you in faithfulness 
 and love. And you are everything I 
 think you are in all things. I love you 
 more this moment than I ever did, and 
 for the very reason that you have been 
 a little fickle. But you struggled against 
 it ; you tried to be true, — I believe you 
 — but it was beyond your power; you 
 were not able to overcome. I cannot 
 give you up now. And how do you 
 know you will not have the same ex- 
 perience with Mr. , what's his 
 
 name — - Bowen? In six months or a 
 year you may not love him as well as 
 you do me. Florence, you owe it to 
 yourself, you owe it to me, you owe it 
 to Mr. Bowen, to wait. Two months is 
 too short a time to settle such a matter. 
 Wait a year or two, — two years is the 
 most I ask — and see whom you love 
 best then." 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 47 
 
 Florence sat in a deep study, strug- 
 gling with the question. 
 
 "Florence! Florence!" pleaded John. 
 
 He arose, went to her and drew her 
 up into his arms. She resisted feebly, 
 finally laying her head upon his 
 shoulder and sobbing violently. 
 
 "Oh, what a miserable wretch I am! 
 Untrue! Inconsistent! False the 
 second time! My engagement with 
 Mr. Bowen is broken this instant. Oh, 
 how I wish this thing could be settled 
 now!" 
 
 "It can be; it can be," exclaimed 
 John, ascending into the seventh 
 heaven. 
 
 "No, not now. I dare not trust my- 
 self. I do not know that I am worthy 
 to be any man's wife. I do not love you 
 sufficiently ; neither do I love the other 
 man. I will wait the two years. And 
 I'll say this to you: I will do all in my 
 power to love you. ' I will make every 
 effort to come back to the love I once 
 had for you. My efforts shall be for 
 you, because I loved you first. Are you 
 satisfied?" 
 
 He kissed her fervently on the hair. 
 
48 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "Florence, you have done as much 
 for me to-night as I could ask." 
 
 Without realizing it John had pur- 
 sued the right course in appealing to 
 and playing upon her sympathy. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 It was nine o'clock when John parted 
 with Florence, and an hour later when 
 he arrived at the station and boarded a 
 train for Denver. The night was long 
 and tiresome, and John had plenty of 
 time to think. 
 
 Upon leaving Florence he was in 
 high spirits, but now the fatigue of the 
 day and of the last sleepless night were 
 upon him, and as the train sped through 
 the darkness with its monotonous hum, 
 carrying him far from home into a 
 strange country, he was filled with un- 
 certainty and dread. While Florence's 
 promise was all that he could have 
 asked under the circumstances, now 
 that they were separated, he felt un- 
 certain as to the outcome, and the words 
 of Patience kept ringing in his ears, 
 keeping time with the click of the car 
 wheels, "What can't be cured must be 
 endured. What can't be cured must 
 be endured." In fact, the whole tenor 
 of her speech implied that the affair 
 was over. Was this mysterious appear- 
 
 « 49 
 
50 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 ance merely intended to ease him for 
 a few days until he could see Florence 
 and make all right with her, or did it 
 signify that all was over and to 
 strengthen him for this fact? If the 
 first, why did not Patience say, "All 
 will be well in a few days," or words to 
 that effect? She could easily have done 
 so. And how much importance should 
 be attached to this vision, this hallucin- 
 ation, whatever it was? He could not 
 answer; he could not say. But the 
 whole was sufficient to throw him into 
 uncertainty as to the outcome. "I'll try 
 to love you." She would try ; no doubt 
 of that. But the train was carrying him 
 far away. They would be widely sep- 
 arated two years at least, and upon only 
 a few months' separation she had turned 
 to another. 
 
 Of one thing he felt certain; he 
 would have to make a success of his 
 undertakings if he would win her. If 
 he failed! He could not bear the 
 thought and drove it from him as if it 
 were a demon. But it kept coming 
 back, the uncertainty of Florence's love 
 filling him with uncertainty as to all 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 51 
 
 things. If he failed! And how much 
 depended upon his success, — yes, how 
 much! Did ever man have more at 
 stake? 
 
 First, there was Florence's love, and 
 aside from her love, how could he 
 marry unless he had something? Then 
 he had to have capital before he could 
 locate in Seattle, or any other city, to> 
 sustain him until he could get a start 
 in his profession. In addition to all 
 this, his mother had raised a hundred 
 dollars for him to start out, by an ad- 
 ditional mortgage on her home. The 
 money had not been easily obtained, for 
 lenders seemed to think it more than 
 the place could stand. That money was 
 a sacred trust, every cent to go as far 
 as possible, but already large inroads 
 had been made into it. Not only must 
 he have more money to replace this, 
 when gone, but he must pay it back 
 speedily to his mother. Her health had 
 been failing and she would need it. 
 Yes, a great deal depended upon his 
 making a success. Everything was 
 staked upon it. 
 
 Thus John thought as he sped along 
 
52 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 that night, the next day, and the next 
 night. 
 
 Arriving in Denver, he remained 
 only an hour, expecting to return to that 
 city a few weeks later. He thought it 
 advisable to start in one of the smaller 
 towns before attempting the city. After 
 he had thoroughly learned the work 
 himself in a smaller place, his plan was 
 to go to Denver where he would en- 
 gage a force of men, and start up in the 
 business in the way it had been carried 
 on in cities in the East. 
 
 The first train landed him, late 
 Saturday afternoon, dusty, dirty and 
 tired, in the pleasant little town of 
 Greeley. He was an absolute stranger 
 in the place and felt he was a long way 
 from home. Walking up the street, he 
 enquired for a moderate-priced board- 
 ing place, being desirous of keeping ex- 
 penses down as much as possible. No 
 one knew of any, and answers seemed 
 rather short. Finally a gentleman di- 
 rected him to a house. He had some 
 difficulty in finding it, and in making 
 the landlady leave her work in the 
 kitchen to come to the door. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 53 
 
 "I was directed here as a good board- 
 ing place," said John, politely. "What 
 are your rates?" 
 
 "Seven dollars per week," said she, 
 looking him over with close scrutiny. 
 
 John thought this high. It was only 
 three at home. 
 
 "But," said the lady, "we're full. 
 Can't take any more in." 
 
 John asked her to direct him to an- 
 other place. She appeared impatient 
 to take the time for this and closed the 
 door on him as soon as she could. It 
 was the same at the other place, and 
 every place he went. Landladies 
 seemed indifferent and the world cold 
 and inhospitable. He had not ex- 
 pected the least difficulty in finding the 
 right-priced boarding place. It would 
 have been easy enough at home. It was 
 now getting dark and he was obliged to 
 go to the hotel where the best rate he 
 could obtain was ten dollars a week. 
 Already things were turning out far 
 differently from what he had an- 
 ticipated. 
 
 He spent Sunday lounging about the 
 hotel office, obtaining information from 
 
54 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 the clerk concerning the residents of 
 the town, going to church, and, in the 
 afternoon, walking about the place to 
 survey the field. He felt a slight sense 
 of fear in being in a strange place, 
 obliged to deal with strangers ; and was 
 nervous as to the outcome. Bright and 
 early Monday, however, he started out 
 boldly, and made his first knock at the 
 door of a prominent doctor. 
 
 What was to be the result of this first 
 attempt, — what of the day? So much 
 depended upon it, — yes, so much. As 
 he stood at the door his heart beat 
 violently, but after he had made a few 
 calls, he would get over that. 
 
 The doctor was eating his breakfast; 
 he should call later, the servant in- 
 formed him. In response to his second 
 call, the doctor himself appeared at the 
 door. His quick glance discovered 
 that John was an agent. 
 
 "I have a patient now. Call in an 
 hour or two," said he, abruptly shutting 
 the door. 
 
 When John called the third time, the 
 doctor barely stuck his head out the 
 door. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 55 
 
 "What do you. want to see me about? 
 What have you ?" 
 
 ''The Encyclopedia Britannica." 
 
 "I have an Encyclopedia, and don't 
 want another. You are just wasting 
 your time and my time calling here so 
 often. I'm bothered to death with 
 agents." Saying which, he slammed 
 the door in John's face. 
 
 John was very sensitive by nature and 
 the slightest coldness repulsed him. 
 An insult of any kind cut him to the 
 quick, and having been doubtful and 
 uncertain as to the outcome, this was 
 sufficient to throw the scale against him 
 and completely undo him. So he was 
 obliged to go to his hotel, his sensitive 
 nature so stung that it was absolutely 
 impossible for him to muster up 
 sufficient courage to call on, and solicit, 
 another man that day. And so it went, 
 day after day, for two weeks, expenses 
 going on heavily all the time. 
 • How different the reality from the 
 dream ! Where he had thought only of 
 a handsomely furnished office,, a 
 flourishing and highly respectable busi- 
 ness, he found himself • a common, 
 
56 HIS BETTER SELF. 
 
 ordinary agent, subject to the coldness 
 and indifference of an inhospitable 
 world, unnerved by sensitiveness and 
 embarrassment, and lacking the 
 courage to break through the icy front 
 and wring from it success. And where 
 he had expected everybody to have 
 plenty of money, ready to jump at his 
 proposition and purchase with ease, 
 nearly all were indifferent, few could 
 purchase at all, and those who could 
 had an Encyclopedia of some sort with 
 which they were satisfied. He man- 
 aged, however, to take two orders, 
 which meant thirty dollars for him; 
 but it would be some time before the 
 commission would be available. 
 
 "Two orders ! What's that? Scarcely 
 enough to pay expenses," John mused, 
 as he sat in his room one evening at 
 twilight, greatly discouraged, and feel- 
 ing that the undertaking had been a 
 failure. "And I had the greatest diffi- 
 culty in securing them. Two orders in 
 two weeks ! That's quite different from 
 what I expected. And it is impossible 
 for me to secure another order in the 
 town. The business is a failure; my 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 57 
 
 cash is running short; I don't know 
 whether to continue in the work; and 
 if I should, what place to try next." 
 
 As John thus gave expression to the 
 gloomy thoughts that filled him, he saw 
 a man in the room, sitting in a chair at 
 the open window, as clearly and 
 distinctly as any flesh and blood he had 
 beheld in his life. As he looked upon 
 his visitor, he was not much impressed 
 with the low, receding forehead, the 
 small, bald head, the deep set eyes 
 overhung with heavy, bushy brows, and 
 the large, broad nose. The face seemed 
 to run to nose, mouth and chin. He was 
 anything but handsome, and John 
 thought there could not be much in so 
 small a head. In this, however, he 
 was much mistaken, and had he been 
 a better reader of character, he would 
 have seen that the face was that of a 
 practical man of the world, with broad 
 views, fine powers of observation, 
 sound judgment, combined with an un- 
 usual gift of that highest of all mental 
 faculties, plain common sense. Upon 
 his face, which wore a kindly, fatherly 
 expression, was a slight knowing smile, 
 
58 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 as if he had always known John, and 
 how things would turn out with him. 
 
 "Well, my boy," he said, with arched 
 brows, peering over the top of a pair 
 of gold nose-glasses, as John looked at 
 him expectantly, "this is a little bit dif- 
 ferent from what you expected. You 
 are now taking your first steps in life, 
 of which you dreamed beautiful 
 dreams; but as to how to fight the 
 actual fight you knew nothing. While 
 you have spent several years in special 
 training, yet you are like any other be- 
 ginner and need to learn from bitter ex- 
 perience some of the things your books 
 have failed to teach you. 'Experience,' 
 it is said, 'keepeth a dear school, but 
 fools will learn in no other;' but I 
 would say, a wise man profiteth from 
 the experiences of himself and others, 
 but a fool profiteth from nothing. 
 
 "You do not desire to be a fool of 
 either sort. Then listen ! Things have 
 turned out the very opposite from what 
 you had planned and imagined. Thus 
 it is, my boy. 'Not everything which 
 fair doth show, when proof is made 
 will turn out so.' It is the unexpected 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 59 
 
 that generally happens; for, 'though 
 man proposes, God disposes.' Yes, 
 there is one thing you can always look 
 for in this world — the unexpected ; and 
 that man attains his object who meets 
 with, grapples with, and overcomes the 
 unexpected, whenever it happens. 
 
 "Then you have been in fear and 
 doubt as to the outcome, the very mood 
 that invites failure and defeat. Who is 
 in doubt, who is uncertain, seldom 
 wins. It requires faith, — faith strong, 
 abiding and unflinching; faith that 
 never gives up, never dies, never 
 wavers; faith that accepts no defeat; 
 faith that you can and will, and 
 that things are going to be, to meet and 
 overcome the unexpected and surmount 
 the disagreeable and difficult." 
 
 "Seems to know all about it," com- 
 mented John to himself as his visitor 
 pulled out his handkerchief, removed 
 his glasses and commenced to clean 
 them. Then addressing his caller: 
 
 "To whom am I indebted for the 
 honor of this presence and so much 
 worldly instruction ?" 
 
 "I am Just — " here the man turned 
 
60 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 around, held up the glasses for inspec- 
 tion in the fading light coming in the 
 window. The glasses, the hand that 
 held them, the man, his actions, move- 
 ments, were as natural and real as John 
 himself. 
 
 "Ah, Justice ? Of the Su- 
 preme Court, of course," said John. 
 
 "No, not Justice; but plain Just, — 
 Just Sense." 
 
 "An odd name," said John. 
 
 "Don't bother about the name; a 
 name is nothing. The question is, what 
 is your difficulty? For another thing, 
 you have attempted to accomplish too 
 great things before testing your powers 
 and learning your way. And because 
 you had expected so much, yOu are dis- 
 satisfied, disappointed, and discouraged 
 with having achieved a little, — a little, 
 but good enough for a beginning. 
 'Never despise the day of small begin- 
 nings,' my lad. Remember that 'a 
 journey of a thousand miles is begun 
 with a step ;' and 'Things to their best 
 perfection come not all at once, but 
 some and then some.' No, you should 
 not have expected so much. 'Expecta- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 61 
 
 tion is the fool's income,' and great ex- 
 pectations only lead to great dis- 
 appointments. 'Don't gaze at the stars 
 and fall into the ditch.' Aim above 
 you, but within your reach. 
 
 "Now you had made up your mind to 
 be as rich in two years as you could 
 have hoped to be in a lifetime, hadn't 
 you ? There's another trouble, my boy. 
 'Don't expect to be rich as easy as you 
 jump a ditch.' 'There is no short road 
 to success.' Then, besides, 'a short cut 
 is often the longest way.' In any under- 
 taking, thoroughly test your powers 
 and abilities before plunging in where 
 you can't get out. In other words, 
 'learn to creep before you leap.' Bear 
 in mind that 'small beginnings may 
 have great endings,' but 'who will go 
 far, must not go fast;' for 'the more 
 haste, the worst speed.' 
 
 "Therefore, my son, be not in haste. 
 Don't try to reach the goal on a gallop ; 
 for new beginners soon get out 
 of breath. Proceed carefully and 
 cautiously. Feel your way, step by 
 step, thoroughly testing your powers, 
 thoroughly learning your strength as 
 
62 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 you advance. Stand fast! Stand firm! 
 Stand sure at each step taken. 'Stability 
 is ability.' And be sure to be the master 
 of each position assumed before ad- 
 vancing to the next. Take time to 
 master things. Take time to find but 
 what you can do. And only as you suc- 
 ceed in smaller things, advance to 
 greater ones. Thus try to achieve suc- 
 cess — 'one step at a time, if upward 
 you would climb;' but not in a rush, 
 not altogether, and not all at once." 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 John sat in his room wondering over 
 this second "appearance," and contem- 
 plating the words spoken. It had not 
 been caused by a sleeping powder this 
 time. He accepted it as a hallucina- 
 tion, a form of insanity, with which he 
 thought the injury to his head had 
 something to do. 
 
 As before, he thought not so much 
 of the cause as of what had been said. 
 This was the most astonishing part of 
 the whole thing. How had such ap- 
 propriate and sensible words been 
 spoken to him? But he was in no place 
 or mood to attempt to solve the mystery, 
 and so his thoughts turned to what had 
 been said. Yes, Just Sense was right; 
 he had attempted to get rich too fast. 
 He should have been satisfied with less. 
 'Thoroughly test your powers before 
 plunging in.' That was the very thing 
 he had attempted to do, — to master the 
 business at Greeley before proceeding 
 to Denver. But the place was too small ; 
 there was not sufficient competition 
 
 €3 
 
64 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 among merchants to get the coupons 
 working. He decided to go to Chey- 
 enne where there would be this strong 
 competition. The coupons would sell 
 the books. 
 
 Before leaving the next morning he 
 received a letter from Florence: "I 
 have accepted a position in the Tacoma 
 schools and will leave for there via 
 Northern Pacific route to-morrow. 
 Could not bear the thought of remain- 
 ing idle two years. I am to be special 
 instructor in my old favorite, German. 
 Will send you my address later." 
 
 This was quite a surprise for John, 
 but on the whole, it pleased him much. 
 For one thing, Florence would be out 
 of reach of Bowen, and he would stand 
 an equal chance in that respect. For 
 another, having cut out the State of 
 Colorado, John himself would be in 
 Tacoma in a year's time, with all the 
 advantage of his personal presence to 
 advance his suit. So, hope revived, he 
 felt confident of succeeding with his 
 book project in larger cities, and in this 
 mood arrived that day in Cheyenne. 
 
 He went to work at once and sue- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 65 
 
 ceeded in getting a merchant in each 
 line to grant a ten per cent, discount on 
 cash purchases, which discount was to 
 be represented by coupons the customer 
 was to use in payment for the books. 
 Everything was working fine. He 
 could now go among the people and 
 tell them they could obtain the work 
 for nothing. All they had to do was 
 to trade with certain merchants — the 
 best in town — who gave the work 
 away as a premium for paying cash. 
 
 But after he had been in the town 
 ten days and had not obtained a single 
 order, for nobody seemed to have any 
 money, and John could see that the 
 place was dead, the sheep men having 
 met with heavy losses a few years be- 
 fore from which the city had not yet re- 
 covered, fine stone residences being 
 abandoned and vacant, and a lone street 
 car, always empty, drawn by a lone 
 mule, passing through the streets only 
 once an hour to keep the franchise 
 alive, — after he had been in the place 
 ten days and seen all this, he observed 
 one morning on the streets unusually 
 active clerks and merchants from all 
 
66 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 the stores running about and calling 
 upon each other, with papers and small 
 account books in hand. 
 
 "What. are they doing?" he asked of 
 a bystander. 
 
 "Making their monthly settlements." 
 
 "How's that?" 
 
 "They all trade with each other, and 
 at the end of the month make settle- 
 ments. If any balance is due, they give 
 credit, or charge themselves, and the 
 thing is ended." 
 
 "Doesn't anybody pay cash?" 
 
 "There isn't a merchant in the town 
 who has any cash business to speak of." 
 
 John turned on his heel and walked 
 down the street. 
 
 "Well, no wonder the coupons won't 
 work! And no wonder the merchants 
 jumped at my proposition. It's easy 
 enough to see through the whole thing. 
 But people can't pay cash when there is 
 no cash. Faith and determination are 
 all right: but success under the circum- 
 stances is simply impossible." 
 
 This being the situation, after the 
 first week John reached Cheyenne, he 
 was gloomy and discouraged. Some 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 67 
 
 days he was able to put in only an 
 hour's time ; other days, none at all, for 
 he had to struggle constantly with 
 sensitiveness, embarrassment, and dis- 
 couragement, which wholly undid 
 him. He kept on, however, fighting a 
 losing fight for ten days. Then he 
 thought he had better go to Salt Lake 
 City. It was a larger place and pros- 
 perous. He had about forty dollars ; it 
 took twenty-five of this for a ticket. 
 
 The ride on the train to Salt Lake 
 was a relief. For the time being, he 
 was free from care, and enjoyed him- 
 self like other people. Arrived in the 
 city, John at once fell in love with it. 
 Indeed, he did so with every city he 
 visited. Walking up past the great 
 Mormon Temples, surrounded by high 
 walls, an air of mystery about them, 
 while a street organ filled the air with 
 lively strains, he was filled with that 
 feeling of wonder and mystery that fills 
 the small boy standing without the 
 wonders of a dime museum. He en- 
 joyed the sensation, but soon his 
 thoughts turned to Joseph Smith and 
 others of that type, men who lived 
 
68 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 strange dual lives, apparently the same 
 as other men, in contact with and deal- 
 ing with a common, prosaic world, yet 
 possessing a world of their own full 
 of hallucinations and visions of the 
 most wonderful kind. Was it insanity 
 or not? It had not been so regarded. 
 By far the most noted character of this 
 kind was Joan of Arc. And while she 
 lived several hundred years ago, there 
 are characters of that type in present 
 times. Man has been the same man, 
 woman the same woman for ages, and 
 the visioned temperament is no more 
 extinct than the poetic, or artistic. 
 Since Joan, no one has achieved suffi- 
 cient prominence to call the world's 
 attention to this side of mankind, and 
 while she may have possessed this 
 temperament to an unequal degree, the 
 number of people who have possessed 
 it since her time, and now possess it, in 
 some degree, are not a few. Was he 
 right in placing himself in the same 
 class? Thus John meditated the first 
 day he was in the city and while getting 
 settled was very anxious to come to a 
 correct understanding of his own case. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 69 
 
 The history of Joan of Arc would 
 doubtless throw much light upon the 
 subject and he was eager to re-inform 
 himself concerning the cause of her 
 visions to discover if he could find an 
 explanation of his own. So early the 
 next morning he hunted up a public 
 library. The Britannica was good au- 
 thority; he would see what it said. 
 After finding the right volume he soon 
 became intensely interested in reading 
 a short sketch of her life. The follow- 
 ing seemed to explain the whole mat- 
 ter in a sentence : 
 
 "Owing to a peculiarity in her 
 nervous constitution, her own thought 
 and hopes seemed to take audible voice 
 and. returned to her as assurances and 
 commands spoken by the saints." 
 
 Just his own case, exactly, he 
 thought; his own thoughts took audible 
 voice and he heard them as the voices 
 of others ; only, he thought, he possessed 
 the nervous peculiarity in a mild form, 
 naturally, and that it would never have 
 amounted to more than an occasional 
 hallucination, such as he had in boy- 
 hood, were it not for the injury to his 
 
70 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 head. The slight skull depression in 
 some way at times abnormally stimu- 
 lated or agitated a nerve center. 
 
 He next consulted Michelet's His- 
 tory of France and there read : 
 
 "The young girl created, so to speak, 
 unconsciously, and realized her own 
 ideas, endowing them with being, and 
 imparting to them, out of the strength 
 of her original vitality, such splendid 
 and all powerful existence that they 
 threw into the shade the wretched 
 realities of this world. If poetry mean 
 creation, this undoubtedly is the high- 
 est poetry." 
 
 "So! I am a poet!" exclaimed John. 
 "If not the great poet Joan was, still a 
 poet of some sort." The thought filled 
 him with pleasure and pride. 
 
 He consulted other authorities. 
 None questioned but what Joan saw 
 figures and heard voices, that she had 
 been perfectly sincere in all her claims, 
 and had believed she saw real arch- 
 angels and saints. John did not wonder 
 at this, for the figures he saw were as 
 real as any flesh and blood he had ever 
 beheld. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 71 
 
 He had observed in his own case, that 
 the characters seen in his visions had 
 made free use of the proverb. This 
 was easily accounted for, because it was 
 a characteristic in himself. The vision- 
 ist, he reasoned, puts his own character- 
 istics into the vision, just as the artist 
 puts his into his painting, the poet his 
 into his poem. Hence it was natural for 
 his characters to use this form of 
 speech, as it was natural for Joan to see 
 constantly troops of angels and saints. 
 He had always been a great lover of the 
 proverb and at one time had started to 
 make a collection. But the strange 
 thing was this : in his ordinary state he 
 could scarcely recall a single one. 
 Picked up here and there in the course 
 of a lifetime of reading, they had all 
 been sto'red in his mind somewhere ; but 
 that they should be turned loose only 
 while in these extraordinary moods 
 was strange indeed. Yet he had only 
 to follow the same line of reasoning to 
 satisfy himself on this point also, which 
 he finally succeeded in doing. While 
 in these moods, his imagination became 
 so vivid that he saw the visible form of 
 
72 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 the thing imagined before his own eyes ; 
 likewise, while in these moods, his 
 memory became so vivid as to recall 
 and make use of things long ago for- 
 gotten. Hence, the proverbs came with 
 a freshness and originality, as if he had 
 heard them for the first time. 
 
 All that he read confirmed him in his 
 opinion that this was the only sensible 
 and reasonable solution of his own case. 
 
 He wondered whether he would con- 
 tinue to have these experiences. Per- 
 haps it had ended already. He would 
 not object, however, to it going on. He 
 had not long to give much thought as 
 to what would or would not happen in 
 this direction, for he was much more 
 greatly concerned in other directions. 
 Already he had spent several days in 
 the city and had not attempted to do 
 anything. His period of inactivity in- 
 creased his sensitiveness and embarrass- 
 ment. The longer he delayed making 
 a start, the more difficult it became. He 
 made a few spasmodic efforts, but 
 everybody either had an Encyclopedia 
 of some sort, or had no money to pur- 
 chase. And so distasteful and disagree- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 73 
 
 able the work became to him that he 
 finally gave up altogether, and idled 
 about the city. It was an actual relief 
 to give up, but as he walked about he 
 constantly trembled at the thought of 
 running out of money, of being 
 stranded in a strange city, far from 
 friends and home. A crisis in his life 
 was rapidly approaching, and every 
 hour brought him nearer to it. Where 
 would he go? What would he do? 
 What would become of him? There 
 was no employment of any kind he 
 could get in the city. There was an 
 advertisement for men to work in coal 
 mines somewhere in the State. But 
 how could he get there, and if he could 
 reach the place, would a soft-muscled, 
 green hand stand any chance? No- 
 where could he turn, or move, to avoid 
 the impending fate. It was coming. 
 He could not escape. 
 
 At night he was gloomy and despon- 
 dent. He lay in bed until noon, some- 
 times, unable to get up for discourage- 
 ment. Finally, he ran out of money. 
 His landlady had agreed to wait an- 
 other week until he could receive the 
 
74 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 money from Chicago for the two sets of 
 books he had sold. The week rolled 
 around rapidly with no word from 
 Chicago. John prevailed upon his 
 landlady another week, but he knew 
 she would not indulge him longer. 
 This week rolled around as before with 
 no word, and he had reached the pre- 
 dicament he had so much dreaded, — 
 that of a young man in a strange city, 
 with no money, not knowing where to 
 turn, where to go, or what to do. 
 
 As he lay in bed, so disheartened he 
 could not get up, he said to himself: 
 
 "I never thought things would turn 
 out this bad. All my plans have failed ; 
 my little capital has disappeared; and 
 here I am, far from home, with not a 
 cent, and don't know where to get one. 
 Where will I go? What will I do? A 
 helpless little child may be abandoned 
 on the street and people will feed it 
 and care for it. The aged, the crippled, 
 the sick and helpless are taken care of. 
 But a young man in good health and 
 clothed well, who will help him? I 
 can't go about the city begging for 
 bread; I can't ask for assistance. Starve 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 75 
 
 rather! Die rather! This is a bitter 
 world. Ah! a bitter world. If I only 
 had some cave where I could go, I 
 would exclude myself and live away 
 from the world forever." 
 
 And his thoughts wandered out to 
 the mountains to some cave, some hole, 
 into which he could crawl. Then he 
 began to think of his life since leaving 
 home, the plans he had made, and his 
 bitter disappointment in them. 
 
 "Now what isjhe trouble with them? 
 What the difficulty? They were cer- 
 tainly reasonable, practicable, and not 
 out of the way. Others have been suc- 
 cessful in the very same thing, — but not 
 in this kind of a country; no, not in this 
 kind of a country. Conditions must be 
 favorable. No amount of faith and 
 determination can overcome the im- 
 possible. Why haven't I been able to 
 succeed? Why haven't I? Tell me 
 that, Just Sense! Tell me the real 
 reason! Struck the wrong territory; 
 everybody supplied; rest hard up — " 
 John stopped short, for there appeared 
 Mr. Just Sense before him, sitting on 
 the chair at the little stand, as cool and 
 
76 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 composed as if he had always been 
 there. 
 
 "No, that's not the reason," returned 
 Just Sense, gently and kindly with a 
 tender, fatherly interest in a face that 
 was surely real. And the neat gray 
 suit, — it was real, too, and the polished 
 boots, the bosom that breathed, the 
 hands that took off the gold glasses, as 
 before, to clean them, — all were real. 
 "No, that's not it," continued he. "But 
 thus it is too often with man; he seeks 
 an excuse for his failings and short- 
 comings, instead of trying to learn the 
 lesson that failure would teach. From 
 failure comes success, if one learns its 
 lesson aright; for by finding out what 
 has not, or will not succeed, we find out 
 best what will succeed. Thus failures 
 can be made the stepping stones to 
 future success, and in every failure, the 
 wise man seeks out and profits from 
 every cause that contributed thereto. 
 Neither is the cause of failure so often 
 in the place, nor in the thing, as in the 
 man himself. Your plans were reason- 
 able and practicable, 'tis true. Others 
 have succeeded with them, and you ask 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 77 
 
 why you have not been able to do the 
 same. 'What man has done, man can 
 do,' is also true. But not every man can 
 do it. The great thing is to learn your 
 limitations ; not what others can do, but 
 what can you do. But it is not strange 
 that you have not learned yours, for 
 you are young and inexperienced and 
 many a man of years and experience has 
 failed to learn his limits. Even the 
 great Napoleon failed to learn his : he 
 would not have been a prisoner and 
 exile, if he "had. But you must learn 
 your limits. 'A horse will not attempt 
 to fly, it knows its powers and so should 
 I.' 'Fools only attempt things beyond 
 their skill: a wise man's power is the 
 limit of his will.' It is easy enough to 
 see the success another makes; but the 
 dark and disagreeable side, the drudg- 
 ery, all the defeats and failures to be 
 overcome to reach that success are often 
 lost sight of ; so that many things which 
 seem easy to accomplish are not so 
 when attempted, and result in failure 
 for the lack of foresight to see the long 
 line of obstacles in the way, and lack 
 of courage, patience, perseverance, 
 
78 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 judgment, and, above all, determi- 
 nation to overcome those obstacles, 
 which qualities some possess for one 
 work, but not for another. You have 
 no love for this work; it is distasteful 
 to your nature; you will never succeed 
 in it. 'A man beyond his line is never 
 like to shine.' But be of good cheer. 
 Abide your time. In a work you love 
 truly well you will have the qualities 
 to succeed." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 There was some consolation in what 
 Just Sense had said. John felt justified 
 in having given up his work. But the 
 thing that was staring him in the face 
 was where to go and what to do. He 
 felt that he could not remain another 
 day with the landlady, and there was 
 no other place he could go, and nothing 
 he could do, in the city. He would 
 have to get out of town ; but how, and 
 where would he go? He had no money. 
 It takes money to live ; it takes money 
 to go anywhere. He might start out 
 and wander aimlessly about the 
 country, but how would he eat, and 
 where would he sleep? Winter had 
 already set in, and exposure, to him, 
 meant certain sickness, and probably 
 more. To go was as bad, if not worse, 
 than to remain. 
 
 He had arisen from his bed, dressed 
 himself, and was sitting in the chair 
 Just Sense had occupied. He pulled 
 out his watch ; it was ten o'clock. He 
 kept looking at the watch which he had 
 
 79 
 
80 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 purchased with the first money he had 
 earned teaching school, and in which 
 he had always taken much pride. He 
 had intended to keep it as a memento of 
 the first considerable amount of money 
 he had ever earned. 
 
 "I wonder if I can't raise some 
 money on this watch," he said. "I hate 
 to do it. Yes, I hate to do it, but there 
 is no other way." 
 
 He went down street and called at 
 several pawnbrokers. To his chagrin, 
 none wanted it; and one dismissed him 
 curtly, upon his persisting. 
 
 "That man seemed to look at me as 
 if I might be a thief. Can't even pawn 
 my watch. Well, it's true; I am a 
 stranger in the city; they think it may 
 have been stolen." 
 
 He then wandered aimlessly about 
 the streets, and after awhile passed a 
 ticket broker's. He passed the place 
 several times greatly puzzled how to 
 obtain a ticket. Finally, he mustered 
 up the courage to go in. 
 
 "What have you today?" he asked, 
 vividly conscious of the fact that he had 
 not a cent in his pocket. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 81 
 
 "What do you want? Where do you 
 want to go?" 
 
 "Nowhere, in particular." 
 
 "That place isn't on the map. I have 
 a ticket to Tacoma, though, I will sell 
 you cheap." 
 
 "Tacoma? How much?" asked 
 John, turning slightly pale despite him- 
 self, the name suddenly calling to mind 
 the fact that Florence was in that city. 
 
 "Twenty-five dollars." 
 
 "What else have you?" 
 
 "Chicago, forty-five dollars ; Helena, 
 thirty; New Orleans, sixty; Cheyenne, 
 twenty; Los Angeles, forty." 
 
 "Good day," said John. 
 
 "Good day," returned the broker. 
 
 John wandered about the streets an- 
 other hour in a deep study. Of all the 
 places mentioned, the name Tacoma 
 was staring out at him. He had an 
 uncle who had gone to Washington 
 three or four years ago. John had not 
 heard from him for a year, and scarcely 
 remembered the name of the place 
 where he lived, — Glenwood, he 
 thought it was, a suburb, or a place 
 very near Tacoma. If Florence were 
 
82 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 not at Tacoma he would not have hesi- 
 tated a moment. But to go there, to be 
 so near, a complete failure, — he knew 
 well enough what she would think of 
 that. How could he ever face her, and 
 how could he avoid letting his presence 
 being known ? 
 
 Then there was nothing for him at 
 his uncle's. He had always been a 
 poor man, unable to help himself much. 
 He would simply be going there to 
 have a shelter of some kind during the 
 winter. After all he had hoped and ex- 
 pected and intended to do, could it have 
 turned out any worse than that, — his 
 landing in the State of Washington 
 penniless, living off a poor relative? 
 Yet there seemed to be no other course. 
 He could not think of landing penni- 
 less in another and strange city; he was 
 too far from home to reach it, and pride 
 would not permit him to acknowledge 
 failure by returning there. Going to 
 his uncle would be the end of all his 
 plans and expectations of making 
 money, of starting up in his profession, 
 of marrying Florence, and the end of 
 her love, for she was a woman who 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 83 
 
 could never love a failure. And being 
 so near her, — the very idea filled him 
 with dread. Yet there was no other 
 course. 
 
 But he had not secured the ticket. 
 How in the world was he going to ob- 
 tain that? After another hour, John 
 called a second time at the broker's. 
 
 "How much do you ask for that 
 ticket to Tacoma?" 
 
 "Twenty-five dollars." 
 
 "I have an uncle living there and 
 want to go there, but I haven't any 
 money. I have thirty dollars due me, 
 though, from Chicago. I have been 
 looking for it every day, but it hasn't 
 come yet. Now if you will let me have 
 the ticket, I'll pay you just as soon as 
 I get the money, and I'm sure to get it." 
 
 "You'll be in Tacoma, and I'll be 
 here," said the broker, "and you are a 
 stranger to me." 
 
 "Well, I have a good watch here. 
 I'll put that up. You can hold it until 
 I send you the money." 
 
 The broker took the watch, quickly 
 examining it, inside and out. 
 
 "It's not sufficient security." 
 
84 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "How much is it worth?" 
 
 "Ten dollars." 
 
 "Ten dollars!" exclaimed John. "I 
 paid forty for it." 
 
 "That makes no difference, ten is all 
 it's worth, second hand." 
 
 "I have a trunk of good clothes at 
 my room. I will put that up, also," 
 said John. "You can send a man around 
 to examine it." * 
 
 As the ticket was running out, with 
 doubtless little prospect of disposing 
 of it otherwise, the broker agreed. 
 After the trunk had been examined 
 and contents approved, John called 
 again on the broker. 
 
 "I'll have to have a little money to 
 get the trunk around here," said he. 
 
 "Haven't you any money at all?" 
 
 "Not a cent," replied John. The 
 broker felt in his pocket. "And while 
 you're at it," said John, "I'll have to 
 have something to eat on the road." 
 
 "Well, here's a dollar; that's all I 
 care to invest." 
 
 John procured a drayman whom he 
 assisted down the stairway with the 
 trunk. While they were in the hall- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 85 
 
 way, the landlady with her husband, 
 whom John had not seen before, sud- 
 denly appeared. The husband was 
 greatly excited and much determined. 
 
 "Put that trunk down ! Put it down ! 
 Don't move it an inch farther," he 
 shouted. 
 
 John was filled with the greatest 
 consternation. Never, in all his life, 
 had he been in such a predicament. 
 
 "Don't move it an inch!" the man 
 shouted again. "If you do, I'll call an 
 officer, and have you arrested for beat- 
 ing a bill." 
 
 John's consternation knew no bounds. 
 It looked as if his plans had been foiled, 
 and that he would not be able to get 
 away from the city. The only thing he 
 could do was to reason with the man, 
 and this he did as well as his excitement 
 would permit. 
 
 "I have no intention of beating you 
 out of what I owe you," he said. "I 
 explained to your wife that I would 
 send her the money, as soon as I re- 
 ceived what was coming to me from 
 Chicago ; that I only wished to remove 
 the trunk to a broker's. I have to do 
 
86 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 this to get out of town ; I can't stay 
 here, and I supposed she had con- 
 sented." 
 
 "Well,'.' said the man, relenting; "if 
 the trunk is going to a broker, it can 
 go. That, alone, is bad enough luck 
 for any man." 
 
 After John was on the train, he 
 reached in his pocket and pulled out 
 fifty cents. That was the five thousand 
 dollars he was to have had, when he 
 would leave Salt Lake. And, if his 
 watch and his clothes were not in pawn, 
 he would not have had that. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 After John had been on the train a 
 day, he began to feel that he was taking 
 a big leap, and a hazardous one, in 
 making a trip of one thousand miles 
 through a barren and desolate country, 
 to reach an uncle from whom he had 
 not heard for a year, who might be 
 dead for all he knew, or removed from 
 the place where he had lived. He was 
 not even sure of the name of the place. 
 Then the thought that every mile he 
 traveled was bringing him into the very 
 presence of Florence made his heart 
 beat rapidly all the way. Under no 
 circumstances would he see her. He 
 was relieved of the one anxiety upon 
 arrival at Portland where he ran across 
 a man at the railroad station, who knew 
 his uncle, saying he was living at Glen- 
 wood when he last heard of him. This 
 was a great relief ; for it was, in fact, a 
 hazardous undertaking. 
 
 Arrived in Tacoma, John hurried 
 through the town, having just a nickel 
 left to pay his fare on the electric car 
 
 87 
 
88 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 that ran, every two hours, out to Glen- 
 wood, a little place that styled itself a 
 suburb, though it was several miles 
 from the city. 
 
 John took a dislike to the place as 
 soon as he set eyes upon it. As he 
 looked about him, after he had alighted 
 from the car, he thought he could not 
 have struck a more desolate looking 
 place in the whole country. The few 
 people that got off the car soon dis- 
 appeared, and not a man, horse or dog, 
 was in sight. Near by was a new, 
 three-story hotel, furnished, but closed. 
 A glance down the main street revealed 
 a few scattered business rooms all of 
 which appeared to be empty. The 
 place had been laid out to contain sev- 
 eral thousand inhabitants, but the few 
 houses, scattered here and there on 
 what was intended to be streets, indi- 
 cated a population of about one hun- 
 dred. It was quite plain that it was one 
 of the new boom towns, several of 
 which John had noticed since entering 
 the State ; only this one was worse and 
 more desolate than any he had seen. 
 Which way to go to find his uncle he 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 89 
 
 could only guess. So he started down 
 the main street which apparently had 
 not been used by vehicles for some 
 time, picking his way along a footpath. 
 At the far end he found a building that 
 appeared to be occupied. Entering, he 
 found it to be a saloon containing an 
 old dingy bar, a worn-out billiard 
 table, and a number of card tables at 
 which groups of men sat smoking and 
 playing. John enquired for his uncle, 
 whereupon all conversation stopped 
 and everyone turned to look at him. 
 The faces he saw were gloomy and de- 
 jected. John's uncle was at one of the 
 tables. He came forward and sur- 
 veyed him with great astonishment. 
 
 "What! This you, Andrew?" he 
 said at last, a faint smile lighting his 
 face. "Whatever brought you to this 
 God forsaken country?" 
 
 Recovering from his surprise, the 
 uncle was glad to see him, and learning 
 that John had had no breakfast, started 
 out with him to his place of abode. 
 
 "Whatever put you in the notion of 
 coming out here? he asked several 
 times. "If I had only known it I would 
 
90 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 have warned you not to come. I never 
 saw such hard times; never thought it 
 possible they could be so bad. Not a 
 man in the place has done a lick for 
 months, — with the exception of me. 
 I've made a few dollars buying hides; 
 lots of cattle around here. And it's the 
 same all over the State, — dead as dead 
 can be." 
 
 Though neither of them knew it, it 
 was the beginning of the panic of 1893, 
 which seemed to John to have com- 
 menced in the West and was at its worst 
 there, a fact he learned later, then 
 moved eastward until it enveloped the 
 whole country. 
 
 John was wondering in what kind 
 of a place his uncle lived. They had 
 passed two or three small, but neat and 
 cozy houses, and were now approach- 
 ing the last one which John made up 
 his mind must be the place, when, to 
 his great disappointment, his uncle 
 stopped abruptly at a small, dingy 
 shanty, and proceeded to unlock the 
 door. 
 
 "Here, this is my shack. Come in!" 
 
 John entered with downcast heart. A 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 91 
 
 better name would have been a shell, 
 for it was but the shell of a house. It 
 consisted of one room built of plain, 
 rough boards, unpainted and unplas- 
 tered, with low, flat roof, one small, 
 dingy window, and a door. Inside was 
 an old rusty cook stove, near which, in a 
 corner, were some rough board shelves 
 upon which were kept a few dishes and 
 cooking utensils. In another corner, on 
 the floor, was an old mattress which 
 answered the purpose of bed. A table 
 made of rough boards and a couple of 
 old chairs completed the furnishings. 
 The roof leaked, which explained the 
 rusty stove, and a canvas hung over the 
 bed to keep it dry. The place was 
 damp, dirty, dingy, with a greasy odor, 
 — hardly fit for a cow stable, but in the 
 West people live in such places. Such 
 was the place John had entered and 
 told to make himself at "home." 
 
 John's uncle was a widower, and 
 lived alone, so he was glad to have him 
 for company, and to help cook the 
 meals. He was away much of the 
 time, buying hides, leaving John to 
 himself, plentifully supplied with food. 
 
92 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 But it was more than food that John 
 wanted and needed. His life, now, was 
 one of extreme monotony and dullness. 
 After he had arisen in the morning, 
 had cooked and eaten his breakfast, 
 there was nothing for him to do, no 
 place for him to go except to the saloon, 
 where a crowd of men loafed con- 
 stantly, killing time by playing cards, 
 not cards for "drinks," for none had 
 the money for this. What had he be- 
 come? A regular, low down, — these 
 are the words he used to himself — 
 saloon loafer! What if Florence should 
 come out and discover him, spending 
 all his time in a saloon and living in 
 such a miserable hovel ? She might do 
 so; people often came out to the place 
 from Tacoma. He closely scanned 
 every woman at a distance and was 
 filled with constant dread, as much so 
 as if he were avoiding detectives. 
 
 Then time hung heavily upon his 
 hands, and a heavy gloom settled upon 
 him that seldom left him. The life was 
 the same every day, no change Sundays, 
 no change any day. It was always the 
 same, — always the same ; nothing to do, 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 93 
 
 day in and day out; nothing to do, 
 month in and month out. Time be- 
 came a heavy and wearisome burden, 
 to be disposed of moment by moment. 
 There was nothing to do, — only "cards" 
 which palled upon him. It was the 
 same with nearly every man who lived 
 in the place. The crowd that collected 
 in the saloon to play cards was a de- 
 jected one; it seldom smiled; it rarely 
 laughed. Nobody had any work and 
 everybody was short of cash. As for 
 himself, he never had a cent. He re- 
 ceived fifteen dollars from Chicago, 
 one of his orders having been cancelled. 
 With this money, he redeemed his 
 trunk; the watch had to go. 
 
 Thus John passed' the winter; and so 
 heavy was time upon his hands, it 
 seemed it would never end. He fell 
 into the habit of lying in bed until 
 about eleven o'clock every morning. 
 When he awoke, he would fall into a 
 dreamy state, free from gloom ; to break 
 this spell and to get up required great 
 effort. He seldom joined the men until 
 after dinner; but, even then, the day 
 was all too long for him. 
 
94 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 When he would return to his miser- 
 able shack, often the night so black he 
 could scarcely find the way, he would 
 get down on his knees, and in an agony 
 of despair, pray God to take him away 
 from that place, and give him employ- 
 ment of some kind, — he did not care 
 what — and make his life of some use 
 and worth. John had never been a 
 praying man, having great difficulty in 
 believing in God and a hereafter, and 
 he prayed now, because in the depths 
 of his extremity, his despair, and help- 
 lessness, he was obliged to turn to some 
 source for help. He was honest about 
 the matter, though ; he tried to believe. 
 There is no distress of soul so great as 
 that of the unbelieving man trying to 
 believe, trying to pray for help. 
 
 His supplications were followed, one 
 afternoon, by his going into Tacoma 
 and trying to get into some law office 
 as clerk. He called upon a number of 
 prominent attorneys, but there not be- 
 ing the least chance, he walked out of 
 the last office more discouraged than 
 ever. There seemed to be no hope for 
 him. It was about five o'clock. When 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 95 
 
 he arrived at the place to take the 
 Glenwood car, he found it had just 
 gone. This meant another two hours in 
 town. It was getting quite dark and 
 the streets were crowded with people 
 going home. 
 
 Notwithstanding the great dread 
 John experienced the whole winter of 
 seeing Florence, of her discovering the 
 fact that he was living such a useless 
 and disgraceful life, in such miserable 
 quarters at Glenwood, he was often 
 filled with an almost irresistible im- 
 pulse to go to see her. It had been a 
 great trial to live so near her and 
 wholly deny himself the pleasure of her 
 society. Why had he thus denied him- 
 self? It was simply pride: fear that 
 should he appear, Florence would at 
 once discover all, and that it would be 
 the end of her love and respect for him. 
 He wanted to see her, he longed to see 
 her every day; but this burning desire 
 of his heart had been restrained by the 
 dread of his failure and disgrace being 
 discovered. 
 
 He had been tempted several times 
 to go into Tacoma after night, pass the 
 
96 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 house where Florence was stopping, 
 with the hope of a glimpse of her at a 
 safe distance. She was boarding with 
 a private family. He knew her street; 
 he knew her number. In fact, he ha'd 
 a dozen letters in his pocket that 
 moment, one which he had received 
 recently; for he had corresponded with 
 her the whole winter, sending his let- 
 ters to Salt Lake City to be postmarked 
 there, while her letters were forwarded 
 to him from that place. 
 
 As he wandered about the streets, 
 waiting for the next Glenwood car, 
 prospects more gloomy and hopeless 
 than ever, he thought he might have 
 one small pleasure, that of passing the 
 house where Florence lived with the 
 hope of getting at least a glimpse of her 
 at a window. He did not know when 
 he would be in town again, and before 
 returning to the gloom and hopeless- 
 ness of the life at Glenwood, of which 
 he could see no end, if he ever expected 
 to see her, he had better try to do so 
 now. 
 
 The house was some distance from 
 the business district and it was with a 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 97 
 
 loudly thumping heart John at last dis- 
 covered the place, being enabled to 
 read the number at a certain angle by 
 the reflection from the electric light on 
 the corner. The front windows were 
 lighted, the blinds were down, and on 
 one of them was the figure of a woman, 
 sitting at a table. He was sure it was 
 Florence. The outline of the head and 
 shoulders, the way the hair was dressed, 
 were too well known to him. 
 
 He stood a long time with eyes 
 riveted upon the shadow, with heart 
 beating quickly all the time. Then he 
 was seized by an irresistible impluse to 
 walk up to the door, knock, take her by 
 surprise and after that — he called to 
 mind some of the love scenes of old. 
 Before he was aware, he had walked 
 up the first flight of steps into the yard, 
 but here he was seized with the old 
 dread. If he went in, Florence was 
 sure to find out all about him, where he 
 was living and how, and as his life at 
 Glenwood flashed before him, he knew 
 Florence's knowledge of it would end 
 all between them. Yet the desire to see 
 her all but overcame him. So violent 
 
 7 
 
98 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 was the struggle within between this 
 desire and this dread that his move- 
 ments became mechanical, the dread 
 seeming for the most part to prevail. 
 He crept stealthily up to the porch, then 
 upon it, trying to see into the room at 
 the side of the blind. The shadow on 
 the blind moved. John had made a 
 little noise; Florence had doubtless 
 heard it; she must be looking at the 
 window. He stood motionless, his 
 whole being turned into heart beats. 
 He succeeded finally in getting off the 
 porch and around the side of the house. 
 He then prowled about the house; 
 three times crept stealthily up to the 
 door; three times raised his hand to 
 knock, and as many times crept stealth- 
 ily away. How long a time John 
 spent in this sort of thing he did not 
 realize; neither did he hardly realize 
 what he was doing. The whole thing 
 was foolish, but what man in love has 
 never committed a foolish thing? As 
 he was stealing away from the door the 
 third time, he observed a man walking 
 rapidly toward the steps which he 
 started to ascend. He was coming in. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 99 
 
 John saw that he was caught. It 
 would be folly to run around the house. 
 The best way out would be to walk 
 boldly down the steps into the street as 
 if he had just come out of the house. 
 But as he passed the man coming in, 
 the man seized him, saying: 
 
 "Here, I want you! I've seen you 
 prowling about this house for an hour 
 now. Come with me!" and John saw 
 that it was a policeman. 
 
 John made some resistance, and 
 while this was going on, the door of the 
 house opened, a woman appeared, and 
 a voice called out: 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 It was Florence's voice. John turned 
 his face in the opposite direction, his 
 cheeks burning as with fire. 
 
 "This man has been prowling about 
 your house for the last hour." 
 
 "I thought I heard some one," said 
 Florence. 
 
 "Will you appear at the police sta- 
 tion to-morrow morning at eight?" 
 
 "I can, if necessary." 
 
 John now made no more resistance. 
 He wanted to get away as quickly as 
 
100 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 possible. He had the policeman be- 
 tween himself and Florence, and in this 
 position they went down the steps and 
 up the sidewalk, and the door closed. 
 It was a square and a half to the patrol 
 box. What? Face Florence in a police 
 court? Never! 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 John had committed no crime; but 
 the fact that he was arrested at all, that 
 he would have to pass the night in a 
 prison cell, that he would have to face 
 Florence in police court in the morn- 
 ing, possessed as great terrors for him 
 as if he had committed the most heinous 
 crime. He arrived at the police station 
 in a sort of stupor. 
 
 "What's the name?" asked the chief, 
 as John and the officer stood before 
 him. 
 
 John hesitated a moment, debating 
 whether to give a fictitious or his real 
 name. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" asked the chief. 
 
 "J. Downey," answered he in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "What is the charge?" asked the 
 chief, writing the name in a book. 
 
 "Suspicious character," replied the 
 officer. 
 
 "Cell number nine," announced the 
 chief. 
 
 The officer took hold of John's arm. 
 
 101 
 
102 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "Wait a moment," said John. "I 
 want to say a word in explanation. I 
 have never been arrested in all my life ; 
 I have never been behind the bars, and 
 I don't want to be now. I have com- 
 mitted no crime. I've been foolish, 
 acted silly, that's all. As to being a 
 suspicious character, I can prove to 
 you that I am all right. My name is 
 J. Downey. I am a lawyer by pro- 
 fession. I live at Glenwood. Here is 
 my certificate." 
 
 He pulled a paper out of his pocket, 
 a certificate entitling him to practice 
 law in the State of Washington. The 
 chief examined the paper. 
 
 "Just this afternoon I called at the 
 office of the Clerk of the Court to have 
 this certificate registered. If there is 
 any doubt about it, I want the Clerk to 
 come here and identify me. I haven't 
 committed any offence; you can't lock 
 me up." 
 
 The chief and police officer con- 
 sulted each other in a whisper. Then 
 the chief went to the telephone and 
 John heard the following: 
 
 "Number 1247, please,— who is this? 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 103 
 
 — All right — This is the police station 
 — There's a young man here wants you 
 to come down tonight and identify him 
 — Can't come? — What's that? — His 
 name is Downey, lawyer. Says he was 
 at your office this afternoon to get a 
 certificate registered. — Don't remem- 
 ber? — Describe him? All right." 
 The chief turned half around to look 
 at John. "Young man about twenty- 
 five, tall and slender, dark mustache, 
 brown eyes, gold front tooth, mole on 
 the cheek. — You recollect, do you? 
 No doubt about this being the party? 
 —All right! Good-bye!" 
 
 The chief hung up the receiver and 
 returned to his desk. 
 
 "What explanation have you to make 
 of your prowling about that house?" 
 
 "It was a most foolish thing," said 
 John abashed. "I'll have to tell you 
 the truth ; it was a case of love." 
 
 "Love?" replied the chief. "Ah, the 
 young lady has rejected you, and you 
 were crazy to see her, or it is a case of 
 a one-sided lover gone daft." 
 
 "Something like that, though not ex- 
 actly." 
 
104 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "I guess we will let you off this time, 
 but don't do it any more." 
 
 "There is one thing," said John, im- 
 mensely relieved, "please take my name 
 off your book." 
 
 "We'll cross it out." 
 
 "No, scratch it out. I wouldn't have 
 my name there for anything. And 
 there is another favor I would like to 
 ask. Don't let the young lady know 
 who it is. You couldn't do me a greater 
 harm." 
 
 "You've been a fool and don't want 
 her to know it?" 
 
 "Yes, and there are other reasons." 
 
 "Well, it is a case of love, all right. 
 Who is it? — Shakespeare, I believe, 
 who says, 'The poet, lover, and mad- 
 man are all alike,' or something like 
 that." 
 
 John was glad enough to get out of 
 the predicament; but after he had left 
 the police station and was walking 
 down the street to catch the car, there 
 was added to the additional gloom 
 caused by his failure during the day to 
 find an opening, the deep chagrin that 
 he had made an immense fool of him- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 105 
 
 self in prowling about the house. It 
 was in this mood he arrived at ten 
 o'clock at Glenwood. It was raining 
 and he walked slowly towards his 
 shack, not caring whether he got there 
 or not. When about half way, some 
 one shouted "Fire! Fire!" and looking 
 up, John saw quite a blaze. The shout 
 caused much excitement, several men 
 passed him on the run, and despite his 
 loss of interest in all things, John could 
 not help looking and wondering whose 
 place it could be. Then a man came 
 running towards him shouting: 
 
 "Hurry up, John! It's your place!" 
 When he reached the place, there 
 were no hopes of saving it. Neighbors 
 had gotten out his trunk, the mattress, 
 and a cover, while the stove, cooking 
 utensils, and dishes were scattered 
 about, broken. The burning of the 
 shack was, for John, the last straw. 
 While the men were busy gathering 
 what they could for him out of the 
 wreck, he lay down on the mattress 
 and drew the cover over him for the 
 night. The watchman of the hotel was 
 the first to discover him. 
 
106 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "Come, come, John," said he kindly. 
 "This won't do! You can't sleep there, 
 in the rain." 
 
 "It's as good as I deserve." 
 
 "Well, well," replied the watchman. 
 "It's too bad." Then scratching his 
 head in a study, "I've been given strict 
 orders not to let any one in the hotel. 
 But you shan't stay there in the rain; 
 no, you shan't. You shall have the best 
 room and the best bed in the building." 
 
 Saying which, he pulled John to his 
 feet, and helped him to the hotel. 
 When John awoke the next morning, 
 he remained in bed, as usual. About 
 ten o'clock the watchman knocked at 
 his door. 
 
 "Yes," said John. 
 
 "Time to get up." 
 
 "Yes; all right!" 
 
 But left to himself, thinking of the 
 fresh misfortunes that had lately be- 
 fallen him, and what he would have to 
 go through when he got up, John 
 simply came to the conclusion that he 
 would stay in bed. 
 
 He had not been in this frame of 
 mind long when a young and graceful 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 107 
 
 damsel appeared in the room, — 
 ethereal in form, in light, airy robes, 
 and a step so elastic and buoyant that 
 she almost appeared to walk on air 
 itself. She was beautiful to behold, and 
 as she paced to and fro gracefully and 
 lightly, with an expression of impa- 
 tience mingled with compassion upon 
 her fair countenance, John knew that 
 Hope was before him and had some- 
 thing to say. 
 
 "Thou art greatly discouraged and 
 believest that misfortune has done her 
 worst, by completely overwhelming 
 thee. Thou sayest to thyself, 'It is no 
 use; there is nothing in this world for 
 me; I am of no account whatever.' 
 Thou wouldst lie there in bed and 
 obliterate thyself from the world, and 
 all thought of it, forever. Thou hast 
 not the heart, nor the energy to rise 
 again, and wouldst stay there until re- 
 moved a corpse. The state of thy mind 
 is making thee, this moment, a help- 
 less invalid, as much so as if thou hadst 
 been completely paralyzed and unable 
 to move; and yet, hadst thou been 
 actually paralyzed, thou wouldst be 
 
108 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 glad enough to be able to move and rise 
 again. Thou hast, then, at least one 
 thing to be thankful for, that thy mis^ 
 fortune is not as bad as it might be ; for, 
 'however great misfortune, it can al- 
 ways be worse;' and thou shouldst re- 
 joice that thou canst arise. 
 
 "Whatever ill fate o'ertake thee, it is 
 fatal to despair. A discouraged man is 
 little better than a dead man. He can 
 do nothing, accomplish nothing; he 
 cannot even make an effort. When evil 
 fortune befalls thee, instead of lying 
 helpless with groans and despair, it is 
 necessary to be up and at thy very best, 
 to ward off, if possible, the ill luck that 
 has already overtaken thee, and to pre- 
 vent other misfortunes from following 
 in its train ; for, it is said, 'one evil pro- 
 duces another and misfortunes never 
 come singly.' This saying is true, es- 
 pecially with those who lose heart over 
 the first mishap; for while one is de- 
 spairing over one evil, another is thus 
 given an opportunity to creep upon 
 him. 
 
 "Never, then, whatever evil event be- 
 falls thee, be discouraged; never de- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 109 
 
 spair. It is the worst thing that can be 
 done. 'Never say die, but up, man, 
 and try.' A few more maxims I will 
 repeat for thy earnest consideration, 
 and I bid thee to treasure them in 
 memory for future occasions; for the 
 experience of mankind has proven their 
 truth. First, bear in mind, 'a good 
 heart breaks bad luck;' and, 'blow the 
 wind ever so fast, it will lower at last.' 
 Then, 'it's a long lane that has no turn- 
 ing;' and 'when one door is shut an- 
 other is opened.' 'He that falls to-day 
 may rise to-morrow; unless he chooses 
 to lie in bed and groan instead of get- 
 ting into heart and spirits, ready for 
 fresh encounters.' 'In the end things 
 will mend;' and 'everything comes to 
 him who knows how to wait.' 'A light 
 heart can bear heavy burdens,' and 
 'whatever may happen, every kind of 
 misfortune is to be overcome by bear- 
 ing it.' 
 
 "Weep not, moan not, for thus de- 
 spair is born. With a light heart over- 
 come thy burdens, and hope for better 
 things. There is a better day coming, 
 — always a better day coming. Hope 
 
110 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 will lighten the way, — never, never de- 
 spair." 
 
 Saying which, she disappeared as if 
 on wings. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 After the appearance of Hope, John 
 arose. He found that the keeper of 
 the boarding-house, a German named 
 Betts, was quite willing to receive him 
 as a boarder, John to pay him when- 
 ever he had the money. In fact, all the 
 boarders were on the same basis for 
 none had work, and it was either board 
 and trust or not board at all. For 
 sleeping quarters, the boarding-house 
 being full, John made arrangements to 
 sleep in the haymow of the small livery 
 stable in the town. 
 
 He consoled himself, that day, re- 
 peating the sayings of Hope. 
 
 "Yes, she is right. 'It is a long lane 
 that has no turning,' and 'every dog has 
 his day!' Mine will come by-and-by; 
 this life will not always last, thank 
 God." 
 
 Thus he lived on hope a few days. 
 But man cannot live on hope alone, and 
 his surroundings not being as pleasant 
 as before, he began to fall into the old 
 rut, despair. He awoke, one morning, 
 in 
 
112 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 more discouraged than ever. As he lay 
 in his blankets spread upon the hay, 
 the dusty odors of which filled his 
 nostrils, and parts of which persisted in 
 getting between the covers, with the 
 horses below, uneasy and restless, 
 stamping, pulling at their halters, rub- 
 bing their sides against the stalls, he 
 thought of the appearance of Hope, 
 and all she had said to him. 
 
 "Yes, very fine sentiment, very fine," 
 said he. 'Blow the wind ever so fast, 
 it will lower at last.' Very fine ! Very 
 fine! But many a ship's wrecked, and 
 the crew lost before the storm is over. 
 And 'it's a long lane that has no turn- 
 ing.' Very fine, too, very fine ! But the 
 lane is often so long that many a man 
 dies by the wayside, and never reaches 
 the turn. And so it may be with me. 
 Here I have been six months, with the 
 same thing day after day, hour after 
 hour; constant darkness, constant 
 gloom; no hopes, no prospects. The 
 minutes have been hours; the hours, 
 days; the days, months; the months, 
 years. I have lived a lifetime in a few 
 months, so wearily and heavily has time 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 113 
 
 dragged its course. Thus it has been; 
 thus it is ; and thus it will be ; nothing 
 but darkness; nothing but gloom. It 
 may be well enough to preach hope, 
 and that hope brings cheer, but how 
 can a man be cheerful when there is no 
 hope in him, or prospects for him? 
 You might as well — " 
 
 "Holdl Hold! Enough! Enough!" 
 said a voice near him. John uncovered 
 his head and saw a man who made him- 
 self very busy about the place. He was 
 neatly dressed in a dark suit which 
 must have been genuine wool, was 
 strong in body, and had sandy hair and 
 beard. His cheerful face, bright, 
 twinkling eyes, and clear complexion 
 indicated pure, healthy blood coursing 
 through his veins, while his whole be- 
 ing pulsated with energy and life. He 
 could not be idle a moment. He seized 
 a pitch fork, plunged it into the hay, 
 lifted a large bunch with a rustling 
 noise, pitched it to the other side of the 
 mow, raising a dust that made John 
 sneeze. And thus he worked away the 
 whole time he was present, tramping 
 back and forth over the hay and mak- 
 
 8 
 
114 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 ing it quite uncomfortable for John 
 with so much dust and noise. 
 
 "Who are you?" asked John, sternly. 
 
 "I'm Dr. Work, and a very good 
 physician, too, if I do say it. I can cure 
 as many of the ills that beset mankind 
 as are named in the Materia Medica; 
 for, if it is true, as it is said to be, 'a 
 busy man is plagued with one devil, an 
 idle man with a thousand,' and I be- 
 lieve it is, I can cure those thousand 
 devils. Despondency and despair, two 
 of the devils that have laid you out, will 
 continue to oppress you as long as you 
 remain idle. If you will permit me to 
 prescribe, I would say, remove the 
 cause, and thus take away the disease. 
 Do something! Get busy! Occupy 
 yourself! If with something to your 
 tastes, all the better; but if not, any- 
 thing'; only do something^ for 'there is 
 no happiness, and cannot be any, where 
 there is no occupation.' If you desire 
 to become hopeful and happy in this 
 world, if you wish to be cheerful and 
 courageous while awaiting your turn 
 in the road, even though that turn never 
 comes in this life, take a course of my 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 115 
 
 treatment, which has been named after 
 myself, and is known as the 'work 
 cure.' It embraces an unlimited 
 variety of things to do, in which variety 
 is something suitable for the ailments 
 of everyone. And if that thing is 
 selected that suits the tastes and temper- 
 ament of the patient, and is followed 
 and practiced constantly and unceas- 
 ingly, yet within such limits as the body 
 can physically stand, — there is a limit, 
 and that must not be exceeded, — I have 
 never known it to fail to produce 
 happiness and cheer. But, aside from 
 the happiness obtained, 'what greater 
 crime than wasting time;' for 'who 
 wastes time throws life away.' 'The 
 dead and they only should do nothing.' " 
 
 "What you say is only too true," re- 
 joined John. "I have realized it for 
 some time. I have been praying God, 
 day after day, to take me away from 
 this place and give me something to 
 do; and I have prayed earnestly and 
 hard; for my affliction has been great. 
 But nothing has come. No, nothing 1" 
 
 "My son," returned. Dr. Work, with 
 a disdainful, yet kindly smile upon his 
 
116 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 lips, "you know better than that; for 
 how often have you heard it repeated 
 that 'God helps those who help them- 
 selves?' 'Pray to God, but keep the 
 hammer going.' Say 'God help me;' 
 but don't lie on your back; help your- 
 self! And if you cannot do that, re- 
 member there is also another truth, 
 'God helps those who can't help them- 
 selves.' Washington and Lincoln were 
 not too great to call for help when their 
 burdens were too great for them. This 
 requires faith, — a strong and enduring 
 faith in an accessible, omnipotent 
 Power, and in this is a means superior 
 to all others. But you are a skeptic; 
 this is not for you. You will have to 
 rely upon a mere faith in yourself. 
 This in itself is a great power, for back 
 of some of man's greatest achievements 
 is a supreme faith in himself and what 
 he is undertaking. Have faith in your- 
 self that you can do something, — some- 
 thing right here. Too many think their 
 work is elsewhere and different from 
 what it is. The question should be, not 
 what you would like to do in some 
 grand position, in some other place, but 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 117 
 
 what can you do right where you are. 
 Only those who prove themselves 
 worthy in the situations in which they 
 find themselves can expect to be called 
 to better places." 
 
 "Yes, but what can I do? That is the 
 question. I have failed in so many 
 things that I am afraid I am good for 
 nothing. I have chosen a profession, 
 'tis true, but I am in doubt, and there 
 is no chance or prospect for me here. 
 What can I do in this country? Every- 
 one is idle, whether he will or not. Can 
 a man work when there is no work?" 
 
 "There is a place and a work for 
 everyone in this world. There is a 
 work each one can do better than he can 
 do anything else. What you can do 
 best is your work. 'Whatever a man 
 delights in, he will do best, and that he 
 had best do.' 'Let every man do what 
 he was made for.' With these direc- 
 tions as a guide you must say for your- 
 self what is your work. Herein my 
 practice differs from that of the ordi- 
 nary physician, in that I never prescribe 
 the particular part of the treatment to 
 be taken. I merely give directions by 
 
118 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 which the patient chooses for himself. 
 Whatever your work is, if you have 
 not the chance and opportunity to do it 
 here, do something else. Sometimes 
 one's work is not of a practicable na- 
 ture — one that will furnish a liveli- 
 hood, — and it is necessary to engage in 
 something else until he can acquire the 
 means to indulge it. Whether this is 
 the case with you it is for you to say. 
 Be it so or not, there is always work of 
 some kind, no matter how hard the 
 times, how poor the country. I have 
 never yet been in that country nor seen 
 that man who was truly desirous of do- 
 ing something, that could not be accom- 
 modated. If you cannot do anything 
 else, you can improve the time in per- 
 fecting yourself in your chosen profes- 
 sion — for this may be your work — until 
 you can find the time and place to en- 
 gage in it. You can also busy and im- 
 prove yourself in the things you have 
 studied — art, science, history, phil- 
 osophy, each one an unlimited field. 
 Arid while you are desirous of engaging 
 in something of a more substantial 
 nature, something that will contribute 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 119 
 
 to your worldly welfare, your daily 
 wants, yet I have often observed, that 
 where one busies himself with one 
 thing, ere long he finds himself busy 
 with another. 'Things to make more 
 busy to busy men come.' In other 
 words, the world is always after the 
 busy man, and the more busy he is, the 
 more the world will want him. The 
 thing, then, is to do the first thing, 
 whatever is at hand, whether it is suit- 
 able or not ; then the next thing and so 
 on, until the right thing comes." 
 
 It was evident that the Doctor's 
 words had made a deep impression 
 upon John, and that he acquiesced in 
 the truth of all things said. 
 
 "You will do something, then, my 
 son," he continued in a tone of com- 
 mand that was not to be resisted, at the 
 same time making ready to depart, 
 "some of the things I have named, or 
 something else? Yes, I see; you will! 
 Yes, you will! Up then, my son! Up! 
 I say. Throw away the crutches! 
 Break the shackles! Cast off the chains! 
 Up! Up!T say. Drive the devils joff; 
 drive them off; drive them off!" - 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 By this time John found himself on 
 his feet, brushing the hay from his 
 clothes, and arranging his toilet as best 
 he could, fully aroused and determined 
 to go forth and do something that very 
 day. Yes, anything to do was better 
 than nothing to do. But, of course, that 
 meant something good and useful.; to 
 do devilment would be worse than 
 nothing. First, his breakfast, and while 
 eating, he would survey the field. He 
 could engage along the line of his 
 studies, it is true ; but he had been dis- 
 appointed in the great things he 
 thought his education would do for 
 him, and was not in a mood to take up 
 these. Before he had finished his 
 breakfast, he thought of an old man in 
 the village, who had been making 
 barrels. John went over to see him. 
 
 "Yes," said he, in reply to John's pro- 
 posal, "I can give you work cutting 
 hoop-poles. I have been doing that 
 myself, but I believe, as you say, I can 
 
 120 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 121 
 
 make more money making barrels, and 
 hire some man to cut the poles." 
 
 So John started out and worked all 
 day, cutting poles in the woods and 
 thickets. He thus worked a week, put- 
 ting in the days the cooper was supplied 
 in hunting. The birds he ran across in 
 the woods were always busy, — always 
 doing something; John wondered 
 whether this accounted for the happy 
 notes in their songs. 
 
 About three miles from the village 
 was a saw mill. John was acquainted 
 with the proprietor, and thought he 
 might obtain employment keeping his 
 books. He started for the place early 
 one morning. It was a beautiful day, 
 and a pretty country through which he 
 passed, being a natural park, green 
 grass covering the open spaces between 
 clumps of cedar and fir, and in the 
 east, Mt. Tacoma, a wonderful sight. 
 John felt happy in the mere act of go- 
 ing, and wondered that he had been so 
 indifferent to the beauties of nature 
 about him. He made several trips to 
 the mill before he succeeded in seeing 
 the proprietor; and when he did see 
 
122 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 him, it did not take long to obtain em- 
 ployment. 
 
 "I have been thinking for some 
 time," the proprietor informed him, 
 "of opening an office at Glenwood. The 
 mill is a little too far away, and I 
 would like to have a man at Glenwood, 
 to take care of any business that comes 
 along." 
 
 "I could do that, and keep your books 
 too," said John. 
 
 "I expect you could; the books will 
 not take much of your time; the other 
 will not either. There will not be 
 much business; but if there is only a 
 little, I believe it will pay. What I 
 want is a man who will stay in the 
 office, and who can always be found 
 when wanted." 
 
 "I'm the man," said John. "I could 
 also have a law business in connection, 
 and perhaps the three would keep me 
 busy. Would you rent a place, or 
 build?" 
 
 "There are lots of empty buildings 
 at Glenwood, but none suitable. Then 
 I have a lot, and lumber is cheap with 
 me. You might draw a plan, of a 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 123 
 
 building according to your notions, and 
 I'll see how it suits me." 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to say that 
 John went away highly elated. Glen- 
 wood was not much of a place, but 
 ranchers came there from a wide range 
 of territory to take the car for Tacoma. 
 He thought he would be able to secure 
 what law business they had, and after 
 building up a practice among them, 
 that he would be able to maintain an 
 office in Tacoma with this to back him. 
 An office in Tacoma was something 
 not only greatly desired in itself, — for 
 nothing less than this would ever satisfy 
 the longings of his ambitions in this re- 
 spect — but it was desired because he 
 would then be in a position and mood 
 to win Florence's love, and this was 
 more to him than all else. It would 
 take some time, but he would have to 
 work hard, and have the patience to 
 wait. 
 
 Thus John was thinking, as he 
 walked along on his return to Glen- 
 wood. He was in the best of spirits, en- 
 joying the beauties of the scenery about 
 him and had just climbed over a rail 
 
124 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 fence that separated a woods from an 
 open field, when he heard some one be- 
 hind him, also climbing the fence. He 
 looked around and saw Dr. Work in 
 the act of making a jump which gave 
 his body a jolt, causing his watch-chain 
 to tinkle. There was a pleased and 
 happy expression on his face as he came 
 forward and walked at John's side. 
 
 "My son," said he, "you have fol- 
 lowed my advice, I see, and have added 
 but another proof of the excellence of 
 my treatment. Indeed, I have not ex- 
 plained to you all the virtue of this 
 wonderful cure ; for wonderful it truly 
 is. Not only does it produce happiness 
 and contentment in the mind, and keeps 
 one from vices in both thought and 
 deed, but it also brings health and pro- 
 longs life; for 'more die of idleness 
 than of hard work,' while 'sloth, like 
 rust, consumes faster than labor wears.' 
 
 "But that is not all. 'The hand of 
 the diligent maketh rich ;' for 'industry 
 is prosperity's right hand.' 'Plough 
 deep while sluggards sleep, and you 
 shall have corn to sell and to keep.' 
 'Work and thou shalt have.' On the 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 125 
 
 other hand, 'a slothful hand makes a 
 slender estate;' for 'he that dealeth 
 with a slack hand shall surely come to 
 want.' Then I have often observed, 'a 
 young man idle is an old man needy;' 
 and why not? For 'a lazy man is a 
 beggar's brother,' and 'laziness travels 
 so slowly that poverty soon overtakes 
 him.' Then, 'idleness is hunger's 
 mother,' 'has poverty for wages,' and 'is 
 the key to beggary.' 'He that will not 
 work shall want.' 
 
 "But that is not all. Not only does 
 labor and industry produce happiness, 
 contentment and health, as well as 
 prosperity and wealth, but adds to these 
 success; for 'industry is the mother of 
 success.' The reason is plain — 'sloth 
 makes all things difficult ;' but 'industry 
 makes all things easy.' In short, 'labor 
 conquers all things.' Whatever posi- 
 tion or calling you occupy in life, fill 
 it to the full with the very best quality 
 of work of which you are capable. This 
 is the way to move up into something 
 larger and better. In fact, no true suc- 
 cess can be accomplished without per- 
 sistent and constant labor and industry. 
 
126 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 With these, great things can be accom- 
 plished; without, very little. 
 
 "But I am not done yet. Add to all 
 these, honor and fame. 'Seest thou a 
 man diligent in his calling? he shall 
 stand before Kings.' Labor and in- 
 dustry surpass in their accomplishments 
 even the efforts of genius, and many a 
 man of great genius, upon analysis, has 
 been found to be, principally, a man of 
 great industry. The best genius a man 
 can have is the genius for hard work, 
 and, thank Heaven, Providence with- 
 holds this great gift from none who are 
 willing to acquire and possess it. What- 
 ever talents you may have, however 
 great or however small they may be, 
 you can only make the most and best of 
 your gifts by acquiring and possessing 
 to the utmost degree this most excellent 
 of habits, — for habit it is and can be 
 acquired — the habit of diligence and 
 industry. 
 
 "Acquire this habit, my son ; acquire 
 it! acquire it!" 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Within the next two weeks a small 
 building was erected, containing two 
 rooms, the front one to be used as an 
 office, the back one as living quarters. 
 It was a neat though rude affair, the 
 interior being lined with boards instead 
 of plaster. A board partition separated 
 the front room from the back, and as 
 there was neither paint nor varnish, the 
 whole place had a strong odor of cedar 
 and fir of which it was built. The fur- 
 nishings were also of the rudest sort, a 
 couple of board shelves nailed to the 
 wall for book-case, while a wider board 
 answered the purpose of desk. He had 
 his mother send him a cooking outfit; 
 he also procured a cot and old stove 
 with which to furnish the back room. 
 The only thing to indicate that it was 
 a law office was a set of State Statutes 
 which adorned the shelves in the front 
 room. It was far from John's ideal of 
 an office; he would have been ashamed 
 to be caught there by Florence, or any- 
 one who had known him formerly; but 
 127 
 
128 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 he was glad to use it as a means until 
 he could get the office he desired in Ta- 
 coma. So it was with pleasure he had 
 watched its erection, and had assisted 
 some, being handy with tools. After 
 he had gotten everything in place, and 
 had arranged the last thing, he sat 
 down with satisfaction to view and en- 
 joy his surroundings. The first to 
 enter was Just Sense who greeted him 
 cordially with a smile, after which he 
 inspected the place, signifying his ap- 
 proval of what had been done. 
 
 "All ready for business, I see, my 
 boy," said he as he seated himself, com- 
 ing down solidly and causing the some- 
 what rickety chair to squeak under the 
 strain. Then taking off his gol d glasses, 
 which glistened in the sunshine, to 
 clean them, as was his habit, while he 
 talked — "lawyer, adviser, and counselor 
 to the people in general; book- 
 keeper, agent, and salesman of the 
 Lumber Company in particular, — 
 'John Downey, Law and Lumber,' — 
 professional and business man in one. 
 While lumber may be lawed, I have 
 my doubts about law being lumbered. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 129 
 
 Yet this may do in a place like Glen- 
 wood, for a start. But you must recol- 
 lect that 'Jack of all trades is master of 
 none,' that 'he who can do everything 
 can do nothing,' and that 'a man of 
 many trades lives on short commons.' 
 It will be well, therefore, for you to 
 concentrate your mind and energies in 
 one direction, as soon as practicable. 
 This is a day of specialties. One busi- 
 ness or profession is enough for any 
 man. 
 
 "Now that you are ready for busi- 
 ness, the next thing is how to succeed. 
 This you want to know, and I will try 
 to tell you, for success means so much 
 to you. Whether you succeed in this, 
 or any other business or profession, 
 much depends, of course, upon your 
 ability and adaptability for the business 
 or profession. As for business, 'a 
 tradesman must be self made or never 
 made,' it has been said ; but for all that 
 and whether a business or a profession, 
 there are certain precepts, which, if ob- 
 served and practiced, cannot but add 
 to your success. To these I will direct 
 your attention, because you desire it, 
 
130 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 and because I have your welfare at 
 heart. 
 
 "In the first place, 'hope and strive 
 is the way to thrive.' As for hope, 
 'never be discouraged; be brave in the 
 struggle of life ; bear trouble patiently.' 
 This is necessary in order to succeed. 
 As for striving, 'always at it wins the 
 day.' Then, it is better to 'drive thy 
 work lest it drive thee;' and you will 
 find, too, that you must 'practice thrift 
 or else you'll drift.' 'Never have an 
 idle hour nor an idle pound' for 'an 
 idle hour is a lost hour,' and 'lost time 
 is never found again.' No, never have 
 an idle hour. It is better to be busy, — 
 'work is a fine tonic,' our friend the 
 Doctor is always saying. And then, 'if 
 you practice not your art, it will very 
 soon depart.' For these reasons, if you 
 have no work, find some; and if you 
 cannot find any, make some. Then it 
 has been also said, 'he who would 
 thrive must look alive ;' also, 'he who 
 would thrive must rise at five. 1 Some 
 have been disposed to question the truth 
 of this last saying, but my observation 
 is that any man who has the spirit and 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 131 
 
 energy to rise at five has also the spirit 
 and energy to do something during the 
 day. 
 
 "Then, you should maintain your in- 
 tegrity as a sacred thing. Always bear 
 in mind that 'you can promise more in 
 a minute than you can perform in a 
 month,' and that 'promises may get 
 friends, but only performances can 
 keep them.' Therefore, 'a false promise 
 thou must shun, 'tis a lie and theft in 
 one.' What is more, 'a liar is not be- 
 lieved when he speaks the truth,' and 
 no one can succeed who cannot be be- 
 lieved. In the face of these truths, I 
 cannot but say to you, 'be very slow a 
 pledge to make; be slower still your 
 word to break;' that 'promises should 
 be given with caution and kept with 
 care;' and that 'words are good when 
 works follow.' You will find it by far 
 the better course to 'promise little and 
 do much.' 
 
 "In the next place, 'honesty is the 
 best policy;' for, travel this world over, 
 observe it closely, and you will find 
 that 'a thriving cheat 'tis rare to meet.' 
 At least I have so found it. Honesty 
 
132 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 is the best policy because it begets 
 confidence, and without begetting con- 
 fidence you will never be able to accom- 
 plish much. 'Of all crafts, honesty is 
 the master craft,' it has been said ; also, 
 that 'a good name is better than a girdle 
 of gold;' and that 'a good character is 
 an estate.' Who can have a good name 
 and a good character who is not honest? 
 Yes, 'honesty is the best policy;' 
 'character is a man's best capital.' 
 
 "Be prompt. 'Punctuality is the 
 hinge of business,' and begets confi- 
 dence; while it is everywhere known 
 that 'procrastination is the thief of 
 time,' and that 'between said and done a 
 race may be won.' It is evident, then, 
 that 'delay is dangerous, promptness is 
 prudence.' Each morning as you go 
 about your work, you will find it a 
 good rule to 'do the hard thing first.' 
 'If it must be done, do and have done;' 
 'delay is a fetter, the sooner the better.' 
 Above all things I would admonish 
 you to be prompt in the payment of 
 debts; for 'prompt pay makes ready 
 way,' and thus credit is obtained, and 
 credit is as good as capital. 'A good 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 133 
 
 paymaster is lord of another man's 
 purse;' 'who pays promptly is in no 
 want of a pawn,' and can have trust 
 when he must. 
 
 "Then 'don't be wise in your own 
 eyes'; for 'a wise man knows his own 
 want of wisdom,' and 'the man that 
 knows most, knows his own ignorance.' 
 'The wisest man does not think himself 
 so,' and even 'the wisest are not always 
 wise.' No, do not be wise in your own 
 eyes. Conceit makes a fool of a man 
 and is detrimental to success. 'Only 
 folly is wise in her own eyes ;' 'no man 
 is always wise except a fool.' 
 
 "And never appear something more 
 than you are. Rather humble than ex- 
 alt yourself; for 'who would be great 
 must first be little,' in every business 
 and calling in life. Therefore, 'learn 
 to be little, if thou wouldst be great.' 
 'Humility is better than gentility ;' it is 
 better than exaltation; for 'he who 
 thinks himself nothing is something,' 
 while 'he who thinks himself some- 
 thing is nothing.' 
 
 "Don't be obstinate. 'Be strong, but 
 not headstrong.' 'Stoop to conquer; he 
 
134 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 who yields wins.' 'If the mountain will 
 not come to Mohamet, Mohamet must 
 go to the mountain.' 
 
 "Then, always be polite. 'Manners 
 maketh the man,' and have much to do 
 with success. Anyhow, 'there is nothing 
 cheaper than kind words;' 'courtesy 
 costs little but buys much.' 
 
 "Be liberal-minded. Do not think 
 you are always right: 'the most positive 
 are often the most mistaken,' and 'only 
 a fool is never wrong.' Who never 
 changes will not advance much. 'Con- 
 fess that you were wrong yesterday, it 
 will show that you are wiser today.' 
 'Wise men change their minds; fools 
 have none to change.' 
 
 "Be moderate in speech ; for 'by say- 
 ing little, you may pass for wise.' And 
 even though you are in fact wise, 'a 
 clever head is all the better for a close 
 mouth.' On the other hand 'every 
 donkey likes to hear himself bray,' and 
 'the empty cask sounds most.' By 
 speech you will be judged, and can 
 judge others. 'Beware of the dog that 
 barks little, but shows his teeth.' Never 
 tell your business to another ; never say 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 135 
 
 what you are going to do until you have 
 done it; for in business, as elsewhere, 
 'more have repented of speech than of 
 silence;' 'the least said the soonest 
 mended ;' and the fewer to know what 
 you are going to do, the fewer to inter- 
 fere. Then 'if you tell your business 
 to everybody, the devil will do it for 
 you.' I cannot leave this subject with- 
 out admonishing you 'never say of an- 
 other what you would not have him 
 hear;' then your tongue will never 
 cause you shame. 
 
 "Whatever you do, be not in haste; 
 for 'a hasty man is seldom out of 
 trouble,' 'hasty climbers have sudden 
 falls,' and 'the hasty angler loses the 
 fish.' At least 'be slow enough to be 
 sure.' 'Take time to consider, but de- 
 cide positively.' After you have done 
 that, 'dare to go forward;' 'make a bar- 
 gain at once.' 
 
 "Be practicable. 'Some are always 
 doing and never do anything.' 'Drive 
 the nail that will go.' Do not waste 
 your time or efforts in fruitless en- 
 deavors. 'Deliberately consider before 
 you commence a thing, whether it is 
 
136 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 practicable. If not, do not attempt it. 
 If it is, never stop until the thing is 
 done.' 
 
 "Do not reckon upon chance. 'Don't 
 wade where you can't see bottom;' 
 'avoid extremes and bubble schemes.' 
 'Luck is the idol of the idle;' but 'a 
 pound of pluck is worth a ton of luck.' 
 
 "Then carefully examine into every 
 detail of your business or profession. 
 Never think anything so trifling as not 
 to deserve notice. 'Want of care does 
 more damage than want of knowledge.' 
 
 "Never bid another do what you can 
 do yourself. 'If you want your business 
 done, go; if not, send.' 'Trusting too 
 much to other's care is the ruin of 
 many.' 'Ill husbandry trusteth to him 
 and to her; good husbandry putteth it- 
 self all astir.' 
 
 "Never link your fortunes with an 
 unsuccessful or unlucky man or place. 
 'A man that can't get on himself, can't 
 do you any good.' 'A fool in his own 
 house will not be a wise man in mine.' 
 
 "Make no useless acquaintances. 
 
 "Shun strong liquor. 
 
 " 'Be true as steel, come woe or weal.' 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 137 
 
 "Add to all these, strict attention to 
 all things, thoroughness and accuracy 
 in every detail, method, tact in execut- 
 ing plans and in dealing with people, — 
 all important subjects, and worthy of 
 more notice, but you've had enough. 
 Above all, work hard and you will be 
 sure to succeed. 
 
 "Good-day, my son, Good-day 1 Suc- 
 cess to you, Success!" 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 The next day an old man from the 
 country called. Though a stranger to 
 John, he was extremely friendly, in- 
 specting the place with which he was 
 much pleased, manifesting much inter- 
 est in John and wishing him the very 
 best of success. After a friendly talk 
 of half an hour, the old gentleman said: 
 
 "Now I would like for you to write 
 a little letter for me concerning my 
 pension. I can't write very well any 
 more. This is what I came over for." 
 
 "So!" thought John. "He has a lit- 
 tle ax to grind," somewhat disappoint- 
 ed at the cause, as he surmised, of all the 
 old man's interest and friendliness. He 
 wrote the letter which, however, was 
 only a few lines, addressed and sealed 
 it, whereupon the old man asked, "How 
 much?" 
 
 "Nothing," said John. "It isn't worth 
 anything." 
 
 But the old man insisted upon John 
 accepting a dollar, pressing the coin 
 into his hand, and not permitting him 
 
 138 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 139 
 
 lo return it. Both enjoyed this pleasant 
 little surprise, and after the old man 
 left, John pulled the coin out of his 
 pocket to take a good look at it. It was 
 like seeing a friend given up for lost, 
 and whom he had never expected to see 
 again, for so accustomed had he grown 
 to be without money himself, and seeing 
 others with none, that there seemed 
 there was no money in the world, and 
 never would be any. And it was not 
 many other dollars he saw that spring 
 and summer. The community lived 
 and did business practically without 
 money. The early settlers of Virginia 
 used tobacco for money; but this com- 
 munity was obliged to use a much more 
 cumbersome medium, lumber; that is, 
 its business was transacted by means of 
 credits based upon lumber. The saw 
 mill was kept running by the proprietor 
 filling orders taken by a grocery com- 
 pany in Tacoma, the company in return 
 supplying the proprietor wtih provi- 
 sions for himself and all his employees. 
 None expected, nor did the proprietor 
 ever have any money to pay them. 
 Upon the first delivery of supplies to 
 
140 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 John, the proprietor informed him that 
 there was now due him about seven 
 hundred dollars from the grocery com- 
 pany, that the account was getting too 
 large, and that he wished him to look 
 after it. 
 
 "If you collect it," said he, "I'll" give 
 you twenty per cent." 
 
 John was pleased ; business was com- 
 ing in much better than he had expect- 
 ed. He would attend to it, most assur- 
 edly. 
 
 Not long after, the little town was 
 greatly stirred one morning by the 
 "Half Breed," as everybody called him, 
 being arrested for stealing cattle. The 
 Half Breed was a small, half-witted, 
 cross-eyed fellow, who worked for the 
 town butcher, going after, bringing in, 
 and butchering the cattle purchased 
 from the neighboring ranchers. Every- 
 body was excited and John himself be- 
 came much interested. He hung about 
 his office all morning, but it was a seri- 
 ous and important case and he supposed 
 a Tacoma lawyer would be employed. 
 Toward noon the butcher and Half 
 Breed stepped in. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 141 
 
 "I suppose you've heard that Joe, 
 here, has been arrested." 
 
 "Yes," said John, "I've heard it." 
 
 "I didn't steal dat er beef. I boughts 
 him of Jake Miller and paids the 
 money. Dey gots a spite 'gin me and 
 wants to put me in the pen, that's what 
 dey do." 
 
 "That's right," said the butcher. "He 
 didn't steal it." 
 
 "Where's the beef now?" 
 
 "Killed, and in the shop." 
 
 "That's getting pretty close to you, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes," said the butcher, "I don't 
 know but what they may have me ar- 
 rested, too." 
 
 They went over other facts of the 
 case, at the conclusion of which John 
 was engaged, and told that he must free 
 the Half Breed at any cost. John was 
 much elated. The case, being criminal, 
 was attracting much attention and 
 would be an excellent means of intro- 
 ducing himself as a lawyer to the whole 
 community. The next two days were 
 busily spent in getting ready for trial. 
 John believed his client innocent and 
 
142 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 did not want to see this half-witted fel- 
 low punished for something he had not 
 done. His freedom was dependent 
 upon him. The butcher's good stand- 
 ing as a citizen was also at stake, and 
 John himself was on trial as a lawyer, 
 bidding for the people's business. Noth- 
 ing less than "not guilty" could be 
 thought of for a moment. 
 
 On the other side the ranchers were 
 organized and had employed a lawyer 
 from Tacoma. They had been missing 
 cattle all winter, had "now caught one 
 of the thieves," they said, "and were 
 going to put a stop to it." 
 
 When the trial commenced, the Jus- 
 tice's room could not accommodate the 
 crowd. John fought hard for his cli- 
 ent each step, making strong and often 
 lengthy arguments on the admission of 
 testimony and the law governing the 
 case. The Justice generally ruled in his 
 favor, the spectators watched his every 
 word and move, and he felt he was 
 making the good impression he was so 
 desirous of making in the people's eyes. 
 The case was adjourned from day to 
 day, each time to larger quarters, in an 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 143 
 
 effort to accommodate the increasing 
 crowd. When at last the testimony was 
 all in and the arguments made, John 
 was very confident his client would go 
 free, and everybody eagerly awaited the 
 decision. When the Justice was ready 
 to deliver, the Half Breed's heart could 
 not have beat more rapidly than John's. 
 
 "I have considered the whole case," 
 announced the Justice. "I find the pris- 
 oner guilty, and fine him one dollar, 
 and costs." 
 
 John's surprise and astonishment 
 were so great that he was mentally con- 
 fused for several moments. When he 
 recovered he made a'hurried examina- 
 tion of the Statutes, while the Justice 
 entered the sentence on his docket. John 
 found something; and an expression of 
 confidence and assurance lighted his 
 face. He would free his client after all. 
 He arose and said: 
 
 "I now move that the sentence be de- 
 clared null and void. You have no au- 
 thority whatever to render a sentence 
 of that kind. It is contrary to the Stat- 
 ute, and therefore void. The Statute 
 under which this man has been tried 
 
144 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 says, 'if found guilty, shall be fined not 
 less than twenty dollars, or imprisoned, 
 or both.' A fine of one dollar, there- 
 fore, is a nullity, and I ask that it be so 
 declared." 
 
 John sat down, very confidently 
 handing the Justice the Statute which 
 the latter carefully examined. 
 
 "Yes," said the Justice, "I see that 
 you are right. I have no authority what- 
 ever to impose a fine of one dollar." 
 
 The audience was breathless, and all 
 eyes turned for a moment to John. 
 
 "The fine will be twenty dollars and 
 costs. I did not want to fine the pris- 
 oner twenty dollars, but now I will 
 have to do so." 
 
 John was more astounded. He de- 
 clared the Justice had no right to 
 change the sentence, after it had been 
 entered in his docket; that he could 
 only declare it void. He had a right to 
 appeal to the Superior Court sitting at 
 Tacoma, and he would appeal. So, 
 after a few weeks, another large trial 
 was had, and this time the prisoner was 
 not only given a fine of twenty dollars, 
 but also a sentence of sixty days in jail. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 145 
 
 John thought that if he carried the case 
 higher, he would land his client in the 
 penitentiary and came to the conclusion 
 that it was something of an art to know 
 the right time to quit and let well 
 enough alone. When he came to think 
 of it, he wondered how the butcher had 
 kept his shop running all winter, with 
 no capital, and very few of his custom- 
 ers paying cash. 
 
 For his fee, John received a credit 
 with the butcher for meat. This he 
 turned over to the boarding-house 
 keeper for board, and henceforth took 
 only an occasional meal in his office. 
 
 Thus John made a living out of his 
 lumber and law business, as plentifully 
 supplied with the necessaries of life as 
 he had ever been; all he lacked was 
 cash. Were it not for panic times, 
 which caused the lack of money, he was 
 getting along so well he believed he 
 would soon be able to maintain an office 
 in Tacoma. Everybody was looking for 
 the panic to end at any time. Mean- 
 while, he was greatly desirous of put- 
 ting in all his time usefully and to the 
 best advantage. All his desires were 
 
 10 
 
146 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 concentrated in being successful in his 
 law business, for this meant the Tacoma 
 office, with Florence as his ultimate 
 aim. But to be successful he must put 
 in every spare moment in reading and 
 studying, and not one must be lost with- 
 out adding something to his proficiency. 
 He had plenty of time to thus employ, 
 but it was difficult to concentrate his 
 mind upon his studies ; he ate too hearti- 
 ly — to the point of stupidity. He would 
 get out his books each day after dinner, 
 determined to read and study, but be- 
 fore he could read half a page, he 
 would become so drowsy he would drop 
 the book and doze. 
 
 One afternoon, while half asleep de- 
 spite a strong determination to read, he 
 kept blaming and condemning himself 
 for his stupor, yet was unable to throw 
 it off. When at last his impatience got 
 the better of him, he succeeded in arous- 
 ing himself, and jumping up angrily, 
 kicked his chair viciously into a corner 
 and hurled his book against the wall. 
 He commenced to storm about the 
 room, half beast, half man, when there 
 suddenly appeared a short, stockily 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 147 
 
 built man of striking appearance and 
 personality. Sandals were laced about 
 the short, strong legs, while a Roman 
 toga fastened at one shoulder and drop- 
 ping to the knees revealed strong, 
 muscular arms and deep chest. The 
 face, with its black bushy beard and 
 bare head, was especially strong and 
 masterful, being full of will, courage, 
 and wisdom. It was one fit to com- 
 mand Empires, a world mover, and 
 while it revealed strong passions and 
 desires, the distinguishing feature was a 
 certain brightness, or radiancy that 
 shone forth, the radiancy of joy, of 
 triumph, of mastery of those strong 
 passions and desires. The whole man- 
 ner and make-up of the man was that of 
 greatness, and so weak and insignificant 
 did John feel in comparison that he 
 shrank into a corner like a miserable 
 cur. 
 
 "Come, my son," said the man as he 
 walked softly about the room. "Take 
 courage; be the master of yourself." 
 
 "Be the master of myself?" echoed 
 John meekly, remembering his long 
 
148 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 .struggles in this direction, how often 
 he had been worsted, and his late fit of 
 temper. "That's difficult, so difficult!" 
 
 "Yes, it is difficult, but it is worth the 
 struggle. You can never do your best, 
 as you are so desirous of doing, until 
 you are your best. And you can never 
 be your best until you are the master of 
 yourself, the master of yourself in all 
 things. First the master of your body, 
 making it subservient and obedient to 
 the man, and not permitting it to rise 
 up a beast that enshrouds and subdues 
 the man. Keep the body under, yet well 
 trained and in condition for the de- 
 mands upon it. Control it by right eat- 
 ing, right sleeping, freedom from high 
 living, fast living, too great a strain and 
 rush; freedom from temper, passion, 
 and all vices and habits that in any way 
 sap its vitality. If you do not, you can 
 expect it to rise up a beast that will mas- 
 ter you." 
 
 "Beast?" said John. 
 
 "Yes, beast. Every man has an animal 
 of some kind in him. If it isn't Appe- 
 tite, it is Passion, or some other mon- 
 ster. And every time you indulge that 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 149 
 
 monster he grows stronger and might- 
 ier, and constant indulgence makes him 
 grow so strong and powerful that only 
 herculean efforts can put him down. 
 But put him down you must. You can- 
 not be a man, you can never do your 
 best, you can never do all you are capa- 
 ble of doing, until you are the master 
 of that beast." 
 
 "I see," said John, taking some cour- 
 age, "and have for some time. I eat 
 until I am stupid and of course cannot 
 do good work. I eat too much, or some- 
 thing that does not agree. The mess 
 boils and seethes, seeking an outlet. The 
 system seeks to throw off the poison and 
 I become cross, crabid, irritable, and 
 upon slight provocation, explode in a 
 fit of temper. The stomach is the secret 
 of the whole thing." 
 
 "There is truth in that, but it is not 
 the whole truth. Man is animal, and to 
 subdue that animal is more difficult 
 than the taking of empires. Diet- 
 ing alone will not do it; neither will 
 power of will and determination. I 
 have as much* of these as any man ever 
 had, and while others have gloried in 
 
150 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 mastering empires, and too often they 
 have been unable to master themselves 
 — I take pride in having mastered my- 
 self." 
 
 The last words were spoken humbly 
 and modestly, yet with such dignity that 
 the man seemed actually to increase in 
 stature. 
 
 "Something more than these are 
 needed. To master himself, man needs 
 power beyond himself. There is a spir- 
 itual side of your being capable of tak- 
 ing hold of and seizing this power. Cul- 
 tivate and develop this side of your na- 
 ture; fight and conquer the animal with 
 this. It may be a long struggle ; it may 
 be short; it is according to how you 
 take hold. But no matter how long the 
 warfare, no matter how often you are 
 worsted, constantly renew the fight. If 
 you can gain but one victory you will be 
 strengthened for the next. This is the 
 secret — the one victory. But after that, 
 you will have to fight on and on. And 
 if you fight on and faint not, in the end 
 you will be the victor — that will be 
 something, to be master of yourself." 
 
 The majesty of the man increased 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 151 
 
 and his greatness so grew upon John 
 that he felt himself a weakling in the 
 presence of one of the world's greatest 
 men. He had an idea that some great 
 historical or biblical personage was be- 
 fore him, though he could not place 
 him. As the visitor lingered, John 
 mustered up the courage to ask: 
 
 "Who are you, if I may inquire?" 
 
 "I?" The very majesty and dignity 
 in the word made John feel like a 
 worm. "A MAN!" 
 
 He disappeared, but his majesty and 
 nobility remained, filling the room and 
 coming down upon John in a kind of 
 cloud. He was overwhelmed and sank 
 upon the floor, crying: 
 
 "And what am I ? What am I ?" 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 During the winter, gold had been dis- 
 covered in the hills east of Glenwood, 
 and a large number of men from differ- 
 ent parts of the country had been going 
 through the town to and from the new 
 mining district. John had read glow- 
 ing accounts of the new discoveries in 
 the Tacoma papers, and had heard 
 much talk, but was only passively inter- 
 ested. One afternoon, a bright and in- 
 telligent Swede, named Oleson, and an 
 acquaintance of John, stepped into the 
 office and said: 
 
 "I suppose you know gold has been 
 discovered in the hills east of here?" 
 
 John knew all about it. 
 
 "It's a fact; I've been there. I was 
 up last fall and staked off a claim." 
 
 "Is that so?" said John. 
 
 "Yes; here is a specimen of the ore. 
 And here is a government assay. See, it 
 shows gold, over eight dollars to the 
 ton." 
 
 John took the ore and looked over 
 the assay. 
 
 152 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 153 
 
 "Now it takes money to develop a 
 claim and I haven't any and don't know 
 where to get any. You know people 
 where you came from who have 
 money?" 
 
 "Yes," replied John, "quite a num- 
 ber." 
 
 "My claim is worth nothing," contin- 
 ued the Swede, pleased with John's re- 
 ply, "unless it can be developed ; but it 
 will only take about two hundred dol- 
 lars. Now I'll make you this proposi- 
 tion ; I will give you a half interest, and 
 we will form a stock company. I have 
 no doubt you could sell enough of the 
 treasury stock to your friends for what 
 little we'll need to develop and we'll 
 all make some money." 
 
 "Maybe I could," replied John, "but 
 there are so many fake companies of 
 this kind." 
 
 "You can fix that part all right. You 
 can make a trip with me to the claim ; 
 you can then see for yourself, get a spec- 
 imen of the ore and have it assayed. 
 They couldn't ask for better proof than 
 that; and I don't ask them or you to 
 take my word." 
 
154 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 John listened further, but indifferent- 
 ly. He had passed through the winter 
 without catching the gold fever. Most 
 of the time he had been plunged too 
 much in gloom to give the gold mines 
 any thought, and now his mind was so 
 concentrated in building up a law prac- 
 tice and gaining the objects of his heart 
 in that way that he was blind to all 
 other means. Money was what he 
 wanted to establish an office in Tacoma 
 and to marry Florence, but had some 
 one shoved a pile of gold under his nose 
 he would not have seen it. Men are 
 often that way; they fail to recognize 
 the means and opportunities nearest at 
 hand and within their very reach. The 
 only encouragement John gave his 
 caller was that he would consider the 
 matter and let him know. 
 
 While eating his supper the next 
 evening, in his office, having as yet 
 given Oleson's proposition very little 
 consideration, except the thought that 
 he would turn it down, there was a rap 
 at the door. It was a very faint rap, 
 much like the delicate rap of a woman. 
 John was always thinking of Florence 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 155 
 
 and at once his heart began to beat 
 loudly. Though his situation had much 
 improved, his office and living-room 
 were so crude he would rather almost 
 anything would happen than Florence 
 should come in. He listened breath- 
 lessly a few moments, but so quiet was 
 everything, he thought he must have 
 been mistaken. A rap again, and louder. 
 
 "Well, if it's Florence, it's Florence," 
 and John boldly stepped to the door 
 and swung it open. 
 
 A young woman entered, her beauty 
 of face and dress so dazzling as to take 
 his breath. She was ablaze with dia- 
 monds, which contrasted greatly with 
 John's plainness. As soon as he could 
 recover himself, John was.very obsequi- 
 ous. 
 
 "May I ask who it is that honors my 
 rough and rude abode with the presence 
 of such charm? You are not anyone 
 from this vicinity ; such brilliance could 
 only belong to some palatial home. A 
 thousand pardons, Madame, or who- 
 ever you may be, for so rude a place for 
 you to enter. Perhaps you are some one 
 from the city, who has lost the way." 
 
156 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "Who I am, what I am, whence I 
 came, whither I go is of little conse- 
 quence," replied the beautiful and daz- 
 zling visitor in a voice and manner so 
 sweet and persuasive, that surely, John 
 thought, never did siren speak more 
 sweetly. "Your indecision and indif- 
 ference to the Good Luck that has been 
 knocking at your door has caused me to 
 appear in person, to persuade you to the 
 things to which you have been indiffer- 
 ent. 'Why not spread your sail to the 
 favorable gale, now that it blows?' 
 'Nothing ventured, nothing gained,' 
 and who ventures most gains most. 
 Pluck brings luck, and 'fortune favors 
 those who have the courage to venture.' 
 Moreover 'fortune knocks at least once 
 at the door of everyone's house.' She is 
 not the blind, drunken, freakish crea- 
 ture some have represented her to be, 
 but bestows her gifts, intelligently, upon 
 those who are listening and are ready, 
 whenever she knocks, to let her in. No, 
 fortune is not blind. Look for yourself ! 
 for Good Luck and Good Fortune, are 
 they not the same? 
 
 "So far from Fortune being blind, in 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 157 
 
 order to bestow her favors more intelli- 
 gently, she sends her messenger, Oppor- 
 tunity, before, and upon those who are 
 active and wise enough to seize Oppor- 
 tunity, Fortune showers her gifts ; for it 
 is her design to reward the active and 
 wise, and let the slothful and dumb 
 sleep on. But Opportunity is a slippery 
 fellow; he has hair before, but not be- 
 hind. Therefore when he appears, 
 seize him by the forelock; for he is 
 soon come, and soon gone. Seize him 
 while you may; for 'he who would not 
 when he may, when he would, he shall 
 have nay.' Opportunity has been 
 knocking at your door, lo! these many 
 hours. But you have heard him not, 
 and that has brought me here, an un- 
 usual favor, for I seldom come where 
 Opportunity is not heard. 
 
 "But why this deafness and blindness 
 to the Opportunity that would enter 
 herein? Surely he has never been more 
 handsome, more enchanting, more al- 
 luring than at your door. His face is 
 aglow with the hope that will be real- 
 ized; his lips honeyed with the promise 
 that will be fulfilled. His eye is bright 
 
158 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 with anticipation and delight as he 
 points to the mountains, the great and 
 glorious mountains, with their rainbows 
 of gold o'erhung for you. Have the 
 spirit to venture forth and I shall 
 shower all things upon you, — riches, 
 happiness, honor, yes, all these shall be 
 yours." 
 
 So saying, Good Fortune disappeared. 
 John went to the door and looked out, 
 thinking, perchance, he might see Op- 
 portunity there; but all was blackness. 
 He left his supper unfinished and went 
 at once to Oleson's. 
 
 On the way he said to himself, "I 
 have been blind. The proposition is 
 sound and a real opportunity. The ore 
 has been already assayed. What more 
 assurance could I ask? Oleson can do 
 nothing himself ; he can't get the money 
 to develop. I can. The very thing I 
 want — gold — thrust upon me. 'Have 
 the spirit to venture forth and I shall 
 shower all things upon you.' Riches, 
 it's there in the hills. Oleson has al- 
 ready staked off the claim, — 'Happi- 
 ness,' that means Florence! Honor, — 
 after all I have been through, it's all 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 159 
 
 going to come!" He was filled with 
 deep emotion and a great gratitude 
 welled up and dimmed his eyes. 
 
 He told Oleson he would accept his 
 offer arid to clinch matters, had him en- 
 ter into a written contract. As soon as 
 the necessary preparations could be 
 made, they would make the trip to the 
 claim, as Oleson had proposed. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 A trip to the mining district meant a 
 walk of one hundred and twenty miles, 
 over a road impassable for mud except 
 to men afoot and the few pack animals 
 that carried supplies. But, nothing 
 daunted, John and the Swede started 
 out one May morning, in true miner's 
 fashion, with their packs on their backs. 
 They built fires along the road and 
 cooked their meals ; and at night made 
 piles of broken limbs for beds that 
 would keep them off the wet ground. 
 The first night was spent in balancing 
 feats trying to stay on the large limb on 
 top, and in listening for prowling cou- 
 gars and bears. It is true, they trembled 
 often, for the night was black, the 
 sounds of the forest many and mysteri- 
 ous, and they imagined many things; 
 but all this they bore cheerfully, for 
 visions of gold tempted the way. 
 
 The second night they spent with an 
 old Swede, named Larkenson, who 
 lived in a very pretty spot at the head of 
 a beautiful mountain lake. With Lar- 
 
 160 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 161 
 
 kenson lived a German, Lawrence by 
 name, a good-natured fellow, whom 
 they called "Potaties," on account of 
 his using this word when he wanted 
 to swear. They had a jolly time, talk- 
 ing about the new mines, telling the 
 latest news, while Potaties prepared 
 supper, which took him until nine 
 o'clock at night, being able to cook only 
 one thing at a time, and having mislaid 
 every knife, fork, and spoon in the proc- 
 ess. John, however, made out with a 
 pocket knife, and enjoyed the best meal 
 he had ever eaten in his life, — he had 
 such a keen appetite. 
 
 In a short time all retired for the 
 night, the conversation being continued 
 long after the light was out, no one gefc 
 ting much, if any sleep. John and Ole- 
 son were given a small bunk, too short 
 for either of them. They would lie 
 with limbs drawn up until they could 
 stand the cramps no longer; then would 
 hang their feet over the footboard until 
 they thought their calves had been cut 
 in two. It took some time the next 
 morning to get the crooks out of their 
 
 legs; but all this they bore cheerfully 
 u 
 
162 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 for visions of gold made present hard- 
 ships light. 
 
 They had not proceeded far, this 
 day, when the first indication of the 
 mining boom came in sight, the town of 
 Williamsdale, everything owned and 
 controlled by Mr. Williams. The place 
 consisted of hotel, store, barber shop, 
 blacksmith shop, and saloon, — all built 
 of neatly hewn logs — and an unlimited 
 number of town lots. Williams had 
 gotten his start by getting rid of his first 
 wife and marrying another with twelve 
 thousand dollars. All this he had in- 
 vested in the place with two objects in 
 view, both of which he had every confi- 
 dence of realizing: first, doubling the 
 capital several times by selling lots as 
 the town grew; second, perpetuating 
 his name by means of the town he had 
 named in honor of himself. 
 
 "Bound to have a good town here," 
 said he, behind the counter in his store. 
 "Can't help it. The mines are a great 
 go, and there'll have to be a half-way 
 place. In two years we will have two 
 or three thousand population." 
 
 The store contained everything from 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 163 
 
 a sack of salt to a fair assortment of silks 
 and satins. As for silks, there was not 
 a woman within thirty miles of the 
 place to buy anything of the kind ; but 
 Williams was ready for the women to 
 come. 
 
 Potaties was at work a little way be- 
 yond, digging what looked to be a well. 
 "Will you strike. water soon?" asked 
 John. 
 
 "Water, nothing! Copper!" 
 "You don't expect to strike copper in 
 a hole like that, do you?" 
 "I don't; but Williams does." 
 It was explained that a man had 
 come along who claimed to have had a 
 dream, in which an angel appeared and 
 pointed out a spot in Williamsdale 
 where there was a copper vein of great 
 richness. As the man had never been in 
 the place before, and described a cer- 
 tain tree he had seen in the dream, near 
 which the vein was to be found, and 
 which description tallied with an^ctual 
 tree, he succeeded in selling out to Wil- 
 liams for a hundred dollars, and Pota- 
 ties had been hired to dig the hole that 
 was sure to strike one of the richest cop- 
 
164 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 per veins in the country. Thus do men 
 in the mad desire for riches clutch at 
 even the phantasies of dreams. John 
 and Oleson agreed with Potaties that no 
 copper would be found and commented 
 upon the folly of Williams in being so 
 easily taken in, hinting that they were 
 engaged in the mining business in a 
 more prudent and rational way, and 
 that no one could fool them. 
 
 They soon reached the worst part of 
 the road, and had before them a stretch 
 of four miles of mud three feet deep. 
 There was no getting around it; they 
 were compelled to wade through. At 
 each step, John slowly sunk his foot un- 
 til it reached bottom. Then he would 
 as slowly extract it, — this often being 
 difficult. His loose rubber boots began 
 to make a painful sore on one of his 
 heels; but all this he cheerfully bore, 
 for visions of gold tempted his way. 
 
 For some time they had, been travel- 
 ing though the timber belt. Trees ten 
 feet in diameter and one hundred feet 
 high were so thick they could not turn 
 to the side of the road. Many times did 
 John stop to admire these monarchs of 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 165 
 
 the forest, and wonder how any soil was 
 capable of transmuting so much of its 
 substance into woody fibre. It is in a 
 magnificent forest man feels his prow- 
 ess. What though he be sticking in 
 three feet of mud? He knows that the 
 stroke Of his arm can lay low these 
 mighty giants, and feels that he, indeed, 
 dominates the things of earth. 
 
 Further on, they began to see many 
 evidences of mining excitement. Many 
 men had simply gone crazy, they 
 thought. Holes had been scratched in 
 banks along the road, among the roots 
 of uptorn trees, under overturned rocks, 
 as if gold dollars were to be found any- 
 where. Everywhere had been mad 
 scratching and pawing, that looked 
 more like that of some starved animal 
 after a bone; but it had been done by 
 men, after gold! gold! gold! Here 
 again John and Oleson congratulated 
 themselves upon their superior judg- 
 ment, and the prudent and business-like 
 way they would do the thing. 
 
 "We will soon reach Golden City," 
 said Oleson, late in the day. "Then we 
 will only have two miles to the claim." 
 
166 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 John had heard much, during the 
 last two months, of Golden City, the 
 new mining town. The name was in 
 the mouths of all people, and several 
 men were contesting for the ownership 
 of the town site, as it was thought the 
 place was destined to be a second Crip- 
 ple Creek. He was quite curious, there- 
 fore, to see what the place looked like, 
 and was trying to catch glimpses of it 
 through the trees, when his companion 
 stopped suddenly and said: 
 
 "Here we are!" 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Golden City!" 
 
 John could see nothing but an im- 
 mense pile of fallen trees, lying across 
 each other in every direction, about 
 thirty feet in height. After they had 
 climbed up, they saw a log building in 
 one corner of the clearing, the only 
 building in the place. 
 
 "This is the town site, and over there 
 is Brown's hotel and store," said Oleson. 
 
 "So this is Golden City!" exclaimed 
 John. "The way the place is talked 
 about, one would imagine the streets 
 paved with the precious metal." 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 167 
 
 "Just started," said Oleson; "just 
 started. We're on the ground floor." 
 
 And, indeed, Oleson had been among 
 the first to stake off a claim in the new 
 field. • 
 
 They made their way with difficulty 
 over the fallen trees, John often becom- 
 ing dizzy, and having to be assisted by 
 Oleson. Upon entering the store, the 
 only one within a radius of thirty miles, 
 John became much interested in the 
 price of things, — flour, seven dollars a 
 sack; bacon, one dollar a pound; 
 eggs, ten cents apiece. They were shown 
 specimens of ore by Brown, the proprie- 
 tor, who was the original discoverer of 
 the district, as well as claimant of the 
 town site. There was also exhibited 
 certificates of government assays, which 
 showed high-grade ores. That there 
 was gold in the district, John thought 
 the proofs complete. Furthermore, Ole- 
 son, having made some study of ores, 
 picked out those specimens that con- 
 tained the most gold, which increased 
 John's confidence, and made him feel 
 that he was in good hands. 
 
 The next morning, after winding 
 
168 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 their way along a rushing mountain 
 torrent, now clinging to the side of some 
 Steep cliff where to lose a foothold 
 meant death, then over the stream, back 
 again, then, with hair on end, ever some 
 deep gully by means of a fallen tree, or 
 around the side or over the top of some 
 Steep though picturesque precipice, 
 they reached at last a beautiful, moss- 
 covered cliff. 
 
 "Now get your pick out, and get some 
 ore for yourself," said Oleson. "You see 
 the vein running along here, exposed 
 for a hundred feet. There may be a 
 whole mountain of it; but whether 
 there is or not, there is enough right in 
 sight." 
 
 As the sharp click of the pick rang 
 out, the only sound that broke the silent 
 majesty of the forest, a happy thrill 
 passed over John, and he felt that 
 mother earth would indeed yield her 
 treasures, and that fortune would be- 
 stow the good things of life. 
 
 After some hesitancy, the claim was 
 named the "Moss Back," Oleson think- 
 ing the name indicated a back number, 
 and would bring ill luck, but yielding, 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 169 
 
 because John thought it the most 
 appropriate, on account of the moss- 
 covered cliff which he admired. 
 The claim then having been re-staked, 
 and notices posted, they started for 
 home, stopping a day at Larkenson's to 
 rest. A ride on the beautiful mountain 
 lake at this place was an eventful one 
 for John, an account of which follows. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 It was late in the afternoon, and not 
 knowing how to put in the time, John 
 started down to the water's edge. He 
 loosened the bark canoe, stepped in and 
 pushed from the shore. Paddling In- 
 dian fashion, first on one side and then 
 the other, he was soon out on the lake, 
 and lost in admiration of the beauties 
 of the scene about him. 
 
 To the east, over the top of a vast 
 stretch of forest, some forty or fifty 
 miles distant, yet apparently only two 
 or three miles away, stood old Mount 
 Tacoma, rearing its great massive form 
 above the forest and lower peaks into 
 the clear blue skies flaked with fleecy 
 clouds. There it stood alone, supreme 
 and majestic, as a guard or sentinel over 
 the lesser mountains, white and blind- 
 ing in the bright sun rays. John could 
 never tire looking at this grand mon- 
 arch of the Cascades. The scene was 
 ever changing; the different formations 
 of clouds never twice alike. The min- 
 gling of the different tints of the sun's 
 
 170 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 171 
 
 rays, the silvery beams of the moon's 
 reflection, at times only the upper part 
 visible through the clouds, appearing 
 like some gigantic mountain suspended 
 in mid-air, the sun playing here and 
 there with rainbow tints upon its snowy 
 whiteness, — these were scenes that had 
 often touched his better nature, and 
 made him wonder as to the majesty and 
 greatness of Nature, if not of Nature's 
 God. To-day he was nearer than he had 
 ever been before, and as he glided 
 noiselessly about on the lake, its gran- 
 deur, majesty and beauty impressed 
 him as never before. Were it in him 
 to worship anything, it would not be 
 difficult to worship the mighty, power- 
 ful, and wonderful force of Nature, 
 capable of heaping this gigantic beauty 
 up so high. That afternoon he under- 
 stood as never before how a grand and 
 majestic mountain awakens feelings of 
 the greatest reverence and awe. 
 
 "It was on a mountain Moses re- 
 ceived the law for the people," said 
 John to himself, his face enwrapped 
 with some of that same awe and rever- 
 ence. "It was on a mountain Christ 
 
172 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 preached his greatest sermon ; while old 
 Mt. Olympus was supposed by the an- 
 cient Greeks to be the habitation of 
 their gods, where were erected enchant- 
 ing palaces of gold and silver in which 
 dwelt the rulers of earth and man. I 
 can understand how a glorious moun- 
 tain such as this can arouse in man 
 feelings of reverence and awe, and 
 cause him to worship God, if there is a 
 God. But is there a God, and does this 
 feeling of reverence and awe, inspired 
 by this mountain, prove it? This same 
 feeling was aroused in the Greeks by 
 Mt. Olympus, and we know to-day 
 their religion was false, and none of 
 their gods ever existed; and there are 
 many things in Christianity I cannot 
 bring myself to accept." 
 
 Thus John talked to himself, as he 
 glided about upon the lake. It was a 
 perfect day, cool and delightful, such 
 as they can have only in northern 
 climes. There was not a ripple upon 
 the waters, nor the gentlest zephyr 
 astir. All nature was "quiet, not asleep, 
 but basking in the last rays of the bright 
 sunlight, and seemingly enwrapped, as 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 173 
 
 was John, in the silent beauties of the 
 scene. Indian fashion he paddled, at 
 times giving the boat much momentum ; 
 then resting in an easy position, he 
 would glide through numerous water 
 lilies, the smooth surface of the waters 
 making a perfect mirror, brightly re- 
 flecting the adjacent shores and the sky 
 with its fleecy clouds, so that at times it 
 seemed he was floating in some canoe 
 among the clouds. 
 
 The time glided swiftly by, and the 
 sun began to lower in the western sky. 
 Then, as if trying to outdo himself, old 
 Sol, with swift master strokes, lavished 
 his most profuse colors upon the scene, 
 dashing upon the whole dome of the 
 heavens bright crimsons of innumera- 
 ble shades which everywhere tinged 
 and colored the white fleecy clouds, and 
 played upon the bright pinnacle of the 
 mountain, no two shades alike, and all 
 mingling and differentiating with the 
 fading blues and greens of the dying 
 day, in a scene of wondrous beauty and 
 harmony. 
 
 As John gazed in silent admiration, 
 the bright crimsons became deeper and 
 
174 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 richer, and richer still; the blues and 
 greens darker, and darker still, in the 
 fading light, until at last all color had 
 disappeared from the skies. Then a 
 pale star appeared here and there, and 
 another, and another, multiplying, at 
 first slowly, then a thousand, then a 
 million fold. The whole scene was 
 overcast in the silvery sheen of the 
 moon. The vast forest was outlined in 
 the darkest green, and over its top, the 
 mountain stood out in bright silvery 
 colors, its glaciers and precipices ex- 
 quisitely traced in various shadows, as 
 if carved on the bright silver by some 
 Master Artist. As John sat in the boat, 
 drinking in the beauties of the scene, he 
 drifted to the shore, wondering whether 
 the scene by moonlight was more beau- 
 tiful than the one by sunlight. 
 
 "What a beautiful world this is!" he 
 mused, stepping out of the boat. "What 
 a beautiful world! And how full of 
 riches, comforts and happiness! It's 
 good enough for me ; yes, good enough 
 for me." 
 
 He said the words with a ring of real 
 happiness in his heart, which the events 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 175 
 
 of the whole day had conspired to bring 
 about. The trip to the mine had been 
 exhilarating; he was feeling his best 
 physically, and everything about the 
 mining project looked promising. The 
 bright prospects of old Mother Earth 
 yielding her treasures, and all the com- 
 forts and pleasures these brought, to- 
 gether with the inspirations of the 
 scenes he had been looking upon had all 
 played upon and attuned his being, un- 
 til it sang with a happy song. He felt 
 strength in his arm, prowess in his be- 
 ing. That hour the world was a place 
 of happiness and joy for him. It had 
 naught of clouds and storms. 
 
 "What a beautiful world!" said John 
 again, putting all the joy of his heart 
 into the words. "And not merely here, 
 but everywhere is the world beautiful. 
 Go where you will upon this earth, 
 upon plain, valley or mountain peak, 
 into wilderness, jungle, or desert waste, 
 go where you will, beauty is to be 
 found, if sought. For everywhere are 
 blended in rich harmonies of earth and 
 sky scenes of everchanging beauty to be 
 admired bv man." 
 
176 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 As John looked up, the bright silvery 
 mountain seemed to point in silent maj- 
 esty to the heavens above. 
 
 "But what is this world compared 
 with what is up there?" he questioned, 
 "all those millions upon millions of 
 twinkling stars up there, — what are 
 they? Suns far greater, far mightier 
 than our sun, in comparison with 
 which the great flaming orb that causes 
 so much life and beauty here is but a 
 mere dot, a mere atom in space. And 
 what beauties, what life, there must be 
 in the worlds that swing about the great 
 and beautiful suns up there; for there 
 must be worlds, and there must be life, 
 as it is unreasonable to suppose that if 
 our sun, inferior and insignificant as it 
 is, has an inhabited world swinging 
 about it, that other suns, so far superior 
 and greater, have not also inhabited 
 worlds about them. But worlds and 
 life far more beautiful, far superior to 
 ours. It must be; for one sun glitters 
 with the green of emerald; another, 
 with the blue of amethyst; another 
 with the red of topaz. Every tint that 
 blooms in the flowers in summer flames 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 177 
 
 forth in those great suns, to tinge and 
 color the worlds and life about them. 
 And there are the double and multiple 
 suns blazing forth and lighting worlds 
 in colors blended and intermingled in 
 richest harmony. There's Rigel, up 
 there, ten thousand times greater in 
 light-giving power than our sun, with 
 its white, diamond sparkle, so white, so 
 brilliant, that in comparison our sun is 
 a dull yellow flame ; and under its wing, 
 another sun of the deepest blue. What 
 would be nature, and what would be 
 life under those two suns, with their 
 bright, brilliant rays mingled and com- 
 mingled in beauteous scenes of endless 
 change? 
 
 "And there is Alderbaran, near by, 
 rose-colored, a great ruby, of finer and 
 clearer tint than any ever possessed by 
 man. What must be a landscape there? 
 And near by is Bentelgeuse, a great 
 topaz sun. What must be landscape 
 bathed in its pure, golden red rays? 
 And, for all I know, there may be 
 worlds swinging about those three 
 mighty suns, upon which all shine, with 
 their pure diamond, ruby, and topaz 
 
 18 
 
178 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 lights, first one and then the other ; or, 
 perhaps, all together, mingling and 
 commingling their beauteous rays in 
 endless variety, and where, perhaps, it 
 may always be day. Can the imagina- 
 tion picture the scenes of beauty and the 
 forms of life in such places? If there 
 is a heaven, there would be a fit place 
 for it. Yes, there would be a fit place 
 for it. But it is impossible to conceive 
 of a life here being transferred through 
 such vast space." 
 
 Thus John thought as he gazed in- 
 tently into the heavens, as he picked out 
 the stars, and recalled their names, his 
 imagination crushed and overwhelmed 
 in its efforts to catch some glimpse of 
 the greatness and vastness of the uni- 
 verse, and of the infinite variety of life 
 and beauty it must contain. 
 
 When his thought reverted to him- 
 self, he could not help exclaim: "And 
 what is man in the midst of it all? Noth- 
 ing! Nothing! A microscopic object! 
 An animalcule in a drop of water! A 
 mere worm in the dust! And why this 
 world, this sun, and all this vast and 
 beautiful universe? Why man? What 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 179 
 
 is he? Whence earnest he and whither 
 goeth? Mortal, or immortal? Does the 
 grave end all, or does he live on? None 
 ever return to tell the story. No, none. 
 What? Where?" 
 
 His thought became confused, his 
 head hot and feverish; he could go no 
 further. In his confusion, the form of 
 an aged and decrepit man appeared be- 
 fore him, leaning upon a staff, the 
 movement of whose hand quieted his 
 troubled thought into calm. 
 
 "It is well for thee," said he, "to 
 pause long enough amid the pleasures 
 and successes of this life to ask who thou 
 art, whence thou earnest, and whither 
 thou goest; for these are questions thou 
 canst not avoid. Thou art but a so- 
 journer, for a brief moment, upon a 
 place called Earth, and thou hast be- 
 held some of the beauty, grandeur and 
 sublimity of that great Mother, out of 
 whose loins thou sprangest, and upon 
 whose bosom thou art sustained and 
 nourished, until thy dust shall be re- 
 turned to it again. Out of the dust thou 
 art created, and to the dust thou shalt 
 return. 
 
180 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "But thou art more than dust. Thou 
 hast within thee a mysterious, wondrous 
 thing, — the breath of life, and a some- 
 thing that thinks and reasons. What are. 
 these? Whence came they? Whither 
 goeth? Thou hast been taught that at 
 one time this earth was a fiery, molten 
 mass. There was no life, no living thing 
 upon it. Then came the thing called 
 life, the end of which was man with his 
 power to think and reason. Whence 
 came this life? Did it originate itself* 
 was the element contained in the fiery, 
 molten mass ; or did it come from with- 
 out? These are questions thou canst 
 not answer or ever know of thine own 
 knowledge ; neither canst thou say what 
 life is, or whither goeth. But as your 
 dust returns to dust whence it came, as 
 death does not destroy, but only changes 
 the form of the elements of which the 
 body is composed, why should it de- 
 stroy the thing called life, and the some- 
 thing that thinks and reasons? Why 
 should not the one continue on and exist 
 in changed form after death as well as 
 the other?" 
 
 "It may be that it does," answered 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 181 
 
 John, with the deepest respect, strug- 
 gling with the question. "But, aged sir, 
 may I ask if this is true of man, may it 
 not also be true of all the lower ani- 
 mals? For they all have in them the 
 thing called life. Would not the rea- 
 soning applied to one be also applicable 
 to the other?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the venerable person- 
 age, " 'tis true. The same reasoning 
 applied to one can also be applied to the 
 other. What proves the immortality of 
 the soul, also proves the transmigration 
 of the soul. This simply shows the lim- 
 itations of man's mind to grapple with, 
 and answer for himself, this greatest of 
 all questions. It cannot be proved by 
 direct reasoning whether thou art mor- 
 tal or immortal, whether there is a God, 
 or not a God ; for these are not matters 
 of reasoning, but of belief. Desirest 
 thou to believe there is a God and here- 
 after? Thou wilt find many arguments 
 and reasons that tend to support thy be- 
 lief. Desirest thou to believe there is 
 no God or hereafter? Likewise thou 
 wilt find many arguments and reasons 
 to support thy belief. But none reach 
 
182 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 the point of direct and absolute proof. 
 Thou canst never reach that by reason- 
 ing. Thou must simply believe or not 
 believe. 
 
 "But, my son, is it not far better to 
 believe than not believe? Is it not far 
 better to believe that death is the mere 
 passage from this life to a better, higher 
 and far happier life? Some day thou 
 wilt be as I am, the weight of years 
 upon thy shoulders, thy days upon earth 
 numbered, thy work here finished, — 
 waiting for the end of thy earthly exist- 
 ence. Yes, waiting for the end. Think 
 of it, my son f some day thou wilt be 
 waiting for the end. What will the 
 waiting time be? One filled with 
 peace, joy, comfort, and patience 
 born of the faith that thou art soon go- 
 ing to a happier land to join in happy 
 union the loved ones that have gone be- 
 fore, or one filled with the gloom, de- 
 spair, and impatience born of the belief 
 that the grave ends all, and that there is 
 now nothing for thee, neither in life 
 nor in death? Ah! my son, what will 
 the waiting time be? To be able to pass 
 it right, to be able to die right; to be 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 183 
 
 able to do these two things alone is 
 worth all the effort of trying to live 
 right. 
 
 "Yes, some day thou wilt be as I am ; 
 for I have not always been thus. Listen 
 to my story and then, perhaps, thou 
 canst say whether it is better to believe 
 or not believe. 
 
 "Once I was as thou art, strong of 
 arm and sturdy of limb. Life was full 
 of bright hopes and prospects, and J 
 thought naught of God nor of a soul. 
 But as I went upon life's journey, hope 
 after hope failed me, all my bright 
 prospects faded, until I came to a time 
 when life was so full of despair and 
 disappointment, I was willing to end it 
 all in the oblivion of the grave. The 
 oblivion of the grave ! What a comfort, 
 I thought, 'twould be to blot out this in- 
 sufferable existence in the oblivion of 
 the grave! I was in a great and far dis- 
 tant city, and as I sought about for a 
 means to the end, I thought of a mother 
 back in a humble home, whose life was 
 my life, who lived, moved, and had her 
 existence in me; whose prayers never 
 ceased to follow, wherever I went,. 
 
184 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 whatever I did, in this wide, wide 
 world; and I knew that if I took my 
 life, I would take hers also. I stood ap- 
 palled at the thought of committing a 
 double murder. Then I remembered 
 a father in my childhood days, — a good, 
 noble, and true Christian man, and how 
 he dearly loved me. I knew that if there 
 was a heaven, he was there, and how it 
 would grieve and pain him, were he 
 here upon earth, or could look down 
 and see my sad and unhappy end. The 
 example of these two Christian lives 
 restrained me, though I was not, at the 
 time, a believer myself. Then life be- 
 gan to be filled with success. Comforts, 
 hopes, and happiness came. And when 
 I beheld the happiness of that mother 
 upon meeting me again, I was thankful 
 I had not committed the rash act that 
 would have caused her the anguish of 
 a broken heart and an untimely grave. 
 "Then a loving wife was taken to my 
 bosom, one so full of tenderness and 
 love that I thought none could love 
 more. And when the sweetest and most 
 innocent little babe I had ever beheld 
 graced the cradle at her side, it seemed 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 185 
 
 my cup of happiness was filled. But 
 with it came a feeling of responsibility 
 I had never experienced before. A 
 sense of my failings and shortcomings 
 so weighed upon me that I cried out, 
 'What a wretch am I to have so great a 
 trust imposed upon me, — so sweet, so 
 pure, so innocent, so helpless a being 
 thrust into my hands to feed, clothe, 
 rear, and direct into the paths of good, 
 noble, and true manhood!' What a re- 
 sponsibility! I felt myself so unworthy 
 the trust. But the little life brought 
 great joy to my heart, and linked in 
 still closer union the lives of myself 
 and loving wife. 
 
 "Then another little child came, just 
 as sweet, pure and innocent as the first. 
 Up to this time I had not thought much 
 of God, or a hereafter. I had my 
 doubts about Christianity, like you, and 
 there were many things I could not 
 bring myself to accept. But one night, 
 as I was seated in my bright and com- 
 fortable home, I read the words, 'Suf- 
 fer the little children to come unto me, 
 for of such is the kingdom of heaven.' 
 'What a saying!' said I to myself, re- 
 
186 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 peating the words, 'of such is the king- 
 dom of heaven.' I went upstairs, stole 
 noiselessly into the room. There the 
 little heads lay upon the white pillow — 
 sound asleep, — so pure, so sweet, so in- 
 nocent, no thought of evil yet, no sin, 
 and so precious, so dear to me. 'Yes,' 
 said I, repeating the words, as a wave 
 of tenderness swept over me, 'of such is 
 the kingdom of heaven.' If there is a 
 heaven, those words must be true.' And 
 as I stood looking in silence upon the 
 closed eyes and little breasts heaving 
 with deepest slumber, it seemed that 
 there must be a heaven, and I said, ' 'Tis 
 true, of such is the kingdom of heaven, 
 and if these precious little lives, dearer 
 to me than my own, should be taken 
 from me, I want to believe they have 
 gone to that bright and happy place 
 where they will live on in all their 
 sweetness, purity, innocence, and hap- 
 piness.' 'There shall be a heaven for 
 them,' said I, 'if not for me.' 
 
 "Then a great storm raged upon a 
 black night. The winds howled with 
 the furies of death and destruction. Fly- 
 ing timbers, bricks, and parts of houses 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 187 
 
 flew through the air. The demon of 
 destruction gnashed and tore at the 
 walls of my abode, and made them 
 strain and tremble in his furious grasp. 
 I rushed in a wild fright to the cribs of 
 the sleeping ones. M an may think him- 
 self strong and mighty, but what is he 
 in the violent furies of the elements? 
 I snatched the sleeping forms to my 
 bosom. Where would I go? What 
 would I do? Everywhere was death 
 and destruction. How helpless, how 
 frail I was! I felt I could not save my 
 own life ; what could I do for the help- 
 less ones in my arms? 'Take these babes 
 into Thy care and protection, Thou 
 living God!' I cried. 'Take them, Thou 
 God of the heavens, Thou God who 
 art! Take them into Thy strong and 
 mighty arms. These arms are too weak 
 and helpless. They are but straw in the 
 furies of this storm. And if their lit- 
 tle lives are not to be spared, take them 
 to that bright and happy home in heav- 
 en Thou hast prepared for them.' 
 
 "The storm subsided. But from that 
 hour I felt I must entrust the care of 
 those loved ones to a higher power and 
 
188 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 a stronger arm than my own, not for 
 their safety and protection merely, but 
 for their guidance and direction 
 through life as well; for I knew that 
 as long as they obeyed God's laws, they 
 would obey man's law, and be safe 
 from crime and evil themselves, and 
 never cause sorrow to my aging years. 
 
 "Then death laid his cold hand upon 
 the younger one. She was a bright, 
 happy little child, the image of myself ; 
 whose smiling and joyous little face I 
 never missed at the window, watching 
 and waiting to run to my arms with her 
 happy welcome, 'Hello, papa, Hello!' 
 whenever I came home. Now that 
 happy little face was never to appear at 
 the window again, nor were the little 
 feet and outstretched arms ever to come 
 running with that glad and happy wel- 
 come. There she lay in cold death, the 
 little eyes forever closed, the little lips 
 forever sealed. I could not understand 
 why one so innocent and beautiful had 
 to be taken away; nor could I console 
 myself with the loss, for it was like tear- 
 ing a very part of my own life from me. 
 As I laid away the little pink dress, the 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 189 
 
 little stockings, the little shoes scuffed 
 at the toes, all the little things so dear 
 and familiar, not able to bear it longer, 
 'Oh God!' I cried, 'Why is this? Must 
 the joy of my heart, the life of my life, 
 one so beautiful and innocent, be laid in 
 the cold ground, never to appear at the 
 window again, with that happy wel- 
 come, 'Hello, papa, Hello!' No, 'tis 
 not so; 'tis not so. This innocent and 
 beautiful one has but gone to a brighter 
 and happier home, and every day her 
 happy and joyous little face will appear 
 at the window there, watching and 
 waiting with her happy little welcome, 
 'Hello, papa, Hello!' and some day I 
 shall hear it again. There shall be a 
 heaven for me, as well as for her!' 
 
 "What about my doubts and un- 
 beliefs? They had been caused by my 
 viewing Christianity from the stand- 
 point of reason. I now discovered my 
 error and came to see that it is not a 
 matter of reasoning, but of faith and 
 belief. Reasoning had given me no 
 positive answers either way, — had only 
 enshrouded me in clouds of doubts. 
 I left reasoning to the things to which 
 
190 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 reasoning belongs, and called upon the 
 Spirit of God. The clouds at once 
 cleared and the bright sun of positive 
 and satisfying truth shone forth. I 
 found that the more one permits the 
 true Spirit of God to dwell in his heart 
 the less he is troubled with doubts and 
 unbeliefs, for this Spirit has the power 
 to reveal the truth. 
 
 " 'Once when I permitted It to de- 
 part, the Doubter and Destroyer ap- 
 peared. 
 
 " 'Heaven?' said he; 'there is no such, 
 place. God? There is none such, — 
 simply delusions you have forced upon 
 yourself in your weakness and extrem- 
 ity. This is an age of reason. Away 
 with these false and childish beliefs. 
 Be a man ! Deceive yourself no longer 1 
 Away with them !' 
 
 " 'What?' said I, 'Take away God 
 and heaven? Take these away? If you 
 do, even if they are false and childish 
 beliefs, you take away the best in my 
 life. Take these away, and you take the 
 only consolation I have in the death of 
 that loved one. Take these away, and 
 you take away the only things that re- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 191 
 
 strained this hand from an ignoble, 
 self-inflicted death. Take these away, 
 and you take the only Higher Power 
 there is to entrust with the care and 
 guidance of the young life that remains 
 to me. Take these away, and you take 
 the only things that enable me to accept 
 life's trials patiently, and which enable 
 me to go on, patiently awaiting the end, 
 and meet death without fear and trem- 
 bling. Take these away ? What have 
 you to give in return? Yes, what have 
 you to give in return? What hope, what 
 cheer, what consolation is there for my- 
 self, or those dear to me, in the belief 
 that the grave ends all ? Yes, what have 
 you to give in return? Before attempt- 
 ing to destroy or take away from me 
 that which I have, first offer something 
 as good, if not better, in its place. A 
 false and childish belief, you say? What 
 though it is false? Is it not better to 
 believe the little one is in heaven, 
 watching and waiting with her happy, 
 'Hello, papa, Hello!' and that some day 
 I shall hear that joyous greeting again ? 
 A false and childish belief, you say? 
 What though it is false? Is it not bet- 
 
192 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 ter for myself to be able to face death 
 with that calm assurance one is but go- 
 ing to his happy reward to meet in joy- 
 ous union the loved ones that have gone 
 before? Is it not better so to believe, 
 even though it all may be false?' 
 
 "And so I ask you, my son, is it not 
 better so to believe? Ah! my son, it 
 may be that there is such a place as 
 heaven. Thou hast this night caught a 
 glimpse of God's infinite universe and 
 hast had some faint idea of the won- 
 drous beauty and glory of life it must 
 contain. It may be true there is a 
 place up there for the departed of this 
 world, — it may be true. 
 
 "And, my son," said he, his voice be- 
 coming very low and impressive, "if it 
 only may be true, canst thou afford to 
 run the risk of it being false? Ask thy- 
 self, — canst thou afford to run the risk 
 of it being false?" 
 
 As the last words were spoken in a 
 whisper, scarcely audible, yet with a 
 manner that stirred the very depths of 
 John's being, the figure began to dis- 
 solve. 
 
 "Hold! Hold! Stay! sir, stay!" cried 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 193 
 
 John. "Stay a moment! Stay!" for he 
 knew that 'Himself in his Old Age' 
 appeared before him, and he wished to 
 learn more of what life had in store. 
 But the figure had gone beyond recall, 
 and John, deeply affected, walked up to 
 the house and entered. 
 
 13 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 As John hurried along the road at a 
 rapid gait the next day, on his way 
 home, he had plenty of time to think 
 over what had happened to him the 
 night before. Everything said made a 
 deep and lasting impression, but being 
 deeply absorbed at the time in his min- 
 ing project, and the things foretold and 
 promised as its outcome, his thoughts 
 reverted, principally, to that part of 
 "the story of his life" that related to it. 
 He had been told that after failure, dis- 
 appointment, and thoughts of self-de- 
 struction, success came, and after that, 
 a loving wife and happy home. Flor- 
 ence was the "loving wife," and a fine 
 residence somewhere in Tacoma the 
 "happy home." It was true, thoughts 
 of self-destruction had come to him in a 
 far distant city. He could not recollect 
 thinking of his father and mother at the 
 time, though he may have done so. The 
 only positive inaccuracy was in saying 
 it had taken place in a great city, when 
 it had occurred in a small city, — at his 
 
 194 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 195 
 
 mother's home. But he could not expect 
 accuracy in every minute particular. So 
 he came to the conclusion that this part 
 of his life had been passed, and that the 
 desires of his heart were now to be 
 realized through this mining project. 
 
 While John had no belief in anyone 
 being able to foretell the future, yet 
 when he remembered that it had been 
 foretold to Joan of Arc what would 
 take place in her own life and in the 
 history of France, he thought the imag- 
 ination might become so refined on oc- 
 casions of this kind as to foresee what 
 would take place; and what had been 
 said by His Aged Self only increased 
 his confidence that the promises of 
 Good Fortune would be fulfilled. 
 
 Thus John thought as he walked rap- 
 idly along the road home. Before 
 reaching Glenwood his foot became so 
 sore from the rubber boot, he was 
 obliged to go the last ten miles bare- 
 footed in a cold rain, over a sharp- 
 pebbled road. He arrived at Oleson's 
 about eight at night, very hungry, wet, 
 and sore. 
 
 His feelings the next few weeks can 
 
196 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 be better imagined than described, 
 limping about as he did, with bundled 
 foot, president and secretary of the 
 Moss Back Mining Company, in happy 
 anticipation of the promises that were 
 to be fulfilled. He was able, however, 
 to look at things from the standpoint of 
 reason, the same as if no promises had 
 been made. 
 
 In fact, he made a great effort to keep 
 his hopes in bounds. Just Sense had 
 warned him of "great expectations," 
 and Just Sense was not to be ignored. 
 So, to keep upon a reasonable and con- 
 servative basis, John reasoned the thing 
 out something like this : 
 
 First, there was gold in the district — 
 too much evidence to doubt that ; there 
 had been numerous assays; he had re- 
 peatedly read accounts in the papers, 
 and had verified these accounts by per- 
 sonal inquiry of the government assay- 
 er at Tacoma. Second, he had obtained 
 ore from his own claim with his own 
 hand, which had assayed over eight dol- 
 lars gold to the ton. This was not a 
 high grade ore, but rich enough to 
 work. The great Homestead mine in 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 197 
 
 the Black Hills contained a lower grade 
 ore, and had been one of the best paying 
 in the country. Even if his claim did 
 not turn out much — yes, he would say it 
 would not turn out much — even if it 
 gave him only enough to start an office 
 in Tacoma, and set him up in his pro- 
 fession the way he would like — such 
 good prospects ought to realize at least 
 that much — to be able to do just that 
 meant everything to him. 
 
 If he could establish the right kind of 
 office in Tacoma, being a mining man 
 himself, he would be brought in con- 
 tact with other mining men and thus 
 have the opportunity to build up a prac- 
 tice in mining law. Why should he not 
 be able to do this? He had the educa- 
 tion and training; his mind was quick 
 to grasp intricate points of law; there 
 was no reason why he should not suc- 
 ceed as well as others. He only wanted 
 to succeed — who could blame him for 
 that? Not only for the sake of success 
 itself, but because it would put him in a 
 position to woo Florence and obtain 
 her, the greatest of all the desires of his 
 heart. 
 
198 HIS BETTER -SELF 
 
 He reasoned that Good Fortune's 
 promises of wealth, honor, and happi- 
 ness could be easily fulfilled ; for a suc- 
 cessful mining lawyer meant wealth, 
 honor, and distinction; and wealth 
 brought all things. He dreamed with 
 his old-time freedom of becoming a 
 congressman, senator, or governor, and 
 in the midst of all this honor, glory, 
 happiness, and riches, he had a distinct 
 vision of Florence as the queen over all. 
 Aside from Good Fortune's promises, 
 all these things were possible, and while 
 he might not attain all, yet he would at- 
 tain much, for, look at things as con- 
 servatively as he could, there were most 
 promising opportunities before him. 
 
 Thus John spent the time awaiting 
 answers to letters he had sent to friends 
 in the East, soliciting funds to develop 
 the claim. He also wrote other letters. 
 One was as follows : 
 
 Salt Lake City, Utah, 
 May 15th, 1893. 
 Dear Florence : — 
 
 No doubt you have often wondered 
 why I have said so little as to how I 
 have been making it. To tell the truth, 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 199 
 
 my expectations have not heretofore 
 been realized, but now things are going 
 so well that everything points to my 
 coming to Tacoma to locate within the 
 next few months. I am sorry to learn 
 that you will return East for the sum- 
 mer within a month ; also that you are 
 contemplating accepting a position in 
 the schools at Denver for next year on 
 account of life being lonely for you at 
 Tacoma. Let me assure you that if you 
 remain at Tacoma, things will be quite 
 different next winter. We have spent 
 many a happy hour together, and can 
 do so again. I said, "if you remain at 
 Tacoma." I should not have said that, 
 for you are going to remain. This is 
 not a command, but a prophecy. Did 
 you know I have become prophet? I 
 have. I will explain - it to you some 
 day ; it's quite an interesting story. 
 Yours, 
 
 John. 
 
 Another letter was as follows : 
 
 Glenwood, Wash., 
 May 15th, 1893. 
 Dear Mother: — 
 
 Often during the winter I have re- 
 
200 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 ceived your letters with a real anguish, 
 pouring out your soul as only a mother 
 can for a boy. How you have longed 
 to help me, and could not! How you 
 have prayed God to prosper me, and 
 how I have desired to succeed for your 
 sake! Thank God, your prayers are 
 about to be answered. 
 
 Gold has been discovered near here 
 and it is one of the most promising 
 fields in the State. Another man and I 
 have one of the best claims. I have 
 made a trip to the mine and have had 
 two assays made of the ore which shows 
 over eight dollars gold per ton, be- 
 sides silver, lead and other minerals. 
 The whole thing has come up so sud- 
 denly that I haven't had the oppor- 
 tunity to write to you before. The 
 Homestead mine in the Black Hills only 
 runs about eight dollars gold per ton 
 and it has paid millions upon millions 
 of dividends. I don't expect so much 
 as all that, but it will be a happy day — 
 not longf rom now — when I can send you 
 a good sum of money; happy not be- 
 cause you are my mother and I your 
 son, but because it will repay in a small 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 201 
 
 way so much you have done for me, 
 and because you need it so badly. 
 
 Will write you more later. 
 
 With love, Your son, 
 
 Andrew. 
 
 The friends to whom John had writ- 
 ten soliciting funds were slow in an- 
 swering. When at last replies began to 
 come in, each one had a different ex- 
 cuse. How different the easy and 
 smooth road of anticipation from the 
 difficult, rugged road of reality! One 
 had no money to invest at present; an- 
 other did not wish to invest so far from 
 home; still another did not wish to in- 
 vest because he knew nothing about 
 mining. All were glad, however, to 
 learn of his good luck, and wished him 
 abundant success. 
 
 John was provoked. He knew that 
 every year millions were sunk in wild- 
 cat mining schemes, but he had some- 
 thing of merit. Had he been a fraud, 
 perhaps he would have succeeded. 
 Never mind! He'd show them; his 
 friends would be sorry! He would 
 raise the money himself to give the 
 claim the proper development, and 
 
202 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 when he returned home in a year or 
 two, well-to-do and prosperous, he 
 would tell them what they had missed. 
 
 John had been doing fairly well in 
 his law business, but had not been able 
 to make more than a good living. In- 
 deed, that was enough for the first 
 months, but it was not enough to de- 
 velop mining claims. So he worked at 
 carpentry on a building near his office, 
 which enabled him to watch his busi- 
 ness while he worked. But his atten- 
 tion being otherwise absorbed, his law 
 and lumber business dwindled away. 
 He was enabled, however, in about a 
 month's time, by raking and scraping 
 together every cent, to make a second 
 trip to the mine with Oleson, remaining 
 two weeks. They could do nothing but 
 explore the vein ; a stamp mill was nec- 
 essary to extract the gold from the ore. 
 
 By the time he returned, what little 
 law business he did have had disap- 
 peared. He still held his connection 
 with the lumber company, however, 
 and that would enable him to build it 
 up again. 
 
 Already interest in the new mining 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 203 
 
 district had begun to die out. Very 
 few now made trips to the place. It 
 was explained that, most of the ore be- 
 ing low grade, the district could not be 
 developed until a railroad was built. 
 John could see that this was the fact. 
 Colonel Green, of Tacoma, who was at 
 the head of a project to build this road, 
 went East to interest capital, but on his 
 return reported nothing could be done 
 at present on account of the panic. But 
 John could wait; he could afford to 
 wait, for the Colonel gave assurance 
 that some day the road would be built. 
 
 One day as John stepped into the 
 post-office, a resident of the place, who 
 was a great joker, accosted him : 
 
 "How is the president of The Moss 
 Back Mining Company today? What 
 are shares worth on the market?" 
 
 John was inwardly puffed up, but 
 did not like the remark. 
 
 "Say, that fellow that had the dream 
 about the rich copper vein roped in 
 Williams in great shape, didn't he?" 
 
 "Williams was a fool," said John. 
 "I thought so at the time." 
 
 "Nobody could fool you, I suppose?" 
 
204 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "Hardly." 
 
 "I suppose you've heard the latest 
 news?" 
 
 "No, what?" asked John. 
 
 "There is nothing in the mines at all. 
 Brown is a fraud and the whole thing 
 is a fraud. You see, it's like this. 
 Brown broke up in business at Portland 
 and had a stock of groceries left. He 
 hunted around in the woods and found 
 this place where he would have things 
 all his own way. Wanted to sell his 
 stock of groceries at high prices. See? 
 There were a few streaks of gold in the 
 hills, not enough to ever amount to 
 anything, but enough to keep suckers 
 going. See? Sent down to Colorado 
 for some good ore, and started the ball 
 rolling. See? He's a big-hearted fel- 
 low, though. After he had a few 
 assays of this ore himself, he was gen- 
 erous enough to scatter some around 
 where others would find it, and these 
 are the rich finds you read about. The 
 others don't amount to anything, and 
 never will. Say, can they fool you?" 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the joker. 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed John. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 John turned on his heel, amused at 
 the clever way in which the joke had 
 been played. He soon found, however, 
 the consensus of opinion to be that the 
 claims had been "salted," and that it 
 was based upon sound fact. John went 
 to his office to think the matter over. 
 
 "They may be mistaken, after all,"" 
 said he. "The opinion is based upon 
 mere suspicion. There's no actual 
 proof, I've found that out. Then, if 
 the other claims have been salted, mine 
 has not. The assay was all right. And 
 what is the meaning of Good Fortune 
 appearing and promising me honors, 
 riches and fame? She is but the crea- 
 tion of my own imagination, 'tis true. 
 Yet there is such a thing as Good Luck. 
 And Joan, she created her own St. 
 Michael, too, but he led her on to 
 victory, just the same. Then, there was 
 the prediction at the mountain lake. 
 This was in general terms, but Fortune 
 made a direct and positive promise 
 from this very venture. Nothing is to 
 
 205 
 
206 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 be gained by letting loose now. Some 
 day the railroad will be built, — this is 
 all that is needed. I have hope; I can 
 wait!" 
 
 While he spoke he heard some one at 
 the door. The knob turned, the latch 
 clicked, and in stepped Just Sense. As 
 he walked to and fro, passing from one 
 room to the other, each step causing the 
 small building to vibrate and making 
 considerable noise on the bare floor, 
 Just Sense said: 
 
 "You are still willing to follow after 
 that phantom who called herself Good 
 Fortune and Good Luck, are you, and 
 expect her, sometime, to reward you 
 with great riches for your pains? Be 
 not deceived, my lad; riches are not thus 
 obtained. Never did a more false and 
 deceptive vixen exist. Beneath her 
 silken robes are rags, and rags are the 
 livery of those who follow at her heels. 
 All this mad scratching and pawing of 
 the earth you have seen in the mining 
 country, — what is it? Nothing but the 
 frantic efforts of the blind devotees of 
 this siren, — men otherwise intelligent 
 and sane, scratching two feet into the 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 207 
 
 soil, or pawing a shallow hole at the 
 roots of some tree, and expecting 'luck' 
 to reward them with great wealth. And 
 all over this world, all through life, are 
 the same blind followers of this god- 
 dess, who entrust their time and hard- 
 earned savings to their own and others' 
 game of chance, and expect Good 
 Fortune to reward them with great 
 wealth. What a charm, what a fascina- 
 tion this siren possesses for those over 
 whom her spell is cast! With what 
 dreams of wealth and happiness does 
 she transfix the imagination of those 
 who follow at her heels ! Untold wealth 
 may reward the next venture, — some 
 one of the thousand and one schemes 
 that tempt the unwary, and lure them 
 on and on, which promise great things, 
 but which strip them of their substance 
 and leave them naked at the end! And 
 in that throng are many who know the 
 way and see the end, but who follow on 
 and on, each hoping against hope that 
 he will be the lucky one, and that Good 
 Fortune will bestow her gifts upon him 
 before the end is reached. But rags are 
 her principal gifts, and poverty and 
 want the road she travels. 
 
208 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "And Good Fortune, by her fine 
 speech, has caught you in the mesh and 
 joined you to that multitude of blind 
 and groping followers, willing to fol- 
 low on and on, neglecting your proper 
 business, diverting its small and hard- 
 earned profits to this mining claim, 
 trusting that some day the railroad will 
 be built, and thus make real the way to 
 the promised dreams of wealth. But 
 'who trusteth the morrow earneth 
 sorrow,' and 'who lives on hope will 
 die a fasting.' You had been doing 
 fairly well, and to continue so should 
 remember that 'you must stick well to 
 your trade, or profits will fade.' 'Keep 
 your shop and your shop will keep you,' 
 and 'drive one plow at a time,' for 'he 
 who pursues two rabbits at once catches 
 none.' Moreover, never leave a cer- 
 tainty for an uncertainty; for 'he who 
 leaves certainty for chance when fools 
 pipe may dance.' 
 
 "Trusting to fortune! Trusting to 
 chance ! That is not the road to wealth. 
 There is a surer and safer way. 'Add 
 cents to cents, for wealth comes hence.' 
 'From saving cometh having;' for 'a 
 little each day is much in a year.' 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 209 
 
 'Who nothing saves will nothing have,' 
 though 'a dollar saved is a dollar made.' 
 But the folly of trusting to the freaks of 
 chance! Don't strive after the ex- 
 travagant. Set limits to your desires, 
 and make yourself independent, so far 
 as human foresight and wisdom can do 
 so, of the freaks of chance." 
 
 "That may be all true enough," re- 
 joined John, endeavoring to justify 
 himself. "And while it was the ap- 
 pearance of Good Fortune that started 
 me forth, yet was not the whole thing 
 reasonable enough ; and what she said, 
 — is it not true? If I never venture 
 anything, can I hope to gain anything, 
 and is not the secret between the fortu- 
 nate and unfortunate, between those 
 who get on in the world and those who 
 do not, in seizing and making the best 
 of opportunity whenever it appears? 
 The Swede furnished the opportunity, 
 and advised me to seize it. And was he 
 not honest and sincere? It was really 
 upon his judgment I acted. What 
 could I do, especially when in addi- 
 tion to that Good Fortune spoke so 
 reasonably?" 
 
 Thus it is, my boy. That siren 
 
 14 
 
210 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 is ever putting forth the most plausible 
 pleas, and is ever tempting her listen- 
 ers with what is, apparently, the sound- 
 est and best of schemes. Yes, seizing 
 and making the best of opportunities 
 is a means of getting on in the world. 
 But what is opportunity, and what is 
 not? That is a different question, for 
 Opportunity is a person so much and so 
 adroitly impersonated and counter- 
 feited that it is often difficult to know 
 the false from the real. All kinds of 
 plausible plans and schemes mask and 
 parade as Opportunity, but, when 
 seized, lead only to calamity and dis- 
 aster. And to make the difficulty 
 greater, Opportunity himself is often 
 disguised, so that many do not recog- 
 nize him until too late. The thing then 
 is 'to know your opportunity,' to be 
 able to distinguish the false from the 
 real. And that false siren, with her 
 enticing words and dreams of wealth, 
 deceived you and made you believe the 
 real Opportunity was at your door. 
 
 "And what though the Swede advised 
 you, and was honest and sincere? He 
 was deceived himself, and 'if the blind 
 lead the blind, both may fall into the 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 211 
 
 ditch.' 'Take a man's judgment for 
 what it is worth.' Take advice, but 
 think for yourself; for 'the man who 
 has to run his affairs by advice will not 
 go very far.' In short, 'use your own 
 eyes if you would be wise.' 
 
 "And how adroitly and how cun- 
 ningly Fortune framed her speech! 
 'Nothing ventured, nothing gained.' 
 That's true. But remember that 'who 
 ventures, all may lose all' is also true. 
 Then, it has been said, 'he who would 
 be rich in a year begs in six months.' 
 And if this last is true, and it certainly 
 has been so in your case, it is because 
 most of those who venture all lose all. 
 Some measure of risk and venture is 
 necessary in all undertakings and call- 
 ings in life, but it is never necessary 
 to stake your all. And when risk is 
 necessary, there is always that safe 
 course, 'never venture more than you 
 can afford to lose,' and then only in 
 practicable and feasible undertakings 
 and schemes. 'Who ventures most 
 gains most,' like all of Fortune's creed, 
 is a dangerous course, and the way to 
 poverty, rags, and want." 
 
 So saying, JusfSense disappeared. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 John meditated upon the words of 
 Just Sense. The only thing to do was 
 to accept the inevitable, start over 
 again, and once more build up his law 
 practice. It had all disappeared, but 
 he had an office — that was fortunate — 
 and he would see what could be done 
 in working up some business. But be- 
 fore he had thought much as to how his 
 lost practice might be regained, and as 
 if a grim reminder of the adage that 
 "misfortunes never come singly," the 
 proprietor of the lumber mill came 
 over and announced that he had been 
 forced to suspend, and that he would 
 be obliged to go into bankruptcy. 
 
 "And," ^said he, with considerable 
 anger and reproach, "you are as much 
 to blame for this as anyone. It was the 
 loss of that credit of seven hundred dol- 
 lars against the grocery company that 
 undid me. If you had remained at home 
 instead of wasting your time in fake 
 mining claims, and had been on the 
 lookout, and not let the other creditors 
 212* 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 213 
 
 crowd me out, I would be all right to- 
 day. And that is what I get for giv- 
 ing you a show, for building an office, 
 and offering a chance to do something. 
 But you didn't deserve a bit of it! Now 
 move your things right out of this 
 building, and be mighty quick about 
 it! If I come back here in an hour and 
 find you or any of your traps, I'll give 
 you what you deserve and what you 
 ought to have right now!" 
 
 And he drew near, shaking a clench- 
 ed fist in John's face, scarcely able" to 
 restrain his anger. 
 
 "I give you just one hour to get outl 
 Mind, sir! mind, sir!" continued the 
 man, shaking his fist dangerously near 
 John's face, and then he hastily de- 
 parted. 
 
 John was considerably frightened, 
 for the man was big and burly and he 
 was no match for him. As soon as he 
 could collect his thoughts, John said: 
 
 "Ah, what a fool I have been ! 'Who 
 leaves certainty for chance, when fools 
 pipe may dance.' True, Just Sense! 
 Ah! too true. I can dance now. Yes, 
 I can dance! Trusting to Fortune, 
 
214 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 trusting to chance! Hey, fool? Put- 
 ting my time and little all into a hole 
 in the ground, and waiting for a rail- 
 road to be built? Hey, fool? And to 
 think how completely I was deceived 
 into believing this a real opportunity, 
 when it was as false as false could be! 
 Yes, the whole thing is a fake. The 
 claims have been salted to draw suckers, 
 to sell high priced groceries and town 
 lots. The railroad will never be built. 
 Men with money are not fools. What 
 real ore there is, is not sufficient in 
 quantity nor rich enough in quality. 
 And to think I was fool enough not to 
 see it all ! Yes, I can dance now." 
 
 "And," continued John, in a great 
 worry and fret, as he went about in a 
 hurried, bewildered way, gathering his 
 things together, scarcely knowing what 
 he was about, "what am I to do now? 
 Where am I to go? I'll have to get 
 out of this town. What is to become of 
 me today, tomorrow, the next day, the 
 next, and the next? Yes, what is to be- 
 come of me?" 
 " 'Do not trouble, do not trouble, , 
 Heavy hearts make toiling double,' " 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 215 
 
 said the familiar voice of Patience, 
 who appeared that instant. 
 " 'Do not hurry, do not flurry, 
 Nothing good is got by worry.' 
 '"Fretting cares make grey hairs;' 
 and yet 'fretting mends no broken 
 dishes, brings us none of all our wishes.' 
 Don't worry; don't fret. What is the 
 use? 
 
 " 'For every evil beneath the sun, 
 there is a remedy or none. If there be 
 one, resolve to find it; if not, submit, 
 and never mind it.' 
 
 "And 'leave to-morrow till to- 
 morrow.' 'Sufficient unto the day is 
 the evil thereof.' 'Don't cross the 
 bridge until you come to it.' There is 
 only one way to do, 'prepare for the 
 worst, hope for the best, and take what 
 comes.' " 
 
 "Why, Patience 1" exclaimed John, 
 "how changed you are! Your cheeks 
 are sunken, the bones protrude, — you 
 look as if you had been starved to 
 death. And your flesh looks like it had 
 been burned, your hands pierced, and 
 rags! Such rags! I would not have 
 known you except for the voice." 
 
216 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "Wouldst thou know who I am? 
 These hands have been pierced on the 
 cross; this flesh burned at the stake; 
 this body has suffered famine, pesti- 
 lence, and all the ills that beset human- 
 kind; and still have I not cried out. 
 And whatever God may have in store, 
 though the heavens roll away, and the 
 earth fall from my feet, yet will I en- 
 dure, will I endure." 
 
 "Ah! Patience!" said John, "I thank 
 you for your wise and sensible words. 
 How often have you and the others 
 come to me in my time of need ! Who 
 are you, and whence come you? And 
 how does it happen you come when I 
 need you most?" 
 
 As he spoke, Patience changed to her 
 former self, the person of beauty she 
 was the first time he had seen her. She 
 seemed to hesitate a moment and then 
 said: 
 
 "With the exception of the one who 
 misled you, and whom we own not, we 
 are but the visible form of your better 
 self, for every man is composed of two 
 persons, that which he is, and that 
 which he strives to be, generally a bet- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 217 
 
 ter man. We come to you in your time 
 of need to remind you when the dark 
 clouds of discouragement, failure, and 
 despair envelop you, that there still 
 lives within a better man, and with the 
 hope that some day you'll be that better 
 man." 
 
 A year later, as John was passing 
 through Tacoma, he inquired what had 
 become of the mining district and was 
 informed that Brown and his family 
 were still in the woods, but whether 
 dead or alive could not be told, as no 
 one had been up there for six months. 
 He had only sold a part of his grocery 
 stock and it was too expensive to move 
 the rest out. What he had sold had not 
 more than paid the expenses of getting 
 it to the place. Thus his own scheme 
 had recoiled upon him and the fraud 
 had furnished its own punishment. As 
 for Williams, he had abandoned Wil- 
 liamsdale, leaving hotel, store, goods, 
 and all. He lost all and had been de- 
 ceived like the rest. When last heard 
 of he was eking out a scanty living in 
 a fisherman's hut, trying to conciliate 
 his first wife. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 John removed his belongings from 
 the office and stored them in a barn. 
 Not wanting to see or talk to anyone, 
 he walked out of the town into the 
 country. 
 
 Away from the place, a sense of free- 
 dom and relief filled him, and he went 
 on and on. Upon one thing he became 
 decided: never again would he return 
 to Glenwood. There were no good 
 reasons why he should do so. There 
 was no other suitable room he could use 
 for an office and he now saw the town 
 would never amount to anything, and 
 that the little practice he could build 
 up would never get him into Tacoma. 
 Then Tacoma itself was no longer an 
 objective, point because Florence had 
 returned home and would teach in Den- 
 ver next winter. So he walked on, not 
 even taking a look backward. Where 
 he would go he did not know, but he 
 would go somewhere. 
 
 The sense of freedom that filled him 
 was like that of a bird let out of a cage, 
 
 218 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 219 
 
 and like the bird, he was cheerful and 
 thankful the first day for the wild 
 berries he found along the road; for, 
 not knowing whether he would have 
 anything to eat at all made him appre- 
 ciate all the more what little he did 
 get. .But where would he go? That 
 was the question. Late in the afternoon 
 he remembered some one having said 
 that a railroad had been building near 
 Chehalis. Afterwards he had heard 
 that the work had been suspended, and 
 whether working now, and if working, 
 whether there would be any chance for 
 him, he did not know. But he had been 
 traveling that way, so he would go 
 right on, doing as Patience had advised, 
 'prepare for the worst, hope for the 
 best, and take what comes.' 
 
 He spent the first night in a fence 
 corner under a large bush which af- 
 forded protection from the dew. The 
 second day the berries were scarcer 
 and he spent the night in a haystack. 
 Crawling out early the next morning, 
 very hungry, he started out to look for 
 more berries, when he came upon a 
 clearing, on one side of which was a 
 
220 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 house, and on the other side a new barn 
 from which smoke was issuing from a 
 stove-pipe projecting through the roof. 
 As he approached, the savory odor of 
 a cooking breakfast floated out upon 
 the fresh morning air and caused a 
 pang that went through him. Near the 
 barn was an open shed under which 
 were a large number of horses. Seeing 
 a man attending these, he went over and 
 learned that he had come upon one of 
 the railroad camps, and that the rail- 
 road grade was a short distance beyond 
 the clearing. 
 
 "And the best camp on the whole 
 line," said the hostler. "The best place 
 to live in the barn there, and the best 
 grub." 
 
 "Smells like it," said John in a tone 
 and manner indicating he would give 
 anything in the world to have some. 
 
 While the laborers, all Swedes, were 
 coming out to go to work, John sat on 
 the fence anxiously waiting for the boss 
 who finally appeared. After greeting 
 him pleasantly, John asked : 
 
 "Have you all the hands you want? 
 I am looking for work." 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 221 
 
 "Have just now, sorry to say. Had 
 your breakfast? You haven't? Why 
 didn't you come in? Go on right away; 
 guess there's some left." He then called 
 to the cook: "Oh, Ollie! Ollie! Man 
 here for breakfast. Fill him up good." 
 
 After John had been "filled up 
 good," he went out to where the men 
 were at work on the grade with teams 
 and wheeled scrapers to thank the boss 
 for "the best breakfast he had ever 
 eaten." 
 
 "Isn't there any work you can give 
 me at all?" he then asked. 
 
 "I have been thinking about it. How 
 are you handling horses?" 
 
 "I have never seen the horse I could 
 not handle." 
 
 "If that's so, maybe you are the man 
 I want. I have a horse over in the shed 
 that's very bad. Can't hardly go near 
 him. Don't dare to touch him with a 
 curry comb, and every time we try to 
 harness him he nearly kicks the roof off 
 the shed. The last man that tried to 
 handle him had to be sent to the hos- 
 pital. I wouldn't want you to get hurt, 
 but you can go over and see him, and 
 
222 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 if you think you can do anything with 
 him, I'll put another horse with him 
 and make you a team." 
 
 John went over to see the horse, a 
 wretched looking animal, neither it nor 
 its stall having been cleaned for days. 
 As he tried to approach from in front, 
 it lunged backward violently upon the 
 strong chain by which it was fastened. 
 He could not come any way near the 
 rear without it being thrown into a 
 vicious kicking spell. 
 
 John stepped back to study the ani- 
 mal. He noticed that it trembled like 
 an aspen from head to foot. It was a 
 young and good animal, but had doubt- 
 less been ruined by some brutal person 
 giving it severe punishment. Indeed, 
 there were large scars on it. After 
 some study, John came to the conclu- 
 sion that it was simply fright, and that 
 the only way to do anything with it at 
 all was to allay that fear. 
 
 He would see what kindness and gen- 
 tleness would do. Slowly approaching 
 with soothing words, he came up and 
 gently placed his hand on its nose. The 
 horse gave a loud snort and trembled 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 223 
 
 from ear to hoof, its eyes bulging with 
 fright. 
 
 "Who is this stranger?" the poor ani- 
 mal asked in every tremor. "What the 
 hand placed on my nose? Does it bear 
 some terrible weapon to beat and 
 wound me as once before?" Another 
 snort. "Shall I lunge back and try to 
 break away once more? Willthe man 
 lose patience and whip and beat me like 
 they all have?" 
 
 But by gentle words and strokes, 
 John showed it there was nothing to 
 fear from him, and after awhile he 
 carefully crawled over the manger into 
 the stall. Each new move startled the 
 animal, which was ready a score of 
 times to either lunge or defend itself 
 with its hoofs. But John kept on and 
 so well did he succeed that, after din- 
 ner, he managed to hitch it with an- 
 other horse to one of the scrapers. 
 And when he came - out on the grade 
 and fell in with the long line of teams, 
 obliged to hold tightly on the lines and 
 to brace himself as he walked behind 
 to hold the spirited animal in check, 
 the boss was pleased, the laborers were 
 
224 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 amazed, and John himself took not a 
 little pride in doing what others had 
 failed to do. The horse turned out to 
 be the best worker in the camp and, in 
 time, John could do almost anything 
 with it. 
 
 Thus he fell in with the work and 
 life at the camp. The time passed well, 
 for he was busy. Indeed, the only time 
 the camp life palled upon him was in 
 the evening after the day's labor was 
 over. His world then consisted of the 
 clearing, in the midst of which was the 
 barn in which he lived, and the house 
 some distance away surrounded by the 
 dense, primitive forest. The only sound 
 that broke the stillness and afforded 
 any amusement at all was a bugle call 
 from the house, which rang out in 
 clarion notes each day as the shades of 
 evening gathered. The notes were 
 simple enough, but John soon learned 
 to enjoy them, and missed them when 
 not heard, for they so voiced the pri- 
 meval scene about him that he was al- 
 ways carried in imagination to distant 
 lands and to the days of chivalry, when 
 he imagined man lived close to nature 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 225 
 
 and was happy. Thus he found that 
 even the simplest amusements are 
 capable of affording pleasure, and that 
 it is not a paucity, but a surfeit of en- 
 tertainment that palls upon man. 
 
 Thus the time passed day in and day 
 out, John finding his greatest solace in 
 labor. But he had no desire to con- 
 tinue longer than necessary, and at best 
 he could get in but two months, when 
 the work would stop for the winter. 
 What he could make would not sup- 
 port him long and he would need more 
 money badly. He needed it to live 
 through the winter; he needed it to 
 help his mother; he needed it to estab- 
 lish himself in his profession; he 
 needed it to marry Florence. John's 
 desire to make more money was intense, 
 but how he would be able to do it after 
 he quit work on the railroad was a dif- 
 ficult question, for he was shut off from 
 the rest of the world with little oppor- 
 tunity to communicate with it, receiv- 
 ing mail only when some one went to 
 the post-office, eight miles distant, and 
 seeing a newspaper only in weeks. 
 
 In this state of intense eagerness his 
 
 15 
 
226 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 eye one day fell upon this advertise- 
 ment in a Portland paper: 
 
 "Salesman Wanted — Big profits. 
 Chemical Ink Eraser. New Invention. 
 Works instantly. Sells at sight to 
 business men, lawyers, bookkeepers, 
 etc. One salesman made $24.00 in 5 
 hours. Another $75.00 in three days. 
 Address, Hackelton & Co., Chicago, 
 111." 
 
 John read the advertisement over 
 carefully several times and then ex- 
 claimed jubilantly, "Just the very thing 
 I have been looking for so long!" 
 
 The more he thought of it, the more 
 favorably he became impressed. And 
 after he had written for and received 
 the company's circulars every doubt 
 was removed. The company was 
 strongly recommended by two Chi- 
 cago banks and there were several 
 sworn statements from agents who had 
 made big money. The article sold for 
 a quarter, which meant quick sales and 
 large profits. It worked instantly and 
 perfectly, leaving no trace of ink, or 
 spot or stain of any kind. It sold it- 
 self ; all one had to do was to show how 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 227 
 
 it worked. The profits were one hun- 
 dred, one hundred fifty and two hun- 
 dred per cent., according to the quan- 
 tity purchased, the company strongly 
 urging the purchase of enough to take 
 advantage of the largest profit. 
 
 The more John considered his new 
 project, the more confident and en- 
 thusiastic he became. His former ex- 
 periences in this line were in the past 
 and forgotten. Then hope springs up 
 quickly in the young after each defeat. 
 Indeed, it is this and the confidence and 
 enthusiasm with which they are able to 
 try again that finally enables them to 
 win. Filled with this hope, confidence 
 and enthusiasm, John was sure of suc- 
 ceeding this time. 
 
 "A good thing! A sure thing!" said 
 he to himself softly more than once. 
 
 Thus John thought and planned, and 
 planned and thought, as he drove in 
 the line of wheeled scrapers during the 
 day, and lay upon the hay, with the 
 moon streaming in the open mow, at 
 night, his whole being absorbed in his 
 new project, and anxiously awaiting 
 the time he could take it up. How he 
 
228 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 would enjoy life in Portland after be- 
 ing in the woods so long! The only- 
 thing he would not like would be the 
 canvassing, but he would put up with 
 it until he could get a start, when he 
 would establish a general agency and 
 have others do that. 
 
 About ten days before work on 
 John's section ended, this section being 
 a month ahead of the others, he went 
 to the post-office, eight miles distant, 
 to forward the money for the first sup- 
 ply of erasers, when he received a very 
 distressing letter from his mother. She 
 had been taken sick and had no means 
 of support. The interest on the two 
 mortgages was overdue, the property 
 would be sold for taxes, the building 
 company threatened foreclosure, and 
 unless he could send her some money at 
 once, she could see nothing ahead but 
 the poorhouse. 
 
 The letter caused John the deepest 
 pang. His first impulse was to send 
 her everything he had, but upon second 
 thought he reasoned like this: "They 
 will not dare to foreclose the mortgage 
 while she is sick and turn her out. She 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 229 
 
 can get credit at the grocer's and with 
 the doctor. If I send her this money 
 I am completely crippled. I couldn't 
 go to Portland or anywhere. But if I 
 use this money as intended, it will only 
 be a few weeks until I can send mother 
 a much larger amount." So he sent the 
 money for the erasers and wrote his 
 mother as follows: 
 
 "I am deeply pained to read your 
 letter. Ask the people for a little time, 
 only a few weeks, and I will send you 
 enough money for your present needs. 
 It will cripple me too much to send you 
 anything now. I am sure you will be 
 given a little time, especially upon the 
 assurance that you will have the money 
 in a few weeks. I trust this letter will 
 find you better. 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 Andrew." 
 
 John returned to his work deeply 
 concerned about his mother. He ques- 
 tioned whether he had made a mistake. 
 When the section was finished, how- 
 ever, his mind was eased on this point, 
 for he succeeded in securing work on 
 the next section, where he worked a 
 
230 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 month longer. This would enable him 
 to go ahead with his project and help 
 his mother at the same time. 
 
 The life in this camp was a rough 
 one and the work hard. Often he 
 worked up to his ankles in mud and 
 water, shoveling mud that took every 
 atom of his strength. He lived with 
 about one hundred men in two large 
 tents, one for eating and one for sleep- 
 ing, and both leaked. The class of 
 workmen here was entirely different — 
 made up of young men who had been 
 forced out of the cities by stress of cir- 
 cumstances. John could see that many 
 had recently seen better days, for white 
 shirts, derby hats, and Prince Albert 
 coats were originally not intended for 
 work in the mud. No doubt many had 
 gone West, as he had done, expecting 
 better things, only to meet with failure 
 and disappointment. There was a 
 little consolation in this: he had not 
 been the only one. 
 
 When work at this camp was about 
 completed, the question of investing his 
 money made here in the erasers or 
 sending it to his mother presented it- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 231 
 
 self. He had bought only enough to 
 take advantage of the one hundred per 
 cent, profit. By doubling the amount 
 of his order he could make two hun- 
 dred per cent, on every dollar invested. 
 This two hundred per cent, was very 
 tempting. Then it would take from ten 
 days to two weeks to send and obtain 
 a second lot. The time in waiting 
 would be lost, and when he figured his 
 expense during this time, the amount 
 required for a second supply and the 
 amount he wished to send his mother, 
 he concluded it the better plan to 
 double his order. It would only delay 
 him a week in sending his mother 
 money. She had been granted time 
 and a week longer would matter little. 
 
 At last John was on his way to Port- 
 land. He was in a happy mood as he 
 looked out of the car window, enjoying 
 the scenery. Behind was a life of hard- 
 ship and privation; before was a city 
 life with all its pleasures. 
 
 "But best of all," said John to him- 
 self, "the first fifty dollars I make — it 
 will not take long — I'm going to send 
 to mother. Won't that make her 
 
232 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 happy? Poor soul! I believe she has 
 worried herself sick about me." 
 
 As he crossed the Columbia he 
 looked back and said: 
 
 "Good-bye, Washington ; you'll 
 never see me again. If I had not 
 struck you at the worst possible time, 
 when you were suffering with too 
 much boom and panic, it might have 
 been different; but if ever a man felt 
 as if he was getting out of prison, I am 
 that man." 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Arrived in the city, John hunted a 
 respectable, though moderate-priced 
 boarding-house, went to the express 
 office and obtained the package of 
 erasers, and also his good clothes which 
 had been forwarded from Glenwood. 
 He returned to his room and opened 
 the package, very anxious to see its 
 contents. The eraser was in pencil 
 form, a composition of paper saturated 
 with an acid and alkali. He was 
 pleased with its neat and attractive ap- 
 pearance, but had some difficulty in 
 making it work well. He practiced the 
 rest of the day, selected the best, and 
 the next morning started out. 
 
 Before noon it was all over. After 
 calling at a number of offices and busi- 
 ness houses, the old feeling of em- 
 barrassment returned until it was abso- 
 lutely impossible for him to make an- 
 other call. 
 
 Discouraged, he retired to his room 
 until his spirits should revive. Mean- 
 while, he decided to take advantage of 
 
 233 
 
234 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 the time in trying to make the eraser 
 work better. If he expected to sell it, 
 he must make it do the work. So he 
 kept experimenting, the eraser working 
 less and less satisfactorily all the time. 
 Finally, the few he had out failed to 
 work at all. And these were the best! 
 He examined the others. Every one 
 was worthless. 
 
 "Sold!" said John. "Sold! I 
 couldn't give the things away now, if I 
 tried." 
 
 If it had been what the company 
 claimed it was, his expectations might 
 have been realized, but — he examined 
 the firm's bank references. They only 
 said the company was in good financial 
 standing. As to the erasers, nothing 
 was said as to whether they were good, 
 bad or indifferent. And the sworn 
 statements — he would be wiser in the 
 future. It went hard with him, for he 
 had invested all his hard-earned 
 savings with the exception of enough 
 to pay expenses a couple of weeks. It 
 took him about three days to recover. 
 Then his spirits revived again. He 
 was much impressed with the idea of a 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 235 
 
 chemical ink eraser, and thought if he 
 could only get hold of a good one that 
 he could make money with it. With 
 this end in view, he consulted a near- 
 by druggist who gave him several 
 formulae from his dispensatory. He 
 experimented several days until he 
 found something that worked well — 
 an acid and alkali — which he decided 
 to put up in separate bottles, the two 
 to sell for ten cents. 
 
 But he would not do any more sell- 
 ing himself: he was done with that. 
 He put an advertisement in the paper, 
 "Boy Wanted." Early the next morn- 
 rhg a big crowd of them stormed the 
 house before John got out of bed. The 
 landlady was obliged to rouse him to 
 take care of the mob and stop the 
 racket. Some had broken into the hall- 
 way, despite her efforts, and were now 
 at the door of John's room. This 
 pleased him much. As he hurriedly 
 dressed himself, while the boys scuffled, 
 pushed, rattled the knob, and shook the 
 door, John smiled. 
 
 "That's boys for you," said he. 
 "They have the cheek to sell something 
 of this kind, but I haven't." 
 
236 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 When he opened the door, half a 
 dozen tumbled over each other on the 
 floor in an effort to be the first in. 
 
 "I'm first!" 
 
 "I'm first!" 
 
 "Nawyou ain't; ain't I first, mister?" 
 
 "It does not make any difference 
 which is first," said John. "I have 
 something for all of you to do." 
 
 "Golly!" said several, smacking their 
 lips. 
 
 When he explained, however, only 
 four or five out of twenty were willing 
 to make a trial. These John instructed, 
 started them out, and then sat down to 
 await results. He had not long to wait. 
 Most of them returned soon; he tried 
 to encourage them to make another 
 trial ; but they would do nothing. All 
 had given up but one, who had been 
 out an hour, and John still hoped. If 
 only one boy succeeded, that would be 
 an example and encouragement for 
 others. 
 
 "What!" said John, when the last 
 boy came in, "couldn't you sell a single 
 one? Didn't the people think it some 
 good?" 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 237 
 
 "No, they didn't! One man said he 
 wouldn't have it as a gift." 
 
 The next morning John lay in bed 
 so discouraged he was unable to get up. 
 It was past ten o'clock, the sun streamed 
 in the window, the street was noisy 
 without, when Just Sense appeared and 
 said: "Here we are again, my boy; 'a 
 fool and his money are soon parted.' " 
 
 "Is this a real person; is this a real 
 person?" was the question John always 
 asked himself. "If not, neither is any 
 object in the room, the noise from the 
 street, the bed in which I lay, the 
 chair in which he sits, nor the sun with- 
 out that casts his shadow upon the 
 • floor." 
 
 As these thoughts ran through John's 
 mind, Just Sense continued: 
 
 "Thought you had a sure thing this 
 time, but it has all come to nothing, and 
 you are out your hard-earned cash. It 
 is never wise 'to count your chickens 
 before they are hatched,' nor 'to boil 
 your rabbit before it be got,' for there 
 is nothing that will fool you more than 
 a sure thing. 'A sanguine man is sel- 
 dom a safe man,' and it is always well 
 
238 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 not to be too sanguine, too sure of suc- 
 cess ; for when one is sure, he neglects 
 to take those precautions and safe- 
 guards that bring doubtful things to a 
 successful issue. Then it seems that 
 'before ill chances men are ever merry, 
 but heaviness foreruns the good event.' 
 Now, when you first took up this busi- 
 ness, you were too sanguine, too sure, 
 too merry, which signals you should 
 have observed to steer clear of the fail- 
 ures and ill chances they forewarned. 
 
 "But this has not been the real cause 
 of your failure. You have been at your 
 old trade again, trying to succeed in a 
 business for which you have no apti- 
 tude, which is distasteful and disagree- 
 able to your nature, and against which 
 I warned you before. But 'if you will 
 not hear Reason she will surely rap 
 your knuckles,' and 'who will not be 
 counselled cannot be helped.' And why 
 is it that 'when advice is most needed, 
 it is least heeded,' and why did you not 
 heed the advice I gave you before? 
 'Wise men give good counsel, but 
 wiser men take it;' and though I be not 
 wise at all, 'a wise man may often learn 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 239 
 
 from a fool.' But you thought, this be- 
 ing an article of much merit, in great 
 demand, and at a low price, that any- 
 one could sell it, and for these reasons 
 that you could easily succeed with it. 
 But you will never find the time, place, 
 nor means by which you can succeed in 
 any business which is distasteful and 
 disagreeable, which you dread and fear 
 as you awake in the morning, and 
 which works against every fibre of your 
 grain and nature." 
 
 "What you say," interrupted John, 
 "is reasonable enough, and always 
 seems so at the time; but your proverbs, 
 of which you seem to be so full, are 
 contradictory, and tend to confuse. 
 Did you not tell me one time 'the man 
 who has to run his affairs by advice 
 will not go very far?' And now you 
 say, 'he who will not be counselled can- 
 not be helped.' " 
 
 "My son," said Just Sense, "proverbs 
 are the product, as well as the prop- 
 erty, of all mankind. They have been 
 made by many minds, by many genera- 
 tions, by many nations — made not by 
 low and. vulgar minds, but by the 
 
240 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 brightest and best. Tell me the 
 proverbs of a race and I will tell you 
 its life's philosophy. And while made 
 by many minds, they have also been 
 made for many minds. The world is 
 composed of all kinds of people. What 
 is applicable to one may not be to an- 
 other. You would not say to the bold, 
 be bold, nor to the cautious, be cautious ; 
 but to the bold, be cautious, and to the 
 cautious, be bold. Every man should 
 learn his characteristics and seek to 
 supply that which is wanting. 
 
 "Then the same proverb is not to be 
 followed by the same man under all 
 circumstances. Generally, a man 
 should act upon his own judgment, 
 provided his judgment is sound, and 
 even when it is, there are oftentimes 
 when he should seek the counsel of 
 others. Use these proverbs like you 
 use medicine. If you have a cold, take 
 medicine for a cold; if you have a 
 fever, take medicine for a fever ; and if 
 you have a fever all the time, use that 
 kind of medicine all the time. 
 
 "But I am not through with the sub- 
 ject in hand. Let us return to that. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 241 
 
 "There is another reason for your 
 failure. You know what it is as well 
 as I. You were simply duped by a 
 cleverly devised scheme, and were in- 
 duced to invest your money in an 
 article of no merit, and which you now 
 have worthless on your hands. And 
 because of the lower price and promise 
 of larger profits, you were induced to 
 double the investment originally in- 
 tended, and therein was the flaw which 
 should have aroused your suspicions 
 and caused you to open your eyes; for 
 the clever schemers knew they could 
 make you but one sale and they wished 
 to make it as large as possible. Yes, 
 you should have opened your eyes. 
 'Look before you or you will have to 
 look behind you.' 'Use your eyes be- 
 fore acting that you may not have to 
 wipe them afterwards.' You will al- 
 ways find that 'a little wariness saves 
 much weariness,' and that it is a good 
 thing to 'forethink though you cannot 
 foretell;' 'forethought will save you 
 afterthought.' Then 'you can never 
 tell a nut until you crack it,' and it is 
 always well to 'try 'em before you buy 
 'em,' especially before buying so many. 
 
 16 
 
242 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "This is only one of the thousand and 
 one schemes all over the country that 
 promise quick and large profits, which 
 play upon the cupidity of the unwary, 
 and their intense and unhealthy desire 
 for quick and easy riches. Never try 
 to win at another man's game; and it 
 generally is another man's game when 
 too much is offered for too little. Some- 
 thing for nothing too often turns out 
 nothing for something; for, 'fine prom- 
 ises are frail securities,' and 'those who 
 promise mountains perform mole hills.' 
 Something 'that will double your 
 money will of tener strip you of it ; and 
 'as long as you make yourself a sheep, 
 the wolves will bite.' 
 
 "Then when you found the article 
 worthless, you thought you would in- 
 vent a good one of your own. But 
 originating an article and successfully 
 handling it call for two entirely dif- 
 ferent lines of talent, and though you 
 may have possessed the first, you were 
 totally lacking in the last. The suc- 
 cess of any invention is not so much 
 how much merit it may possess, but 
 what energy, push, business capacity, 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 243 
 
 and capital are behind it to launch and 
 keep it on the market. And when you 
 found you could not sell yourself, you 
 thought you would employ others to do 
 this, while you would do the big thing, 
 manage the business and take in the 
 profits. You should not have attempted 
 to succeed with employing others in a 
 business until you had first mastered 
 the business yourself. And having 
 demonstrated to your satisfaction that 
 you had no ability at the bottom, you 
 should not have expected ability at the 
 top, for 'whatever sea room a shrimp 
 gets, it will never be a whale.' Neither 
 should you have invested your money 
 and attempted to succeed in a business 
 you have not first learned and mas- 
 tered; and every business must be 
 learned from the bottom up. 'If you 
 would be a smith, begin with blowing 
 the fire;' and if you can't do that, don't 
 try to be proprietor of the shop. 
 
 "But be of good courage; be of good 
 cheer, as I have urged you before. 
 Nothing is to be gained by lying in bed. 
 Every man was made for something 
 and in time you will find that some- 
 thing and succeed in it." 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 At the time John was in Portland 
 the city swarmed with idle men. Every 
 night hundreds applied at the hospitals 
 and police stations for the privilege of 
 sleeping on the floor. Street rob- 
 beries became an hourly occurrence 
 and it was a serious question how to 
 feed and house the unemployed. 
 
 There was no common work to be 
 obtained, nor was there the remotest 
 chance of obtaining a place in some law 
 office. The city was overrun with 
 lawyers, many of them young men from 
 "the East, some making desperate 
 struggles to keep their heads above 
 water. One could open an office easy 
 enough, but to pay rent and install- 
 ments on furnishings as they came due 
 was a different matter. Since John had 
 been in the city he had read in the 
 papers of one young lawyer commit- 
 ting suicide after having starved him- 
 self several weeks, because his office 
 fixtures were to be taken from him by 
 the firm which had supplied them; of 
 
 244 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 245 
 
 another who sold the furniture and ap- 
 propriated the money to his own use, 
 being arrested and placed in jail on a 
 charge of embezzlement. 
 
 Such being the state of affairs, there 
 was no chance for him in Portland. 
 An opportunity to work for his board 
 at a place in the state of Washington 
 was taken advantage of as the only 
 thing that offered. He pawned his 
 clothes (keeping only a working suit) 
 for car fare, and after getting off the 
 train, walked eight miles to his des- 
 tination. Thus he had been forced 
 back into the country he had been so 
 glad to leave, and which he had vowed 
 he would never enter again. 
 
 The winter was a long, trying one. 
 It was like being exiled on some cold, 
 dreary island, where it rained all the 
 time. His work was not congenial, and 
 hour dragged after hour, day after day. 
 Most of the time he saw but three per- 
 sons, for the place was isolated and 
 neighbors scarce. The one problem 
 that absorbed his attention was how to 
 get out of the country and return to 
 the East. 
 
246 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 The only relief from this dismal life 
 were the letters he received from home 
 and from Florence. His mother had 
 recovered from her illness sufficiently 
 to resume her sewing. The building 
 company had paid the taxes and had 
 decided not to foreclose the mortgage. 
 It had foreclosed several, the prop- 
 erties selling at great sacrifices, causing 
 the company loss ; the panic had reach- 
 ed Indiana. The company came to 
 the conclusion not to foreclose any 
 more until times improved. All that 
 was asked of his mother was to make a 
 small payment monthly, and she was 
 doing this. 
 
 As for Florence, she was teaching at 
 Denver. John changed his address 
 from Salt Lake to Portland. He dis- 
 liked this deception, but if he located 
 himself at some small, unheard-of 
 place, Florence would want to know 
 what he was doing there. As to what 
 he was doing and how he was getting 
 along, he never said anything. His 
 letters were along literary lines and 
 contained descriptions of the various 
 parts of the country he had seen, which 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 247 
 
 Florence praised highly. As the win- 
 ter passed, her letters became more en- 
 couraging and tender. She was de- 
 sirous of seeing him. From a word 
 here and there, John read between the 
 lines as follows : 
 
 Mr. Bowen had become impatient 
 and was urging Florence to make a de- 
 cision. This she was not willing to do 
 until she could see John once more. 
 If there was anything like the old love 
 between them, and there was some inti- 
 mation that there was, she would de- 
 cide in favor of John. 
 
 This prospect set John on fire. He 
 was filled with a burning desire that 
 consumed in its fierceness all other de- 
 sires, and that was to go to Denver and 
 see Florence. He felt that once they 
 were together, the old love she had for 
 him would settle the matter. 
 
 But how reach Denver? How? He 
 was hundreds upon hundreds of miles 
 from there ; the vast stretch of country 
 he had traveled to reach that extreme 
 West had made it appear like the end 
 of the world to him. How reach 
 Denver? How? 
 
248 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 John had a close friend prominent 
 in railroad circles at Kansas City. They 
 had been playmates, had grown up to- 
 gether. Though but a year older than 
 John, this friend was general manager 
 of the M., K. & D. R. R., having 
 entered the services of the road at 
 eighteen and worked his way up. John 
 wrote him a very urgent letter, asking 
 him to procure some opening at Kansas 
 City. About the first of March he re- 
 ceived an encouraging reply. His 
 friend had been looking around, had 
 found nothing as yet, but expected to do 
 so within the next month or two. In the 
 meanwhile John could do nothing but 
 wait. If he only had sufficient money 
 to take him to Denver, spend the time 
 with Florence while awaiting the open- 
 ing — Ah I if he could only do that. 
 
 In a few weeks a way opened unex- 
 pectedly. He received a letter from a 
 financial firm in Portland which had 
 been sent him as a lawyer at Glenwood 
 and forwarded from there, offering an 
 opening to undertake the sale of bonds, 
 mortgages and other kinds of secur- 
 ities on commission. This was some- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 249 
 
 thing within his dignity and on this ac- 
 count would not cause him the em- 
 barrassment he had experienced before. 
 There was no chance to sell anything 
 of the kind where he was, but in east- 
 ern Washington was a rich and pros- 
 perous farming country. Several 
 times during the winter he had read of 
 the immense wheat crop raised there 
 the previous year and which had been 
 coming to the ports of Portland, 
 Seattle and Tacoma all winter, to be 
 shipped to various parts of the world. 
 Millions of dollars had been paid for 
 this crop and the men who had raised 
 it had plenty of money, according to all 
 accounts. How to get to those men was 
 the first problem; but get there he 
 must. That alone would take him four 
 or five hundred miles nearer Denver, 
 and when there he could make the 
 money to go the rest of the way. 
 
 He worked a month on a neighbor- 
 ing ranch and made ten dollars. With 
 this in his pocket he started out one 
 morning, relying on that sum to take 
 him over four hundred miles and to 
 keep him going awhile after he arrived. 
 
250 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 But John had the thing all planned out, 
 though he would have to do something 
 he had never done before. 
 
 The first day he walked twenty-five 
 miles to Olympia, from which place he 
 took a boat for Seattle. At the latter 
 place he obtained a week's work on a 
 railroad north of the city, and made a 
 needed addition to his scant supply of 
 money. 
 
 From Seattle he walked another 
 twenty-five miles to the main line of 
 the Northern Pacific. It was a long 
 and tiresome way, but that would be all 
 the walking. He was now at a place 
 where all freights going east stopped. 
 Riding on a passenger was, of course, 
 out of the question. John had learned 
 that brakemen on the freights would 
 take a man over a division, which was 
 generally a hundred miles, for a dollar. 
 That was how he expected to reach 
 Spokane. There were a dozen other 
 men at the place desirous of doing the 
 same thing. The brakemen on all the 
 freights that came along were willing 
 enough, but all cars going east were 
 loaded and sealed, and it was not easy 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 251 
 
 to find a riding place. Finally, after 
 waiting about for three days, exposed 
 to cold and rains, a coal car loaded with 
 lumber so as to leave space at one end 
 afforded the much looked for oppor- 
 tunity. All got on with instructions 
 from the brakemen, who collected a 
 dollar from each, to keep out of sight 
 whenever they passed a station. When 
 the train pulled out it was with as 
 happy and pleased a lot of men as ever 
 rode on the finest passenger train. 
 
 "Why is it, fellows," said John, "we 
 all seem so glad to ride on an old 
 freight when no doubt many of us are 
 used to better things? If any man here 
 would have had his fare paid and 
 nothing to do but step on the train and 
 ride to Spokane, he would have been 
 beside himself if he would have had to 
 wait a day to catch a train. Yet we've 
 been waiting about three days, sleeping 
 out in cold and rain, and I haven't 
 heard a fellow complain. And so 
 long a journey on a passenger train 
 would be tiresome and monotonous, 
 most of us would be impatient at any 
 delays and anxious to reach the end. 
 
252 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 Why is it? All because it's cut and 
 dried — placed on a platter beneath the 
 nose. But take the commonest and 
 roughest things, even though they are 
 beneath a man and what he is not ac- 
 customed to, and make them difficult 
 and uncertain, place them a little be- 
 yond the reach, and they will be appre- 
 ciated. Many of the best things are 
 little appreciated because they are so 
 free and abundant, so easy to secure. 
 Who, for instance, stops to appreciate 
 plenty of fresh air? But let a man be 
 entombed in some mine, where air 
 means life — Oh ! yes, it's quite different 
 then." 
 
 Thus they talked on this and many 
 other subjects as they rode along, en- 
 joying the scenery, pointing out to each 
 other objects of interest, taking an in- 
 terest in everything. John enjoyed the 
 ride more than any he had ever taken 
 on a passenger. But after they had 
 crossed the mountains and were going 
 down the other side, a heavy rain set 
 in that made the rest of the journey a 
 trying one. With the rain beating in 
 upon them, all huddled together under- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 253 
 
 neath the projecting ends of the lumber 
 which slapped and banged with the 
 motion of the car — often dangerous — ■ 
 but all endured it with scarcely a com- 
 plaint. At ten o'clock at night the 
 train stopped for a change of crew and 
 engine. All got out, as wet as drowned 
 rats, the rain still pouring down, and 
 hastened to a near-by restaurant for 
 much needed refreshment. All the men 
 concluded to travel no more that night, 
 and indeed it was enough to deter al- 
 most any man, but John concluded to 
 press on. Delay was expensive, and it 
 might be two or three days before he 
 could get another car. So he rode all 
 that night, all the next day, and next 
 night, and arrived at Spokane about 
 ten the following morning, wet, tired 
 and fatigued for the want of sleep. He 
 had considerable satisfaction in having 
 accomplished the journey at so little 
 expense, even though it had been a 
 most trying one. 
 
 The first thing he did was to obtain 
 a room at a hotel where he went at once, 
 stripped off his clothes, which had not 
 been removed for a week, and got in 
 
254 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 bed. John had never known before 
 what a great luxury a bed is. 
 
 The next morning he was consider- 
 ably refreshed. Having inquired of the 
 clerk concerning the rich farming 
 country southwest of Spokane, and be- 
 ing informed that the farmers had 
 plenty of money, many of them not 
 knowing what to do with it, or how to 
 invest it — he had been there the year 
 before and knew — John felt his pros- 
 pects were very bright. And, later in 
 the morning, when he boarded a freight 
 and paid his fare, he was in excellent 
 spirits and anxious to reach his destina- 
 tion, a little town some seventy miles 
 down the road. 
 
 John's experiences in the West had 
 sobered him much. Had this been his 
 first undertaking he would have con- 
 fidently expected to make several thou- 
 sand. But he had become sober; he 
 had become conservative. All he 
 hoped to do now was to make enough 
 money to reach Denver and remain 
 there a month. Everything depended 
 upon his being able to do this ; it would 
 give the opportunity to settle matters 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 255 
 
 with Florence, he would be near 
 enough to accept the opening quickly 
 when offered, and having secured a 
 good opening, he would be in position 
 to marry. It would only take about a 
 hundred dollars. A few sales was all 
 he need make. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 Arrived at his destination, John 
 struck out early the next morning for 
 the country, where he had been in- 
 formed the men with money were to 
 be found. He had no time to lose ; his 
 own little supply of funds was running 
 short. 
 
 He was a long time in reaching the 
 first house. It was a country of large 
 farms, with houses from one to three 
 miles apart, hidden from view by large, 
 round-topped hills. At the first house 
 he was informed that the owner had 
 started out early with a number of 
 teams, hands and plows, had taken his 
 dinner and would not return until 
 night. On what part of the farm he 
 was to be found was not known, and 
 he was obliged to tramp all over the 
 place, first going to the summit of one 
 hill, then another, before finally locat- 
 ing the man he was so anxious to see. 
 
 "Money!" exclaimed he, jerking at 
 the line of his plow team and keeping 
 it at a standstill with difficulty. "Buy 
 
 256 
 
HIS BETTER SELF' 257 
 
 bonds and mortgages! I'm a borrower 
 and not a lender." 
 
 "Didn't you have a big wheat crop 
 last fall?" 
 
 "Yes, but wheat at thirty cents a 
 bushel doesn't pay for raising it. I'm 
 at a heavy expense the year through — 
 half a dozen teams, half a dozen hands, 
 big expense threshing and wages high. 
 Buy bonds and mortgages! Why, man! 
 I would like to borrow a couple of 
 thousand right now." 
 
 And this was the situation through- 
 out the whole district. In fact, he 
 could not have struck a worse country 
 in which to sell bonds and mortgages. 
 At the end of a week he had not done 
 anything, and had spent about all his 
 money. He had held on, however, 
 hoping against hope, but decided it was 
 now about time to quit. 
 
 He made his way across fields to the 
 railroad. Where he would go, what 
 he would do, where and how he would 
 live the next month or two, he knew not. 
 After reaching the railroad he pro- 
 ceeded aimlessly along the track in the 
 direction of Spokane. Wherever he 
 
 17 
 
258 HIS BETTER SELF. 
 
 went it would be east, but walking was 
 slow progress, slow indeed. It would 
 take him four or five days to reach 
 Spokane, and so completely had his 
 hopes been blasted, he did not care 
 much whether he reached there or not. 
 
 After he had been traveling about 
 an hour, he met a man a few years 
 older than himself, dressed as a work- 
 ing man, traveling west. 
 
 "Hello, partner!" said he, in a very 
 friendly manner, "where you going?" 
 
 "I don't know," said John. "Just 
 traveling east." 
 
 "Where you been, and what you 
 doing?" 
 
 "Been trying to make a little money 
 among the farmers. I could do noth- 
 ing, and thought I had better try to 
 strike a job somewhere before I am 
 penniless." 
 
 "I'm about broke, too. How much 
 you got?" 
 ' "About a dollar." 
 
 "If it's a job you are looking for," 
 said the stranger more friendly than 
 ever, "come with me and I'll get you 
 all the work you want — three dollars 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 259 
 
 a day and board. I'm on my way now 
 to the sheep country. I go every year 
 and make my three dollars a day shear- 
 ing sheep. I'll get you a job, too — 
 they're always short of hands." 
 
 "How far is it?" asked John, hope 
 at once lighting his face. 
 
 "About seventy- five miles. We can 
 make it in about four days." 
 
 "How about something to eat along 
 the road?" 
 
 "We can cook our own meals and 
 they won't cost much. A dollar will 
 buy all the food we'll want for two or 
 three days. By that time we will reach 
 some sheep ranches, where I am ac- 
 quainted and where they will be glad 
 to have us stop over night and eat. 
 Will you go? You can work forty or 
 fifty days and make a hundred, or a 
 hundred and fifty dollars." 
 
 John hesitated about the long 
 journey of seventy-five miles afoot in 
 the opposite direction he was de- 
 sirous of traveling. But misery loves 
 company, and the prospect of making 
 a hundred dollars, of having enough 
 money to reach Denver, to spend a 
 
260 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 month with Florence, and to hold him- 
 self in readiness for the position at 
 Kansas City could be no more resisted 
 than the law of gravitation had he 
 fallen out of a balloon. He thought of 
 what Hope had said, 'when one door is 
 shut another is opened.' This was a 
 door opened he had little expected. 
 So he turned about and went with the 
 stranger, the two soon becoming good 
 friends. 
 
 Their first object was to reach the 
 town of Sunset, where they could buy 
 a few eatables, build a little fire, and 
 cook something to eat. Having reach- 
 ed the place, John gathered up some 
 dry sticks and made a fire, while the 
 new friend went to make a few pur- 
 chases with some of John's money. 
 After John started the fire he sat down 
 to await the return of his companion, 
 thinking how fortunate he had been in 
 finding so good a friend in so short a 
 time. 
 
 "And just at the right moment!" said 
 John to himself. "Don't know what I 
 should have done. 'A friend in need is 
 a friend indeed.' " 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 261 
 
 "Yes, but 'all are not friends that 
 speak thee fair,' " said Just Sense, who 
 appeared that moment. " 'In strangers' 
 company beware; of both thy tongue 
 and purse take care.' Do not be too 
 hasty in calling a man a friend; for 
 'sudden friendship, sure repentance.' 
 This man has made you a friend 
 through some good promises, I know; 
 but let me advise you to 'expect nothing 
 from those who promise a good deal;' 
 for 'great promisers are bad pay- 
 masters,' and there are 'no greater 
 promisers than those who have nothing 
 to give.' " 
 
 "But this man looks honest," protest- 
 ed John. "I believe him and trust 
 him." 
 
 '"Believe not all, doubt not all,'" 
 replied Just Sense. "You must learn 
 whom to believe and whom to doubt. 
 You can't trust everybody, either. 
 'Trust when you can, but know your 
 man ;' 'try before you trust' And what 
 though the man looks honest, what of 
 that? 'Men who carry honesty in their 
 faces are often rogues.' And what 
 though the man talks honestly? 'A 
 
262 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 smooth tongue may have a sly hand.' 
 'Many lick before they bite,' and 'there 
 is mischief brewing when the wolf 
 licks the lamb.' I am afraid this is the 
 wolf, my boy. I — " 
 
 Just then John's new friend appeared 
 •and John thought surely he must have 
 heard what had been said. John look- 
 ed confused, a peculiar expression was 
 on his face, his eyes staring. 
 
 "Did you see anything? Did you 
 hear anything?" he asked as soon as he 
 could recover himself. 
 
 "No, what's the matter with you? 
 Have you got snakes? You don't look 
 like a drinking man." 
 
 "I never drink," said John. 
 
 "Are you crazy, then?" 
 
 "Do I talk like a crazy man?" 
 
 "No, but you looked and acted very 
 queer just then, asking whether I had 
 seen or heard anything." 
 
 "I had an injury to my head once. It 
 affects me sometimes. But no harm in 
 it; no harm in it." 
 
 The incident passed off and the two 
 men then prepared and ate their meal, 
 consisting of coffee, bread and cheese. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 263 
 
 "I don't know about this sheep busi- 
 ness," said John, remembering the 
 warning of Just Sense, and doubting 
 his new-found friend. "I have never 
 done any of that kind of work. Are 
 you sure I can get a job?" 
 
 "Sure thing! They want packers as 
 well as shearers. Anybody can pack; 
 all you have got to do is to put wool in 
 a sack and pack it in with your feet." 
 
 "Suppose we come to a place where 
 they want a shearer and not a packer. 
 You might obtain a job and I would 
 not." 
 
 "I'll not take a job unless you get 
 one, too. You can depend upon that." 
 
 This promise reassured John, and 
 after thinking the matter all over, he 
 decided to go with his new friend. 
 Like a drowning man, he was willing 
 to hang on to a straw, even though his 
 better judgment told him that straw 
 was not to be depended upon. This 
 was the only thing to save him from be- 
 coming a tramp and beggar, at least for 
 a month or two, so far as he could see. 
 The remotest prospect of making a 
 hundred dollars could not be resisted 
 
264 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 for a single moment. A hundred dol- 
 lars meant Denver; it meant Florence; 
 it meant a position at Kansas City. So 
 after taking a little rest, the two pro- 
 ceeded upon their journey. 
 
 The first night they reached the 
 small town of Oakesdale, prepared 
 their meal as before, and slept in a box 
 car. They traveled all the next day — 
 the trip this day was long and trying — 
 and spent the second night as the first. 
 The third day they reached a few 
 scattered sheep ranches, and after a 
 weary tramp the whole day, came to a 
 small house where a couple of lone 
 herders held forth, who lodged and fed 
 them. It was well that they did, for 
 nothing remained of John's dollar. 
 They still had over a day's travel before 
 reaching Starbuck, their destination, 
 and this day was a trying one for John. 
 His friend knew of a rancher who lived 
 about a mile off the railroad, whose 
 place they expected to reach and there 
 spend the night. It was growing quite 
 dark when at last they reached the road 
 that led to his house and had proceeded 
 but a short distance when it forked. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 265 
 
 John's friend was not certain which to 
 take, but concluded to turn to the right. 
 They had not gone far until they found 
 they were wrong. By the time they re- 
 turned to the fork it was so dark they 
 could no longer distinguish any road. 
 Nothing remained but to lie down on 
 the ground, supperless, and pass the 
 night. It was very little sleep John 
 got; for the night was cold and dewy, 
 and some animals, doubtless coyotes, in 
 the rocks near them made things un- 
 pleasant most of the night. When the 
 sun rose the next morning they found 
 they had stopped within sight of the 
 house they had tried so hard to reach. 
 The rancher gave them a good break- 
 fast, and at ten o'clock that morning 
 they finally reached Starbuck. They 
 spent that night in an old, deserted 
 building, along with eighteen or twenty 
 other men from everywhere, and going 
 everywhere, some professional tramps, 
 and others seeking work. 
 
 John soon found that shearers were 
 very scarce, and that packers were very 
 plentiful. It was difficult for him to 
 keep track of his comrade the next day. 
 
266 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 Late in the afternoon he heard he had 
 found employment and left town for 
 the country. John made several efforts 
 to secure work, but it was useless. 
 
 That night, as he spread some paper 
 on the floor of the old building to keep 
 his clothes clean while he slept, tired 
 and hungry, for he had not yet rested 
 from his long trip, he felt much dis- 
 couraged. He had been induced to 
 make this journey of severity-five miles 
 on foot by a man who pretended to be 
 his friend, but who only cared for his 
 company on the long and tiresome 
 journey, and the little money he had to 
 purchase food on the way. And here 
 he was, alone and deserted, in a strange 
 country, without money and without 
 friends. 
 
 "Guess you were right, Just Sense," 
 said John bitterly, " 'sudden friend- 
 ship, sure repentance.' " 
 
 "Yes," said Just Sense, who appeared 
 before John had finished. " 'Those 
 upon whom you most rely can do you 
 greatest injury.' But 'if you play with 
 cats, expect to be scratched;' 'if you 
 deal with a fox, look out for tricks.' So 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 267 
 
 the friend lasted while the money 
 lasted. Thus it is, my boy: 
 
 " 'Everyone will be thy friend, whilst 
 thou hast wherewith to spend. 
 'But if store of crowns be scant, no 
 one will supply thy want.' 
 
 "The fact is, 'a faithful friend is hard 
 to find among ten thousand of man- 
 kind.' Henceforth 'be your own most 
 useful friend, cease on others to de- 
 pend.' 'Take your own case in your 
 own hands.' As for me, 'I am the only 
 one of my friends I can depend upon.' " 
 
 Some men now entered the building, 
 hunting sleeping quarters. Just Sense 
 disappeared,, and John was left in the 
 company of the men who had entered. 
 
 Nothing remained except for John 
 to return to Spokane. When there he 
 would write his friend at Kansas City 
 for a pass to Denver. He would keep 
 this until sent for and in the meantime 
 try to live somehow and earn a dollar 
 or two. 
 
 In a couple of days he picked up 
 with a man on his way to Montana. 
 The two decided to travel across 
 
268 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 country and reach the Northern 
 Pacific, as it was impossible to beat 
 one's way over the road by which John 
 had walked to Starbuck. After two 
 days' travel through a dry and alkali 
 country, with here and there lonely 
 settlers who welcomed and fed them, — 
 for in that lonesome country all 
 strangers are welcomed, — they reached 
 SpragUe, and from there got into Spo- 
 kane. Thus in the last two weeks John 
 had traveled a loop, had reached the 
 place from which he started, and had 
 his experience for his pay. 
 
 Upon going to the post-office, how- 
 ever, he was more than compensated 
 for all he had been through. The gen- 
 eral delivery clerk handed out an en- 
 velope which indicated that it was 
 from the general manager's office of 
 the M., K. & D. R. R., Kansas City, 
 Mo. Before letting it go, the clerk 
 looked at John closely. He had not 
 shaved for two weeks, his beard was 
 black and stubby, his hands, face and 
 clothes showed evidence of living out- 
 doors, and he had considerable appear- 
 ance of being a tramp. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 269 
 
 "Is that letter for you?" she asked, 
 suspiciously. 
 
 "That letter is for me," replied John. 
 
 He took the letter, and eagerly 
 opened it. His hopes were high; he 
 was not disappointed. 
 
 "Kansas City, Mo., 
 
 May 4, 1894. 
 Dear Friend John : — 
 
 I have secured a position for you 
 with the law firm of Brown, Gotch- 
 man & Brown. The salary is fifteen 
 hundred a year, with the chance of be- 
 coming a member of the firm if you 
 make good. This firm is general coun- 
 sel for our road, and Judge Brown is 
 my close, personal friend. The posi- 
 tion is open for you whenever you come 
 here to accept it, but my advice is, do 
 not be too long about it. 
 
 Your old friend, 
 James C. Collins." 
 
 Though he had been expecting some- 
 thing of the kind, John could hardly 
 contain himself for joy. He walked 
 about the streets an hour or two, half 
 dazed, until he could compose himself. 
 
270 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 He then went to the best hotel, walked 
 into the office, up to the writing desk 
 and boldly helped himself to envelope 
 and paper. He had barely started a 
 letter when a porter came up and 
 tapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 "Say, Mistar, this table is for guests." 
 
 There were many people about; 
 John turned red. 
 
 "How much is the paper and en- 
 velope worth?" he asked. 
 
 "About two cents." 
 
 John reached in his pocket and 
 handed the porter a nickel which the 
 porter took and started off. 
 
 "Change, please," said John. 
 
 The porter turned, put his hands on 
 his knees and looked at John in utter 
 astonishment. He could hardly be- 
 lieve his ears. 
 
 "What's that? Haven't got it; don't 
 know what it is!" 
 
 "Get it." 
 
 The porter went to the clerk's desk 
 and said in a loud voice: "Here's a 
 man wants change for a nickel. Have 
 you change for a nickel, Mistar 
 Clerk?" 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 271 
 
 "We don't deal in pennies here." 
 This attracted the attention of every- 
 one in the office. An old gentleman 
 came to the rescue and furnished the 
 change. John was glad to get out of 
 the place with the paper and envelope 
 and three cents change. He had to 
 have the three cents for postage. He 
 then went to the post-office, where he 
 wrote to his friend, thanking him for 
 what he had done, and asking for a 
 pass to be sent him at Helena. He had 
 concluded to have the pass sent there 
 for the reason that it would take several 
 days, possibly a week, for it to reach 
 him. In this time he could reach 
 Helena, and he could get along much 
 easier without money in the small 
 towns along the road than in Spokane. 
 As John dropped the letter in the 
 office, he said: 
 
 "Now for Helena! and then it will 
 be over." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 John had much more difficulty in 
 reaching Helena than he had an- 
 ticipated, and before half way there 
 was extremely sorry he had made the 
 attempt. The road was hard to beat, 
 the weather was cold, and he was much 
 exposed. He managed to pick up odd 
 jobs of work as he went along, sufficient 
 to buy food, but spending everything. 
 The thought of trying to save out of so 
 little never occurred to him. He would 
 at least eat well whenever he had the 
 price. 
 
 One day he was walking along the 
 railroad through a desert country, 
 obliged to go without dinner because 
 he had spent all he had made the day 
 before for supper and breakfast. 
 
 "This is rather hard," said John to 
 himself. "Nothing to eat since six 
 o'clock; put off the train at Smith's 
 Siding; obliged to walk to the next 
 town. It is now about two o'clock and 
 no dinner, and when I get there it will 
 take an hour or two to hunt up and do 
 
 272 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 273 
 
 some work before I can have anything 
 to eat. And I am tired and weak. If 
 this isn't tough, I don't know what is. 
 Why is it that so many people have an 
 abundance in this world, while others 
 are in want and suffer for actual neces- 
 sities? 'Work and thou shall have.' 
 True enough, but still those who work 
 the hardest are paid the least and have 
 the least. Things are not divided right. 
 Ten miles back is the Johnson ranch 
 with its hundreds of rich acres, its 
 dozens of barns, and big comfortable 
 house, with the tables loaded down 
 with everything to eat; and here am I 
 with nothing of this world's goods, 
 sleeping at night in woods and barns, 
 and getting my food almost like a dog 
 gets scraps from a table, and today not 
 even scraps. True, this will not last 
 long, but this empty stomach makes me 
 think. Surely every man brought into 
 the world is entitled at all times to food, 
 shelter, and raiment; but some have 
 so little of it and others so much of it 
 that many must suffer, while others 
 have more than they can possibly use 
 and want. Things are not divided 
 
 18 
 
274 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 right. No, things are not divided right. 
 And why is it? Yes, why is it?" 
 
 "No, things are not divided right," 
 said a voice in John's ear with such 
 suddenness as to somewhat startle him. 
 John turned aside, looked around, and 
 saw a man bulky in frame, with large 
 face, slightly aquiline nose, and 
 double chin. He was dressed in the 
 style of one hundred years ago, — dark 
 red velvet knee pants, three-cornered 
 felt hat, frilled shirt, and dark broad- 
 cloth coat, all of good material, but 
 long worn. The silver buckles on his 
 shoes glistened in the sun as John 
 glanced at them. Then looking up into 
 the broad-featured face, he inquired: 
 "And who are you, sir, may I ask?" 
 "I have been named old Uncle 
 Save," replied the person, "by some in 
 derision, by others after my hobby. 
 Whether I have been named aright 
 you may judge from my appearance 
 and person. Look at these old and 
 worn, yet neat and well-preserved 
 clothes; this body turning old and hair 
 turning grey, yet as well cared for and 
 preserved as these clothes; note the 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 275 
 
 good health in this old bronzed face; 
 also a determination that has mastered 
 self indulgence, a will that has sup- 
 pressed whim and pride, as well as 
 forethought, temperance and pru- 
 dence that are written there, — what 
 would all these tell you? Are not they 
 all qualities and virtues you would ex- 
 pect one to possess who has practiced 
 saving and economy as I have done? 
 No, things have not been divided 
 right, as you say. And it is my con- 
 stant endeavor to remedy the inequality 
 as much as possible. 
 
 "If you will but listen to me, I can 
 afford much help; for if industry is 
 prosperity's right hand, frugality is her 
 left. If you would have something, 
 therefore, be frugal as well as indus- 
 trious; 'think of saving as well as get- 
 ting.' This is the simple lesson I would 
 impress upon those who have not, that 
 thereby the inequality of which you 
 speak may be made the less. Shall I 
 proceed?" 
 
 "Proceed, sir," said John, humbly 
 and respectfully, the two now walking 
 along the track together, his com- 
 
276 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 panion's feet coming down heavily, the 
 rough walking jolting his body at each 
 step, and causing him to be somewhat 
 short of breath. 
 
 "Well, then, in the first place, it has 
 been said that 'saving is a greater art 
 than getting;' that 'it is easier to make 
 money than to keep it;' and that 'fools 
 may make money, but only wise men 
 can keep it,' — all of which is true. But 
 the main obstacle to saving is not so 
 much the difficulty of the art, as the 
 lack of habit, and this is to be all the 
 more regretted, because it is a habit 
 within the power and reach of every- 
 one to acquire. 
 
 "How, then, is this habit to be 
 acquired? In the first place, 'limit 
 your wants to your wealth ;' 'make your 
 puddings according to your plums;' 
 'don't fly higher than you can roost;' 
 'spend nothing on silk, till you've paid 
 for your milk.' In other words, learn 
 to live within your means. Who has 
 not first learned to live within his 
 means can never learn to save. Yet 
 how many there are who do not even 
 do this, who spend everything, who 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 277 
 
 never save a cent, even going in debt 
 for what they can do without! For 
 my part, I think 'patches and darns 
 are better than debts,' that 'it is better 
 to stint than go in debt;' and that 'a 
 lark paid for is better than a turkey on 
 tick.' 
 
 "But debt is not the worst feature of 
 those who live thus. Who lives beyond 
 his means is either a cheat or a beat, 
 and every day he does so lays up for 
 himself time in the jail or poorhouse, 
 and it is only a question of time in be- 
 ing discovered and having to work it 
 out. To all such I would say, 'before 
 you spend eleven pence, earn a shilling,' 
 and if this simple rule could always be 
 followed, I know they would never be 
 beyond their means. 
 
 "After you have learned to live 
 within your means, the next thing is to 
 learn the art of spending. This is a 
 great art, and it has been said, 'he who 
 buys hath need of four eyes ;' but to me 
 it is simple enough. For one thing, 
 'ask your purse what you should buy 
 and oftentimes your whims deny;' for 
 'he who buys fancies may have to sell 
 
278 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 necessaries.' Then, 'of a good bargain 
 think twice and then leave it ;' for 'great 
 bargains are great thieves,' and 'he who 
 buys bargains is often sold.' So 'dirt 
 cheap is generally dear dirt,' and 'very 
 cheap is mostly very dear.' Then 
 never buy the superfluous. 'What you 
 don't want is dear at a penny.' In fact, 
 'nothing is cheap if you don't want it' 
 But there are many things you do want 
 and need, and must buy, and herein the 
 real art of spending is to be learned and 
 practiced, — how to buy within the 
 limits of the purse, with reference to 
 other wants and needs, and laying some- 
 thing by for a rainy day. This calls 
 for prudence, judgment, and fore- 
 thought, 'tis true; but these qualities 
 can be acquired and improved with 
 practice in this respect. And it is cer- 
 tainly worth the effort when we remem- 
 ber that 'a man's purse will never be 
 bare if he knows when to buy, to 
 spend, and to spare.' But, more gen- 
 erally, the right kind of spending 
 means merely a mastery of whim and 
 pride, a suppression of that desire to 
 make a fine appearance and show, to 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 279 
 
 dress and live as well as others, no 
 matter what the cost, or how ill it can 
 be afforded. Yes, it is pride that makes 
 paupers of many of us. 
 
 "Then 'by timely mending save much 
 spending;' 'a stitch in time saves ninety- 
 nine.' It is necessary, too, to 'watch 
 little expenses, or they will eat you up.' 
 Remember that 'a little leak may sink a 
 great ship.' Bear in mind, also, that 
 'sands form the mountains, moments 
 make the years. As in money, so in 
 time, we are to look to the smallest por- 
 tions.' But while watching little ex- 
 penses, also look out for the big ones; 
 for 'it is no use sparing at the spigot and 
 letting run at the bunghole.' It is cer- 
 tainly not the right course to be 'penny 
 wise and pound foolish ;' nor is it good 
 economy that 'burns out a candle in 
 search of a pin.' Often one may think 
 he is practicing economy when he is in 
 fact wasting. What is saved is not 
 worth the cost and effort. There is a 
 false economy for which you must al- 
 ways be on the lookout. 
 
 "Saving and economy are no mean 
 virtues, as many suppose, and are not 
 
280 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 to be despised. In their higher forms 
 they call for the best qualities of mind 
 and talent that can be produced. Here 
 is a great railroad with millions of dol- 
 lars invested in it. Every quality of 
 mind and energy of its builders was 
 exerted to make every dollar of those 
 millions go as far as possible, — not to 
 build cheaply, for 'the best is the cheap- 
 est' — but to make the most and best of 
 every dollar expended. And the same 
 qualities are constantly and unceasingly 
 at work in its operation, with a view to 
 saving and economizing in operating 
 expenses. Yes, saving! That is the 
 watchword in the great and successful 
 industries ; that is where every energy is 
 bent; that's why the inventive mind is 
 at work ; that is why we are constantly 
 improving and advancing upon the old 
 methods, — to save ; to lessen as much as 
 possible and reduce to a minimum the 
 cost of production and operation in all 
 things, to eliminate waste. Here 
 saving becomes one of the highest arts, 
 and it furnishes a field so great that the 
 brightest and best minds of all ages to 
 come will not exhaust it. And while it 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 281 
 
 is one of the highest arts, it is also one 
 of the lowest; for its precepts can be 
 followed and put. in practice in the 
 humblest cottage. The rich are masters 
 of economy, my son, — you can depend 
 upon it; if not in their mode of living, 
 then in their various businesses and en- 
 terprises. But the poor, — there's the 
 trouble. 'Without economy none can 
 be rich ; but with economy few need be 
 poor.' " 
 
 Uncle Save had been puffing and 
 blowing considerably, and concluded 
 with a big blow to catch his breath. 
 
 "We'll have to wait a moment; this 
 walking is too rough to go so fast." 
 
 While he was recovering himself 
 through long and deep respirations, 
 John said: 
 
 "What you say is true enough and is 
 very good advice for those who have 
 the means to practice it. Some day I 
 expect to, but before one can save, one 
 must have something from which to 
 save. My income, for several years at 
 least, will not be more than enough to 
 live, get married, and keep a wife, and 
 just now I am able to pick up my meals 
 
282 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 as I go along, — that's all. When my 
 income gets to be, say, two or three 
 thousand a year, — but until then, I 
 could not think of saving out of so 
 little." 
 
 "That is where you are mistaken," 
 replied Uncle Save, looking John 
 firmly and squarely in the eye. " 'A man 
 who has the least should study most 
 how to make the most of it ;' for 'there 
 is no gain so certain as that which 
 comes from sparing what you have,' be 
 it ever so small. 'Of a little, spend a 
 little and save a little ;' 'keep thou some 
 and more will come.' 'Keep a nest 
 egg; money lays to money.' 'He who 
 will not save pence shall never save 
 pounds.' You are young, just on the 
 threshold of life, and you could not 
 learn the art of saving at a better time. 
 Bear in mind) my son, 'he who will not 
 save in youth will have his nose to the 
 grindstone all his life.' 
 
 "And what did you do this morning? 
 Filled yourself with the best things for 
 breakfast. And how is it with you 
 now? 'You have eaten all for break- 
 fast, what have you for dinner?' 'Bet- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 283 
 
 ter long little than soon nothing,' in my 
 opinion. And I would say to you, not 
 as regards this day, but as regards your 
 youth and old age, 'begin on porridge 
 that you may end on chicken.' Always 
 live plainly, simply, and economically. 
 Then should misfortune overtake you, 
 you will not have far to fall. Yes, 'be- 
 gin on porridge that you may end on 
 chicken.' Some day you are going to 
 be old. Could you but realize this to 
 the extent of beginning to prepare for 
 it now! Yes, prepare for it now. 'For 
 age and want save while you may, no 
 morning sun lasts a whole day.' 'Against 
 three score have something in store.' 
 'Save for the man on the white horse.' 
 Yes, 'save for the man on the white 
 horse.' He's coming by and by. It's 
 you in your old age. This is why I 
 would have you practice economy, — 
 not for the love of money, not for the 
 sake of gathering and hoarding wealth, 
 for then economy becomes a vice, makes 
 a miser, sears the soul, and deadens it 
 to the cry of others ; but for the sake of 
 old age and want, and for those de- 
 pendent and to be dependent upon 
 
284 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 you. And so practiced, it is one 
 of the noblest virtues. It means 
 self-denial, temperance, prudence, 
 mastery over self indulgence, — and are 
 not all these excellent virtues? But 
 more than this, he who takes care of 
 himself and own is in better position to 
 take care of and help others. Thus 
 saving can be made not only a blessing 
 and help to yourself, but a blessing and 
 help to others. 
 
 "And now, my son," concluded 
 Uncle Save, taking hold of John's arm 
 with a firm grasp, as if to possess him 
 for good, "I want to enlist you this 
 moment, not only in the practice of 
 economy in your own life, but in prop- 
 agating this great cause among your 
 fellowmen. The field is wide and I 
 need much help. Improve the time as 
 you pass through the country in ad- 
 vocating this great cause, wherever you 
 have the opportunity. I will be 
 present, if not visibly, then invisibly, to 
 help and assist you in the work." 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 In about an hour John overtook two 
 men traveling in the same direction. 
 
 "Where you going, Jasper?" asked 
 the taller, an unshaved fellow with a 
 slouch hat pulled low down over a 
 deep-knit brow and hard-featured face. 
 
 "Denver." 
 
 "We're going that way, too. Been on 
 the road long?" 
 
 "Not long." 
 
 "Tenderfoot, hey? Have any trouble 
 getting over the road?" 
 
 "It's not like traveling in a Pullman 
 car." 
 
 "You can travel with us. We'll show 
 you how to get over the road. Had any 
 dinner?" asked the other, a small 
 nervous fellow with a roving eye. 
 
 "This is a day I have missed." 
 
 "We'll show you how to get the grub, 
 too." 
 
 John wondered at the interest these 
 two strangers took in him. But he had 
 found men before on the road disposed 
 to be friendly, and he thought he would 
 
 28S 
 
286 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 not quarrel with these two if they de- 
 sired to be likewise. The next station 
 was further distant than he had sup- 
 posed and it was getting dark when 
 they reached the place, John hungry 
 and tired. Opposite the railroad station 
 was a dance hall, about three hundred 
 feet distant, set up on posts, and almost 
 surrounded by water, a small creek be- 
 ing near which had overflowed with 
 rains and melting snows. 
 
 "We'll get in there and build a good 
 fire and warm up. There's a stove in 
 there and a good supply of wood at the 
 back door," said the tall man. "And 
 after that we'll have some supper." 
 "You seem to have been here before." 
 "Make this town every two years. 
 Come along, now. I'll show you how 
 to get in." 
 
 "Isn't that a little risky?" 
 "It's all right; nobody cares." 
 The three men then made their way 
 over the water by crawling along the 
 top board of a fence. John was much 
 afraid they would be seen, and he did 
 not want to do anything to cause an 
 arrest. Reaching the back door which 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 287 
 
 they found unlocked, they entered and 
 soon built a fire. John was glad to get 
 into a warm place, but was afraid the 
 smoke pouring out the chimney would 
 attract attention. Being chilled and 
 tired, he lay down on the floor in front 
 of the stove. After awhile he fell 
 asleep. When he awoke the men were 
 eating some stewed chicken which 
 they had cooked in an old pot on the 
 stove. 
 
 "Hungry, Jasper?" asked the tall 
 man who did the talking for the two. 
 
 The word hungry hardly expressed 
 it. 
 
 "Have a chaw," said he, handing a 
 large piece of the chicken to John, who 
 was too sleepy and hungry to ask where 
 or how it had been obtained. There 
 seemed to be plenty of it, and all he did 
 was to eat until he was full. 
 
 "Now come along with us," said the 
 man, when John had finished. "We'll 
 get plenty to eat for the next few days." 
 
 John, scarcely thinking what they 
 were about, followed the men out into 
 the darkness, up the railroad track to 
 an outbuilding belonging to a grocery. 
 
288 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "This is the place," whispered the 
 tall man. "You stay here," said he to 
 John, "and see if anyone comes. If 
 they should, let us know. And don't 
 make any noise." 
 
 The men then sneaked up to the 
 building and tried the door, which was 
 securely locked. Then John heard 
 them hammer and break the lock, after 
 which they entered, ransacked the 
 place, striking matches to see what they 
 were about, and finally reappeared 
 with their arms full of boxes. 
 
 "Don't you know that is a pen- 
 itentiary offense, — to break a lock?" 
 said he, when the men reached him. 
 
 "Shut up, you fool!" said the tall 
 man in a fierce whisper. "You're in it 
 as much as we. You watched while we 
 did the work. I got three years for that 
 once. Now follow us and don't try to 
 get away. If anything happens, we'll 
 swear it was you. We're two and we 
 stand together. You're one, — do you 
 see?" 
 
 John saw that he had been trapped 
 into becoming an unwilling accom- 
 plice in a crime, and should they be 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 289 
 
 caught, he might have difficulty in ex- 
 tricating himself in a country where he 
 was unknown and before a strange and 
 hostile jury. It would not do to stay 
 there. The sooner he was off the bet- 
 ter; so he followed the men for about 
 a mile and a half through the woods, 
 until they came to an old, abandoned 
 barn. Thus many a man has thought- 
 lessly and unintentionally let his feet 
 become entangled in another's crime; 
 or, as more often happens, in his own 
 crime. But once entangled, how soon 
 the coils fasten about him! John 
 thought he would remain with the two 
 men until morning, when he would 
 watch his chance to get away. But 
 when morning came, the men being 
 armed, threatened to kill him on the 
 spot if he attempted to leave, and they 
 could do it in that lonely spot, and no 
 one would ever be the wiser. Thus 
 John was between two dilemmas; his 
 life was threatened if he attempted to 
 leave, while every day he remained 
 added evidence that he was a confeder- 
 ate of the men who detained him, to say 
 nothing of the delay caused him in 
 
 19 
 
290 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 reaching Helena, going from there to 
 see Florence, then on to accept the posi- 
 tion at Kansas City. 
 
 The boxes, which contained cigars, 
 were taken by the smaller man into 
 the woods and buried, it being the in- 
 tention to lounge about the place 
 several days until the thing blew over, 
 then take the plunder to Helena, where 
 they would sell it. 
 
 "You bet they'll never find that," he 
 said with a grin upon his face when he 
 returned to the camp-fire where the 
 others were sitting. "You see we're 
 safe now," he then said to John, "if 
 anyone comes around; they'll have no 
 cause to suspicion us." 
 
 Both men were pleased with what 
 they had done, and talked much of the 
 good time they would have when they 
 sold the cigars. They were further 
 pleased with a night raid in behalf of 
 food made upon the smoke house of a 
 neighboring farmer, in which raid they 
 compelled John to accompany them. 
 Notwithstanding this elation over their 
 successes, John noticed that the smaller 
 man was troubled with a constant 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 291 
 
 nightmare. Whenever he would lie 
 down and sleep, or take even the short- 
 est nap, he would awake with an ex- 
 pression of great horror upon his face, 
 having the appearance of a wild animal 
 at bay. He was always dreaming of 
 being pursued by officers, and unable to 
 make his escape. Thus crime fur- 
 nished its own punishment in the dread 
 of detection. 
 
 A couple of days having passed 
 with no one coming about the place, 
 John's dread of detection, of officers 
 rushing upon them and making an 
 arrest, began to subside, and he began 
 to feel reasonably secure in what had 
 been done. The men now tried to per- 
 suade him to travel with them right 
 along, saying they were in need of an- 
 other man, but would ask him to do 
 none of the stealing. He now saw why 
 they had entrapped him. They wanted 
 an accomplice and sought to secure him 
 by first involving him in crime and 
 then persuading him in its continuance. 
 And the plan was working better than 
 John realized. The country through 
 which he was traveling was sparsely 
 
292 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 settled, and since leaving Spokane he 
 had been obliged to go hungry half the 
 time. He accepted the plentiful sup- 
 ply of food placed before him, which, 
 though stolen, could not be resisted, 
 thus becoming a booty sharer, an acces- 
 sory after the crime, with little thought 
 of what he was doing. 
 
 Furthermore, he found himself 
 listening to their proposals. They had 
 promised him an equal share of the 
 proceeds of the cigars. He would be 
 in sore need of a few dollars when he 
 reached Helena for the trip to Denver 
 and Kansas City. How was he to ob- 
 tain a bite to eat on the road, and how 
 could he arrive in either city without 
 a cent? Since he was forced to remain 
 in their company, he thought there 
 would be no harm in going with them 
 as far as Helena, all of which, a few 
 days before, he would not have thought 
 of doing for a single instant. 
 
 Late in the afternoon of the third 
 day the two men fell asleep before a 
 camp-fire where all had been lounging. 
 After dark they intended to dig up the 
 booty and travel some that night. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 293 
 
 While John sat watching the flames, 
 Just Sense came up, looked long at the 
 sleeping forms, then said in a loud 
 voice : 
 
 "So you think there is no harm be- 
 ing in the company of these men, do 
 you? 'Tell me with whom thou goest 
 and I'll tell thee what thou art.' " 
 
 "Not so loud," said John. "You'll 
 wake them up 1" 
 
 "No danger of that. I repeat, 'tell 
 me with whom thou goest and I'll tell 
 thee what thou art.' " 
 
 "You wouldn't call me a thief, would 
 you?" asked John, a slight blush upon 
 his cheeks. 
 
 "That's about what it amounts to," 
 said Just Sense, taking off his glasses 
 and blowing his breath upon them, 
 after which he proceeded to wipe them 
 carefully with his handkerchief. "A 
 man is no better than the company he 
 keeps, be it for ever so short a time. 
 You are certain to become like those 
 with whom you associate. Those above 
 you will pull you up; those beneath 
 you will pull you down. Beware, sir; 
 beware, sir, of the company you keep I 
 
294 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 No harm being done in the company of 
 these men? Shun them! Shun them! 
 Break away at once! 
 
 "Right, sir," replied John. "The 
 company of these men already has had 
 its influence upon me ; it shall end right 
 now." 
 
 Just Sense disappeared and John's 
 attention was directed to the sleeping 
 forms of the two men. What would be 
 the best plan to get away? — steal off at 
 once, or first take their weapons from 
 them? If he stole off without the 
 weapons, they might awaken and have 
 the means to bring him back. On the 
 other hand, if he attempted to take the 
 weapons, they might awaken, and a 
 fierce struggle ensue. Even if he suc- 
 ceeded in disarming them, he was so 
 poor a shot the weapons would be of 
 little use should the men awaken at the 
 time, or encounter him afterwards. 
 After a little study, he decided what to 
 do. If it succeeded, all right; if not, 
 he could pass it off as a joke. 
 
 He arose and stole cautiously to the 
 taller man, a sound sleeper, and suc- 
 ceeded in extracting the revolver from 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 295 
 
 his hip pocket. The smaller man, a 
 light sleeper and dreamer, was lying on 
 his weapon. By a few gentle pushes, 
 John succeeded in getting him to turn 
 over without waking. To get his 
 weapon was then an easy matter. 
 
 John now took a large tin can setting 
 near the fire and filled it with stones. 
 He then went some distance, got behind 
 a large tree, turned his coat wrong side 
 out, blacked his lip with a burnt stick, 
 and pulled his hat low down over his 
 eyes to disguise himself as much as pos- 
 sible. He then fired a shot into the air 
 and rattled the can, at which the smaller 
 man, who was always dreaming of be- 
 ing pursued by officers, gave a wild 
 jump and proceeded to run as fast as 
 his legs could carry him. 
 
 "There they go! There they gol 
 Hurry up, fellows, hurry up!" John 
 shouted as loud as he could, imitating 
 several voices, at the same time firing 
 into the air, and making as much noise 
 with the can as possible. 
 
 The other man now awoke, felt for 
 his gun, found it gone, and seeing his 
 partner on the run, also took to his 
 
296 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 heels with might and main. John now 
 came out into the open, still firing and 
 shouting, one or two of his shouts 
 broken with a laugh, for in all his life 
 he had never seen two men run so. 
 When they disappeared, John turned 
 and walked rapidly in the direction of 
 the station. In the woods he threw 
 the weapons away, washed the black off 
 his face, and turned his coat. 
 
 "If we should meet now, they will 
 have no cause to suspect me," he said 
 to himself. 
 
 He boarded a freight train that 
 night, and getting off at the first station 
 to secure a better place to ride, was sur- 
 prised to stumble on the two thieves 
 who were crouching in the end of an 
 empty coal car. The smaller one gave 
 a start, and the taller one said: 
 
 "That you, Jasper?" 
 
 "Yes, didn't know you were on this 
 train." 
 
 "Don't talk so loud;' we're not safe 
 yet." 
 
 "Did you have any trouble getting 
 away?" asked John. 
 
 "Well, I should say, — as close a call 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 297 
 
 as I ever had in my life. There must 
 have been a dozen after us, and every 
 one of them armed. And what puzzles 
 me is how our guns. got away." 
 
 "Did you lose your guns?" asked 
 John. 
 
 "Both gone, as slick as a whistle." 
 
 "You don't say!" 
 
 The two thieves were no longer in a 
 mood to try to intimidate John, so he 
 got off the train at the next station 
 while they went on. The station agent 
 permitted him to sleep on the floor of 
 the waiting-room. When morning 
 arrived, and it was time for breakfast, 
 he started out, came to a neat looking 
 house, entered the yard, walked around 
 to the back door and knocked. While 
 awaiting the appearance of some one, 
 he noticed a large waste-can filled with 
 enough eatables to supply a whole 
 family a couple of days, but no longer 
 fit for use. 
 
 "Live well," thought John. "Struck 
 a good place; ought to stand a good 
 chance." 
 
 Just then the door was opened by the 
 woman of the house. 
 
298 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "Madam, have you some work I can 
 do for a little breakfast; some wood to 
 saw, or anything at all?" asked John, 
 politely. 
 
 "Breakfast is over and we've just 
 thrown out everything left. We never 
 feed strangers ; it's all we can do to feed 
 ourselves." 
 
 "Never feed strangers?" echoed 
 John, remembering the plea of Uncle 
 Save and feeling that this was an op- 
 portunity, and that something was 
 prompting him what to say. "Can 
 hardly feed yourselves? That accounts 
 for it," continued he, pointing to the 
 waste-can. "What a shame, madam! 
 There is never a time in the world but 
 what some are dying for the want of 
 food, all because one-half the world 
 wastes and throws away enough to feed 
 the other half. Waste like that is a sin 
 against humanity. No, you never feed 
 strangers, and I suppose you never give 
 anything in charity. How could you?" 
 
 Seeing a scowl upon the face of the 
 woman, who was first dumbfounded, 
 and then insulted, John continued in a 
 milder strain. 
 
 "I don't mean to be impudent, 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 299 
 
 madam. This is truth. Let me speak 
 from your own standpoint. Now, 'a 
 wife should husband her husband's 
 money.' She should because she can; 
 for 'husbands can earn money, but only 
 wives can keep it.' She can keep it by 
 watching the back door, — 'the back 
 door is the one that robs the house.' 
 It's a fact, madam, 'the wife can throw 
 more away with a spoon than the hus- 
 band can bring in with a shovel.' And 
 she had better be careful of what she 
 throws away; for 'of wasting cometh 
 wanting,' and 'when waste is in front 
 want comes on behind.' Yes, she had 
 better be careful, for 'willful waste 
 makes woeful want.' " 
 
 As John concluded, the woman 
 threw the contents of a dishpan at him, 
 which he was quick enough to avoid. 
 
 "I mean no harm, madam," said he, 
 good-humoredly. "I hope you will 
 think of it. Some day you may need 
 the food you're now throwing out." 
 
 "Get out of here; I'll sic the dog on 
 you!" 
 
 John departed somewhat abashed, 
 feeling that his first attempt had not 
 been a success. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 John arrived at Helena at nine 
 o'clock at night, riding the bumpers in 
 a snowstorm. The wind was blowing 
 fiercely, the train crew hastily dis- 
 appeared seeking shelter, and John 
 himself sought a cheap lodging, having 
 just a quarter for a bed. The next 
 morning he was early at the post- 
 office. 
 
 "Anything for J. A. Downey?" 
 
 The clerk hastily ran the letters, 
 shaking his head in the negative. This 
 was a sore disappointment, for John was 
 fully expecting the letter. 
 
 "When will the next mail be in?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "From where?" 
 
 "From Kansas City." 
 
 "One P. M." 
 
 John departed, idling about the city, 
 wondering where he would get his 
 breakfast. In about an hour he secured 
 work unloading a car of coal, being 
 given his breakfast before going to 
 work. In this way he made a dollar 
 
 300 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 301 
 
 and a half. The next morning he 
 anxiously inquired again at the office 
 No letter from Kansas City, but one 
 from Denver, forwarded from Spo- 
 kane. The handwriting was Florence'9 
 and John opened it eagerly. 
 
 "Dear John:" 
 
 How the words thrilled him! This 
 was the first time she had thus ad- 
 dressed him since the engagement had 
 been broken. 
 
 "I believe I have said before that I 
 would like to see you. School closes 
 in June and I will leave for home on 
 the fifteenth. Can you come and spend 
 a week or two before that time? When 
 may I expect you? 
 
 Your sincere friend, 
 
 Florence." 
 
 John answered as follows: 
 
 "You may look for me shortly. Have 
 a fine position awaiting me at Kansas 
 City. Will explain all when I see you. 
 It will afford me the greatest pleasure 
 to spend a short time with you before 
 you leave for home. 
 
 Yours as ever, 
 
 John." 
 
302 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 John was now more anxious than 
 ever to receive the pass from Kansas 
 City, but the afternoon mail brought 
 nothing. He then learned that work 
 was to be obtained at a small mining 
 town about forty miles distant. It was 
 absolutely necessary to have a few dol- 
 lars in his pocket for the trip to Kansas 
 City, especially for a stop-over at 
 Denver, and while waiting for the pass 
 he thought he would take advantage of 
 this opportunity to make something. 
 So he ordered his mail forwarded to 
 Butte, and made his way to the little 
 town, arriving about eight one evening. 
 Before reaching the place, he heard 
 cheering and hurrahing a number of 
 times, and wondered what could be 
 happening. There were only three 
 lighted places in the town, which con- 
 tained about two hundred population, 
 the single portion of which lived in 
 several rude bunk and mess houses, 
 while the married portion lived in a 
 few scattered houses. 
 
 John made his way to the lighted 
 places and found them saloons, 
 crowded to their fullest capacity with 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 303 
 
 a lot of drinking, carousing, hurrahing 
 men. Many were standing on the out- 
 side, unable to get in, some few at a 
 distance, watching what was going on. 
 John made inquiry of these and 
 learned that it was pay day at the 
 mines, and that these scenes took place 
 every pay day, and lasted until all the 
 money was spent, when the men would 
 go to work again until next pay day. 
 
 Soon the crowds poured out of the 
 saloons into the large open space in 
 front, — there were no streets or side- 
 walks, — and with much hurrahing and 
 cheering, collected about two men, who 
 had some difference and we're going to 
 have a fight. Each blow brought 
 cheers and laughter, until one of the 
 men could fight no longer. Then they 
 were parted, and the whole crowd re- 
 paired to the saloons for more drinks. 
 Then another fight. These seemed to 
 be the principal amusements, though 
 there were others — foot races, jumping 
 contests, — anything the men could 
 think of that afforded some fun. It 
 was a good-natured crowd, made up of 
 hard-working men and boys and a few 
 
304 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 women, one or two of the latter drink- 
 ing. 
 
 One of the women caught her hus- 
 band and tried to pull him home. This 
 furnished much laughter, and when the 
 husband broke away, running and 
 dodging here and there from his pur- 
 suing wife, he was caught by about 
 twenty of the crowd, lifted above their 
 heads at arm's length, where he 
 squirmed and kicked, while he was 
 carried home amidst the jeers and 
 laughter of the crowd. John saw that 
 the men were kindly disposed, — they 
 were only about half intoxicated, as yet 
 — and ready for any amusement or di- 
 version. 
 
 "What a shame these men work so 
 hard and spend all their hard-earned 
 money for drink and these poor 
 amusements," said he to a bystander 
 who had not been drinking. 
 
 "That's the way they do it," said the 
 man addressed. "Don't get much for 
 their money." 
 
 "That's the way I look at it," replied 
 John. "The man who spends his 
 money for drink gets less value re- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 305 
 
 ceived than anyone I know. When I 
 spend money I want something for it. 
 I wonder whether they would listen to 
 a little speech. I feel that I ought to 
 do it." John felt the promptings of 
 Uncle Save, and thought that the sub- 
 ject of economy had much to do with 
 the subject of drink. 
 
 The man looked somewhat curiously 
 at John. "Anything," he said, slowly. 
 "They're in for anything." 
 
 John's wishes were made known 
 among the crowd. 
 
 "Speech! Speech! Speech!" went 
 the rounds of the men. They gave 
 three lusty cheers. "Let's hear the 
 speech !" 
 
 They collected about John, procured 
 a box upon which they made him stand, 
 and waited as composedly as they 
 could. John stood in their midst, 
 frightened and embarrassed, unable to 
 say a word. He had had an inspiration 
 to say something for their good, and 
 felt that he would have the words to 
 say, but now he knew not where to be- 
 gin or what to say. 
 
 "Git up there, Jinny! Git up!" said 
 
 20 
 
306 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 one of the crowd, as if speaking to a 
 balky horse, which caused laughter at 
 John's expense. "Whoa, there; git upl 
 Steady now! Steady! He won't go 
 until he's had a drink. Foxy old horse! 
 Get him a drink! Get him a drink!" 
 
 John was started by these words, 
 somewhat confused at first, but be- 
 gan: "No, friends," said he, "I don't 
 want a drink, — no drinking for me, — 
 that's what I want to talk to you about, 
 — drink. (Cheers.) 'Drinking injures 
 a man externally, internally and 
 eternally,' " continued John, en- 
 couraged by the first cheers. " 'Drink 
 first dims, then darkens, then damns.' 
 (Cheers.) 'Whisky drinking is risky 
 drinking,' for 'whisky whisks many to 
 the grave.' Even 'if you get the best 
 of whisky it will get the best of you.' 
 And it is the same with all the other 
 kinds of drinking. 'Beer brings, many 
 to their bier.' 'Wine drowns more than 
 the sea.' (Cheers.) But that is not all. 
 'Purses shrink when workmen drink.' 
 'A drunkard's mouth dries up his 
 pockets.' It's true, friends, 'one vice 
 is more expensive than many virtues,' 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 307 
 
 and this is the most expensive of vices. 
 That's why 'a drinking man is on the 
 road to Needham.' That's why 'a red 
 nose often looks down on ragged 
 clothes.' (Cheers.) 
 
 "So much for yourselves. But what 
 about others? Ah! my friends, could 
 you but realize what this drinking is, — 
 'the bottle and the glass make many 
 cry "Alas!" ' Tots of beer cost many a 
 tear,' and 'many a child is hungry be- 
 cause the brewer is rich' — that's what 
 this drinking is. Yes, my friends, many 
 a child is hungry, and is it not true, 
 'what maintains one vice will bring up 
 two children?' 
 
 "Ah! my friends, could you but 
 realize what this drinking is, I don't 
 believe you would do it." 
 
 "Let's have another drink," came a 
 voice in the crowd. "Yes," replied 
 John, "that's it, 'always drinking, al- 
 ways dry.' Drink ruins you, ruins 
 your family, and only gives you, in re- 
 turn, more appetite and a dull morning 
 the next day. Drink incapacitates a 
 man for success in most callings, bars 
 him from many of the best positions in 
 
308 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 life, and grinds him down to the hard- 
 est work and drudgery. 'Quit your 
 pots and your potations, yield to wis- 
 dom's exhortations.' 
 
 "And I see some women in this 
 crowd, — what shall I say to them? 'A 
 drinking dame, a sight of shame 1' 
 (Cheers.) I mean no offense, ladies; 
 but that's the way the world looks at 
 it. And to those who are single, 'who 
 weds a sot to get his cot will lose the cot 
 and keep the sot.' (Cheers and 
 laughter.) 'Every sot will go to pot' 
 
 "And I see some young men and boys 
 here, — what shall I say to them? My 
 young friends, 'the road to ruin is as 
 smooth as a bowling green.' You may 
 think you can take a few drinks to- 
 night, and a few some other night, and 
 no harm come. But 'he who dances on 
 the brink may soon be dashed on the 
 bottom.' By taking a drink now and a 
 drink then, habits are formed, and be- 
 fore you know it; for 'ill habits gather 
 by unseen degrees, as brooks make 
 rivers, rivers run to seas!' Yes, my 
 young friends, 'habits are soon formed, 
 but when we strive to strip them off, 'tis 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 309 
 
 being flayed alive.' There is many an 
 older man here to-night who can vouch 
 for the truth that 'at first a bad habit 
 is a spider's web, then a net of thread, 
 next a bond of rope, and soon a fetter 
 of steel.' Yes, my friends, a fetter of 
 steel ! This world is divided into many 
 nations, great and small, each with its 
 own ruler and government. But over 
 all, the monarch of all, the real ruler 
 of all, is old King Habit, who rules the 
 lives and destinies of all mankind, in 
 every clime and every nation, and many 
 are his slaves in fetters of steel." 
 
 "Three cheers for old King Habit 1 
 Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" came the 
 cry, and a man standing in the doorway 
 of one of the saloons threw a loaf of 
 bread, which struck. John on the head, 
 nearly made him lose his balance, and 
 caused great cheers and laughter. 
 
 "How many here to-night know of 
 the iron rule, the fetters of steel of old 
 King Habit?" continued John, after 
 the interruption. "My friends, I want 
 you to realize that, you are under the 
 dominion of this stern and relentless 
 Ruler of the race ; for life, for the most 
 
310 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 part, is made up of habits, from the 
 very cradle to the grave. The infant 
 cries in its mother's arms to be rocked 
 to sleep, — what is it? Habit. The 
 aged dame wants her pipe and regular 
 arm-chair, — what is it? Habit. You 
 fall asleep at ten and awake at five, — 
 what is it? Habit. You want a cigar 
 after breakfast, a nap after dinner, and 
 a particular amusement in the evening, 
 — what is it? Habit. Every pay day 
 you are uneasy and restless unless you 
 can have a few drinks and what you 
 call a good time with the boys, — what 
 is it? Habit. Nearly everything you 
 do is habit, and habit you cannot es- 
 cape. But you can form the good in- 
 stead of the bad. Remember that 'the 
 wisest of all habits is the formation of 
 good habits.' And in this connection 
 be careful of every act, for habits are 
 but acts repeated and are formed be- 
 fore you realize it. Be especially care- 
 ful of the first act, the apparently in- 
 nocent, harmless act, that leads to the 
 direst consequences,- which are too 
 often hidden and unseen. Recollect 
 that bad habits are like obnoxious 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 311 
 
 weeds; they flourish of their own ac- 
 cord, and need to be pulled to the very 
 last roots; while good habits are like 
 tender flowers; they need care and 
 cultivation. Ah! my friends, habits, 
 habits! They are life itself. Yes, 
 life—" 
 
 Just then several men hurled clods of 
 dirt which struck John in different 
 places, ended the speech, and threw the 
 crowd into hilarious confusion. John 
 was shoved, pushed, struck, kicked, 
 every blow causing shouts of derision. 
 He was thus handled until he could get 
 on his feet no longer, when the crowd 
 left him, and repaired to the saloons 
 for more drinks. Before it returned, 
 John with difficulty had managed to 
 get up and was making his way out of 
 town, when the crowd discovered him, 
 gave pursuit, and with more shoves, 
 pushes and kicks helped him on his 
 way, until they tired of their sport and 
 returned again to the saloons. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 As John was departing from the 
 mining camp, sorely beaten by the 
 men whose condition he had tried to 
 improve out of sympathy for their 
 hard lives and weakness in giving up 
 to habit, he said to himself : 
 
 "I had nothing but good at heart, 
 and only tried to help and better them 
 and this is the reward. When one at- 
 tempts to do good, he at least likes to 
 see some appreciation of his efforts, if 
 no results are accomplished. This 
 kind of work doesn't pay; no, it doesn't 
 pay. Nothing is accomplished, and 
 one is only kicked and cuffed for doing 
 it, and time and efforts are simply 
 thrown away." 
 
 "Yes, it does pay, my boy, and your 
 time and efforts are not thrown away," 
 said a tender feminine voice in John's 
 ear. "Yes, it does pay! You were filled 
 with a noble desire and purpose to help 
 those wretches who live little better 
 than brutes, working like slaves — they 
 are slaves, enchained by habit. Were 
 
 312 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 313 
 
 it not for the noble desires and lofty 
 purposes that have inspired men in the 
 past, what would the world be today? 
 Ah! to be inspired to do good; to stand 
 for truth; to help and uplift mankind; 
 to do Love's work! How many count- 
 less heroes in times past have been so in- 
 spired and filled with a high and noble 
 purpose as to be willing to suffer perse- 
 cution, willing to suffer death! These 
 are the world's true heroes. And thou 
 hast been filled, in thy small way, with 
 the same kind of purpose. Hold fast! 
 Do not give up! Life without a high 
 and noble purpose of some kind is 
 worth little. Only fill thyself with it to 
 a sufficient degree, and however frail 
 and weak thou mayest be, it will give 
 thy weakness strength, and bring out 
 the best, the highest, and noblest there 
 is in thee. 
 
 "And what though it does not seem 
 to pay, the time and effort seem wasted, 
 and thou art repulsed and rebuffed for 
 it? There is a better pay than the ap- 
 preciation others may have for thy 
 efforts, a better return than the satisfac- 
 tion of seeing results in thy work." 
 
314 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 Then the voice became more tender 
 and lower: "Thou art but a sojourner 
 in this world, on thy way to another. 
 When thou beganst, thou wast an in- 
 nocent babe, such as is of the kingdom 
 of heaven. Thou knewest naught of 
 evil, of greed, and selfishness, and wast 
 capable of becoming good and noble ; of 
 helping and uplifting humanity, and 
 making the world better and happier 
 by being in it. And in early childhood 
 thou wast willing to share thy joys and 
 comforts with others. But as thou 
 grewest in years, thy thought began to 
 center more and more upon thyself; 
 the power to be good and noble, of 
 helping and uplifting thy fellowman, 
 became atrophied for the want of use, 
 until thou earnest to a time when thou 
 livest for thyself alone. Then thou wast 
 inspired and filled with a purpose, not 
 to live for thyself entirely, but to help 
 and uplift others, as thou wentest along. 
 But now thou art about to withdraw the 
 helping hand because thou hast been re- 
 buffed, and art about to go on in the old 
 course, living for thyself alone; Canst 
 thou see the end? One day thou wilt 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 315 
 
 cast off that mortal frame, and thou wilt 
 stand, in all thy nakedness, upon 
 eternity's shore. Thou wilt then be 
 seen as thou art. Behold thyself! The 
 hand that has always been turned to- 
 ward thyself will be twisted and 
 gnarled in that direction, unable to 
 reach out for help over Jordan's river. 
 The ears that have never heard the cries 
 of others will be deaf ; the eyes that have 
 never seen the wants of others will be 
 blind; and thou wilt be like thy soul, 
 shriveled and shrunk within itself — a 
 miserable, shriveled wreck of humanity. 
 "But if thou goest that other way, try- 
 ing to uplift and help others, and mak- 
 ing the world better and happier as 
 thou goest along, it will be the highest 
 pay thou canst receive to be able to say 
 at the end, 'I have brought out the best, 
 the highest, and noblest there is in me. 
 I have not lived for self alone, but have 
 heard the cry, seen the suffering, and 
 extended the helping hand to others. I 
 have made the best use of all the powers 
 and talents entrusted to me, including 
 the talent of doing good and helping 
 others among the rest. Not one talent 
 
316 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 have I perverted, wasted, or thrown 
 away.' Ah ! to be able to say at the end 
 of life, 'I have done my best;' not for 
 thyself alone, but for others as well. 
 And in what thou doest for others, what 
 though, at the time, it does not seem to 
 pay; the time and effort seem wasted 
 and thrown away; and thou art in re- 
 turn repulsed and rebuffed? Is it not 
 worth it all to be able to say at the end, 
 'I have done my best?' And what 
 though thy arm is weak, thy talent and 
 power so frail and small that thy works 
 are bare of fruit, and thou hast accom- 
 plished nothing so far as thou canst see 
 or know? Yet is it not worth it all to 
 be able to say in the face of thy weak- 
 ness and nothingness, 'I have done my 
 best?' Is not such the best, the truest, 
 and highest end of thy being? And will 
 it not pay better to be able to say this 
 one thing than all the earthly rewards, 
 satisfactions, and praises thou canst ob- 
 tain? Ah! to be able to say, 'I have 
 done my best,' however great, however 
 small thy talent may be ; however great, 
 however small thy work may be! If 
 thou canst only be able to say, 'I have 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 317 
 
 done my best,' thou hast won the vic- 
 tory, thou hast gained the crown. 
 
 "Ah I to do love's work for love 
 alone; not because thou canst see any 
 pay in it; not because others may ap- 
 preciate thy labors, and praise and up- 
 hold thy name, and call thee blessed; 
 not for the pleasure and satisfaction of 
 beholding the works of thy hand— but 
 ♦ to do it simply because it is in you to do 
 it, and thou desirest to come forth in all 
 thy fullness, as it is in the lily to come 
 forth and bloom in all its beauty, per- 
 fection, and fullness; and because it is 
 the one aim of thy being to be able to 
 say on that great day, when time for 
 thee upon earth shall be no more, not 
 with boasting, not with pride, but to be 
 able to say with that modesty and 
 humility of one who has simply tried 
 to know and do his part, 'I have done 
 my best.' Ah ! canst thou be able to say 
 that, be thou the highest or lowest, the 
 strongest or weakest of those upon 
 earth, thou hast crowned thy life with 
 victory." 
 
 While the voice spoke, John saw no 
 face or form, for he dared not look 
 
318 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 around. But a soft radiance shone from 
 behind, which filled him with great 
 tenderness. He felt that he was in the 
 presence of something holy, and he 
 knew that Love had spoken. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 When John went to the post-office in 
 Butte the letter he had been so 
 anxiously expecting was handed out to 
 him. It was a sore disappointment. 
 
 "Kansas City, Mo., 
 
 May 10, 1894. 
 Dear John : — 
 
 Have been endeavoring to obtain a 
 pass for you, but our relations with both 
 the Northern and Union Pacific are 
 such that that cannot be done. Will 
 forward pass from Denver from there 
 to Kansas City at once. Am sorry, but 
 this is best can do. 
 
 Your old friend, 
 
 J. C. C." 
 
 Nothing remained except for John to 
 attempt to beat his way to Denver. He 
 could not ask his friend for money after 
 having asked and received so much 
 from him. There was a limit beyond 
 which his sense of honor and indepen- 
 dence would not permit him to go. It 
 would be a big undertaking to beat his 
 
 319 
 
320 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 way and a difficult one. He had found 
 that it was extremely difficult to ride 
 without money, and in attempting to do 
 so, had suffered many hardships and 
 exposures. He had endured them with 
 the hope of their ending speedily, but 
 now he would have to beat his way over 
 nine hundred miles of railroad, through 
 a sparsely settled country, much of it 
 desert. Dread it as much as he did, he 
 would do it rather than ask his friend 
 for money. The position at Kansas 
 City would be open whenever he ap- 
 peared to accept it. It was four weeks 
 until the fifteenth of June. He ought 
 to be able to make it in that time. He 
 wrote Florence and his friend, fixing 
 the time of his arrival June 10th. He 
 then walked to the junction six miles 
 west of Butte, where freights make up 
 going south. 
 
 At this place he found a crowd of 
 twenty or more waiting about to get 
 away. Among the number was a sheep 
 herder, half intoxicated, on his way 
 home after his annual spree, and the 
 only one in the crowd possessing money. 
 John talked to him upon the poor 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 321 
 
 judgment of spending the wages of a 
 year's labor in a few days' drinking. He 
 was in a mood for listening, and John 
 thought he accomplished some good. 
 Furthermore, the other men were 
 watching opportunities to steal the few 
 dollars the herder possessed. John pro- 
 tected him, and for his good offices the 
 herder offered to pay his way over the 
 first division. That was the best for- 
 tune John struck all the way from Spo- 
 kane, and as he lounged about the 
 camp-fire, pleased and happy, he was 
 envied by the others, who were in a 
 position to appreciate the good fortune 
 that had befallen him. 
 
 "So he's going to pay for you, is he?" 
 said a nimble-footed man from Port- 
 land, with whom John had becdme 
 friendly. 
 
 It was after dark, and a train was 
 making up to start. ■ , 
 
 "I'm going to ride that train too. 
 Open the door of your car, and let me 
 in the first stop." 
 
 "How are you going to ride it?" 
 asked John. 
 
 "Never mind ; I'll be on the train. All 
 
 21 
 
322 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 I ask is for you to let me in the first 
 stop." 
 
 When the train pulled out, John 
 stood in the open door of an empty box 
 car. The brakemen went over the 
 train, top to bottom, with lanterns and 
 clubs, and held the crowd at bay. John 
 wondered whether the man had gotten 
 on the train, but thought it was hardly 
 possible. But, sure enough, at the first 
 stop he knocked at the door to be let in. 
 
 "How did you do it?" asked John. 
 
 "Well, I done it," said he. "Did you 
 ever hear of riding the rod?" 
 
 "The brake rod, running across the 
 trucks, down between the wheels?" 
 
 "That's the place." 
 
 "I have heard of fellows riding there, 
 but I never believed it." 
 
 "That's nothing! Did you ever hear 
 of riding inside the cowcatcher?" 
 
 "Never did." 
 
 "One time I was stuck in a town 
 down in California. The company had 
 a policeman watching every train and 
 you couldn't make a freight or jump a 
 rod. Thought I was stuck, sure, when 
 I thought of the cowcatcher. I goes into 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 323 
 
 the engine house and gets inside the 
 catcher of an engine going out with the 
 next passenger. Did I ride? Say, they 
 couldn't get me out until the end of the 
 run when the engine got into the round 
 house again." 
 
 "I have heard of riding inside the 
 water tank, but this is the first time for 
 the cowcatcher. Next thing I'll hear of 
 someone riding inside the fire-box." 
 
 "Say, that's me." 
 
 "That'll do to tell someone else." 
 
 "They was hauling a new engine over 
 the road, you know — road hard to beat. 
 I went to sleep, and if they hadn't waked 
 me up, they'd a built a fire on me." 
 
 "And if they had, I suppose you 
 would not have burned." 
 
 The train now started and the con- 
 versation ended. The herder had a 
 couple of blankets which were spread 
 upon the floor. This was the greatest 
 traveling luxury John experienced all 
 the way from Spokane to Denver. As 
 he lay down with the others and 
 thought of all the hardships and ex- 
 posures he had suffered, it was indeed, 
 to him, a luxury. Man's appreciation 
 
324 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 of what comes in his way generally de- 
 pends upon what he is used to. A 
 starving dog is glad for a bare bone, but 
 a feasted one will turn up its nose at a 
 good dinner. So it was with John. As 
 the car lurched and swayed amidst the 
 roar of clinking wheels, it seeming at 
 times as if gigantic hammers were 
 pounding it on all sides and that it 
 would certainly break in two, John only 
 thought of his great luck — the comfort 
 and security of riding inside a car for 
 at least a hundred miles, with no one to 
 disturb him and put him off the train. 
 After a time he fell asleep. When he 
 awoke, bright streaks of sunshine were 
 streaming through the crevices about 
 the car door. All came to the con- 
 clusion they had passed the first di- 
 vision, and that a change of crews and 
 engine had taken place without being 
 discovered. This was indeed luck and 
 John and the Portland man were con- 
 gratulating themselves on the prospect 
 of getting through to Pocatello when 
 the train came to a stop, and they were 
 discovered and put off, while the herder 
 paid his fare and went on. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 325 
 
 Where they were they could not say. 
 There was only a siding where trains 
 passed — not the sign of a house or a 
 human being. A bright warm sun shone 
 down upon a barren, desolate waste. 
 One thing was certain, they could not 
 stay there; so they started out, walked 
 six miles, and came to a small place 
 they learned was Beaver Cannon. 
 
 For two days John and his com- 
 panion made strenuous efforts to ride 
 every one of the few trains that stopped 
 at the place, but had been unsuccess- 
 ful. So many failures to get away from 
 the place made John impatient and 
 irritable. He was losing valuable time. 
 He was willing to suffer hardships, pro- 
 viding he could get over the road. But 
 to be obliged to suffer these and not 
 make any headway at all was hard in- 
 deed. The longer he was compelled 
 to remain in the town, the more dis- 
 satisfied and discontented he became 
 with the place in particular and his lot 
 in general. 
 
 About five o'clock on the afternoon 
 of the third day he started out, soliciting 
 from house to house for some work to 
 
326 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 do in return for something to eat. 
 Finally, he found a man who was will- 
 ing to let him saw some wood, in return 
 for which he received three pieces of 
 unbuttered bread, a piece of cold meat, 
 and two cold potatoes, not enough to 
 satisfy his hunger. 
 
 On one side of the railroad track, a 
 short distance from the station, was a 
 small knoll of rock, on the south side 
 of which was a slight cave, just suffi- 
 cient to afford protection from the wind 
 blowing from the north, and in front 
 of which was a level place some eight 
 or ten feet in width. Upon this level 
 place John and his companion had kept 
 a fire which had died out while both 
 had been absent hunting food. John 
 having returned first, started the fire, 
 sat down, and spread out his food before 
 him, considerably dissatisfied with what 
 he had, and the way the world was 
 using him. The wind was blowing cold 
 from the north, the fire had difficulty in 
 starting, and as he sat shivering before 
 it, the prospect of a comfortable night 
 did not seem promising. He thought 
 of all the things he ought to have, 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 327 
 
 should have, and which should be his 
 that very moment — a good hot supper 
 with plenty of good things to eat; a nice 
 warm room with a cheerful fire in the 
 grate by which to spend the evening, 
 and a warm, comfortable bed for the 
 night. He thought of a pleasant even- 
 ing with Florence. These things should 
 be his; he was entitled to them. In- 
 stead, what had he? A few cold scraps 
 for supper, the bare rocks in the open 
 air for a bed where he would have to 
 shiver during the night. And the more 
 he thought of his situation, the more 
 discontented he became. 
 
 Thus absorbed in thought, trying to 
 make the fire burn better, he had not 
 paid much attention to a person that 
 came and stood before the fire, adding 
 a stick or two now and then, and warm- 
 ing his red, cold hands with great satis- 
 faction. But when the person sat down 
 opposite John, reached over and took 
 a piece of bread and potato, which he 
 proceeded to eat with much relish, 
 John became aroused, and closely sur- 
 veyed his visitor from head to foot. He 
 was of a large build, careless in dress, 
 
328 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 and had a broad face which was so 
 accustomed to smile that in sober 
 moments traces of a perpetual smile re- 
 mained. As he sat there eating, his face 
 and form lighted up by the fire, he was 
 as real as any person John had ever 
 seen. 
 
 "I wonder who this is," thought 
 John. "Seems to be enjoying himself. 
 Looks like he is contented and always 
 has been; in fact, the very picture of 
 Content. I suppose that's who it is; 
 anyhow, I am in the mood for it. I 
 will try him and see." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Content, or whatever 
 your name is," said John, addressing the 
 individual with a gesture taking in his 
 surroundings, "you may enjoy this, but 
 I can't say that I do." 
 
 At this the man burst out into a 
 hearty laugh which fairly shook his 
 sides, and each time he seemed on the 
 point of quitting, his merriment would 
 break out afresh. Finally, John had an 
 opportunity to ask: 
 
 "What are you laughing at, sir? 
 What are you laughing at?" 
 
 The man suddenly placed his hands 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 329 
 
 on his sides, having a "catch" there 
 from too hearty a laugh. As soon as 
 the pain eased, he said : 
 
 " 'It is better to whistle than whine : 
 It is better to laugh than to cry: 
 For though it be cloudy the sun will 
 soon shine 
 In the blue, beautiful sky.' 
 
 " 'Laugh and grow fat; care killed the 
 cat.' That's why I laugh ; just to show 
 you that I believe in laughing, and to 
 keep in practice. Then it is a good ap- 
 petizer, and the best exercise there is. 
 The poor man who has little, and can 
 enjoy a good laugh with it, has more 
 pleasure in life than the rich man who 
 has much, but cannot laugh at all. 
 
 "So you don't enjoy this prospect? 
 Well, I do. It's not so difficult, either. 
 It's all according to the way you look 
 at it. With me, 'something is better 
 than nothing;' 'dry bread is better than 
 fried nothing;' and if there isn't so 
 much here, or all I want, I can console 
 myself in the thought that 'half a loaf 
 is. better than none ;' 'half an egg is bet- 
 ter than an empty shell.' 
 
330 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "Why don't you eat, sir? Why don't 
 you eat?" continued the man, as he took 
 another bite of potato. 'Hunger is fine 
 sauce for plain dishes.' 'If you can't 
 get chicken, enjoy your onion.' 
 
 " "Tis not the food, but the content 
 That makes the table's merriment' " 
 
 "That may be good philosophy," re- 
 turned John, staring at the man. "But 
 it does not fill an empty stomach, or 
 provide a shelter for the night." 
 
 "If it does not, sir, still 'it is best to 
 make the best of the worst.' 'If you 
 cannot take things easy, take them as 
 easy as you can.' That's the way I look 
 at it. 'If you cannot have what you like, 
 learn to like what you have;' and 'if 
 you cannot have the best, make the best 
 of what you have.' You can only make 
 yourself miserable by doing otherwise. 
 This is the best we can have to-night, 
 and since it cannot be better, why not 
 be content and enjoy what we have?" 
 
 John had commenced to eat with a 
 greater relish than he had supposed, for 
 his hunger had well buttered and 
 sugared his bread. Then the laugh had 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 331 
 
 shaken him up and he felt better, al- 
 though it appeared to him that his 
 visitor had done the laughing, when it 
 had been himself. John's companion 
 had been eating for sometime and not 
 much food was left. Surely this was a 
 real person who ate and made way with 
 actual food before his very eyes. The 
 fact is, John had eaten all the food him- 
 self, though it appeared to him that the 
 visitor had eaten the larger part. 
 
 "It would be better to be contented," 
 replied John, "but it is not always easy, 
 and under some circumstances is very 
 difficult." 
 
 "Yes, it is difficult, sometimes. But' 
 contentment is an art, as well as a gift, 
 and an art that can be cultivated. Much 
 depends upon whether you contemplate 
 your blessings or miseries. There are 
 some discomforts in this situation, I ad- 
 mit. Night is coming on ; the wind is 
 blowing cold; and it is beginning to 
 snow. But there are also some comforts. 
 We will soon have a bright, warm fire, 
 and this food will keep off hunger until 
 morning. See, already the fire is begin- 
 ning to warm! How good it feels! 
 
332 HIS BETTER SELF. 
 
 After we have eaten, we will lie down 
 close to this rock which will keep off 
 the wind and snow, and it is healthy to 
 sleep in the open air. 
 
 "Now look out upon the world about 
 you. How cold and dreary it is! This 
 is the one bright, warm spot in it, so far 
 as we are concerned. There are other 
 warm places, but they are not for us. 
 Suppose you had no fire, and couldn't 
 make any, and had no food. Suppose 
 you were a traveler lost in a blizzard, 
 as many are. Do you think you would 
 be thankful and appreciate these com- 
 forts? I think you would. So it is in 
 every situation in life. Look one way, 
 and you will see nothing but blessings. 
 Look the other way, and you will see 
 nothing but miseries. And however 
 wretched your surroundings, there are 
 always enough blessings to make you 
 thankful, if you but look for them ; and 
 however comfortable your surround- 
 ings, there are always enough vexations 
 to make you miserable, if you always 
 contemplate them. It all depends upon 
 which way you look. 'Think yourself 
 miserable and you are so.' Then, 'when 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 333 
 
 the sun is shining all around, some 
 notice nothing but the shadows.' But 
 even if it is cloudy, you must not forget 
 that 'many a cloudy morning leads to 
 a fine day.' Do not be one of those who 
 see nothing but shadows. 'Learn the 
 habit of looking on the best side of 
 things.' Enjoy what you have. 'If it 
 cannot be better, be glad it is no worse.' 
 That's the way to look at it. 'He enjoys 
 much who is thankful for a little ;' but 
 however much you have, you will enjoy 
 nothing if you are thankful for 
 nothing." 
 
 John's companion now returned and 
 Content disappeared. John finished his 
 supper, passed a cheerful evening, and 
 had a good night's sleep. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 John and his companion succeeded in 
 getting away the next day, John riding 
 through to Pocatello, his companion 
 being left on the road. In a week's 
 time, after many difficulties, John 
 reached Rock Springs. At this place 
 was an unusually large number of men 
 trying to beat their way east. As a train 
 was ready to pull out one night, it 
 seemed to John there must have been a 
 hundred wanting to ride it. The brake- 
 men went along the sides of the train 
 asking all which way they were travel- 
 ing, and all answering east, were 
 warned, threatened, and ordered off the 
 right of way. 
 
 "Which way you going?" asked a 
 brakeman, holding a lantern to John's 
 face. 
 
 "West," said John, and, in fact, he 
 was walking west at the time. In so 
 answering was his only hope of riding 
 the train. The ruse was successful and 
 to his delight he was permitted to pass 
 on unmolested. He watched his oppor-" 
 
 334 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 335 
 
 tunity, got on a loaded coal car, and 
 concealed himself from view. The train 
 started without his being discovered, 
 and he rode on mile after mile. It was 
 a hard place to ride, but John knew 
 brakemen would not pass over a loaded 
 coal car if it could be avoided, and 
 that, in such a place, he stood his best 
 chance. At times it felt as if he was 
 being pounded by the rough coal upon 
 which he lay, so violent was the jolting 
 of the car. At every stop he dared not 
 move for fear of being heard, and it 
 was sometimes difficult to keep still, for 
 hf shook with cold. But he was getting 
 over the road, and that was something. 
 After riding several hours, he began to 
 long for sunlight. So black was the 
 night and so chilled and numbed was 
 he with cold that the one thing he de- 
 sired on earth above all others was the 
 appearance of the sun to warm his 
 shaking flesh. He began to watch the 
 east, but the night seemed unending. 
 It was not difficult for him to imagine 
 what the world would be without the 
 sun. 
 
 "I couldn't live two days, subject to 
 
336 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 this cold and exposure," said he. "No, 
 I couldn't live two days." 
 
 He thought what a great blessing the 
 sun is, the great giver of warmth and 
 life. It was not strange that men had 
 worshiped the sun; there was reason 
 for such worship. Finally he thought 
 he saw a faint, grey streak in the dark 
 expanse. He watched and watched for 
 what seemed hours, at times thinking 
 he had been mistaken. At last, the grey 
 began to grow upon the heavens, slowly 
 spreading to the earth, and making it 
 appear some vast greyish sea. Then the 
 sun heralded its nearer approach by 
 great bars of crimson, cast into the sky 
 from behind distant mountains. It was 
 a glorious scene, and as old Sol finally 
 appeared in all his glory, John wel- 
 comed him with grateful heart. He 
 could have embraced the bright, warm 
 rays and held them to his bosom, if that 
 were possible. 
 
 He had not been enjoying the warmth 
 long, not having the least thought of his 
 danger of being discovered, when the 
 train began to slow down, and a brake- 
 man appeared on the top of the next car 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 337 
 
 to set a brake. The brakeman saw 
 John and looked down upon him for 
 a long time in astonishment. 
 
 "I thought you said you were going 
 west," said he finally. 
 
 "I was," said John, "when I said it." 
 
 The brakeman said no more and went 
 about his duties. The train stopped. 
 John looked about for a town, but saw 
 nothing but a water tank. It would be 
 dreadful to be left in such a place. 
 How could he ride that train now he 
 had been caught? He walked over to 
 the tank and hung about it as if he ex- 
 pected to remain. The brakeman 
 passed him several times but said 
 nothing. 
 
 "I must ride it! I must ride it, some- 
 how !" exclaimed John to himself. "But 
 how, how?" The train stood on a curve, 
 on the convex side of which John was 
 standing, so that the brakeman, having 
 gone to the rear, passed out of sight. 
 
 "Now's my chance," said John. He 
 made a quick run and clambered up 
 into the upper deck of a sheep car, 
 where he hid upon his knees in a bent 
 position, his head touching the roof. 
 
 22 
 
338 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "I guess he didn't see me that time." 
 
 In a few moments the engine gave 
 two toots. "Good!" exclaimed John, 
 slapping his knee with delight. "Puff! 
 Puff!" The train commenced to move. 
 "Good! Good!" exclaimed John again. 
 The train moved faster and faster, soon 
 going at full speed. John frequently 
 congratulated himself upon his good 
 fortune. He was just saying to himself 
 about the tenth time, as the train was 
 slowing up on a steep grade, "I'm all 
 right after all," when the brakeman, 
 with a club, appeared on the side of 
 the car. 
 
 "Now get off here!" 
 
 John attempted to plead with him, 
 but it was useless. 
 
 "Get off here!" shouted the man 
 fiercely, flourishing the club. John 
 could do nothing but obey. So he 
 jumped off and stood beside the track. 
 It was a desert, and a worse place to be 
 left than at the water tank. The brake- 
 man had seen him after all, and had 
 been pretty hard on him. 
 
 The long line of cars passed by. He 
 watched the train with longing eyes 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 339 
 
 until it disappeared, and listened to the 
 puff and roar until it could be heard no 
 longer. Then all was absolute silence. 
 John might have adopted the policy 
 of Content, thanked his stars he had 
 been put off the train while going at 
 slow speed, and that all his bones were 
 still whole. But the habit of always 
 looking upon the best side of things is 
 not acquired in a day. In fact, he was 
 not thinking of Content at all, or what 
 he had said. So instead of being thank- 
 ful, he felt so chagrined in being thus 
 outdone by the brakeman, and so dis- 
 couraged and forsaken in an unknown, 
 desert place, that he at once lay down 
 at the side of the track, not caring 
 whether he ever went on or what be- 
 came of him. The difficulties in beat- 
 ing the road appeared so great that for 
 the time being all hope of ever reach- 
 ing Denver, of seeing Florence, and 
 accepting the position at Kansas City 
 was abandoned. It was useless to go 
 back to the water tank, and the next 
 town east might be miles away. He 
 had had no breakfast and was tired and 
 exhausted from the long ride and sleep- 
 
340 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 less night. He might just as well stay 
 where he was. So there he lay, alone, 
 in that world of desert. There was not 
 the sound of a living thing, not even the 
 chirp of a bird, not the rustle of a leaf. 
 The sun shone down upon a world un- 
 inhabited except for him. As he lay 
 there, the lonesomeness increased, add- 
 ing greatly to his discouragement. 
 
 Huddling himself together, trying to 
 draw his thought within himself, away 
 from the vast world of lonesomeness 
 about him, he became drowsy, but 
 could not sleep. After awhile, half 
 asleep and half awake, he was aroused 
 by a curious little man possessing the 
 stern, determined face of a Napoleon, 
 the small, frail body of a boy of twelve, 
 in the fine military dress of some great 
 general, brandishing a large, glistening 
 sword, rushing along the track and 
 shouting, "Subdue this country I 
 Conquer! Take it! Take it!" 
 
 "This is some boy's play," thought 
 John. 
 
 But hold! The thunderous roar of 
 some mighty gun was heard. Then an- 
 other, and another. Showers of earth 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 341 
 
 and rock filled the air and the very 
 earth shook with the detonations. No, 
 this was not boy's play, but a great and 
 mighty battle. John jumped up and 
 as the smoke cleared from first one hill 
 and then another, saw that the tops of 
 some had been blown off, and of others, 
 the sides, while a vast army of men and 
 horses continued the attack with huge 
 engines of destruction never seen be- 
 fore. But lo ! a closer look, and instead 
 of guns and sabers, the great army is 
 equipped with picks and shovels, and 
 the huge engines of war are steam and 
 electric shovels, drills, and cranes. As 
 if by magic, great irrigating ditches 
 with vast dams and reservoirs are con- 
 structed, railroads built, farms laid 
 out, cities erected, and apparently the 
 impossible is accomplished, a rough 
 and barren desert is made to bloom like 
 a garden. The little general, though 
 crippled on one side and walking with 
 difficulty, moved swiftly about, ap- 
 parently everywhere at the same time, 
 commanding here, encouraging there, 
 the soul, the spirit, and inspiration of 
 the whole enterprise. In an incredibly 
 
342 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 short time the country had been 
 conquered, thousands were left in pos- 
 session of the spoils of war, while others 
 were ordered forward to new con- 
 quests. The impulse to join the con- 
 quering hosts was irresistible and John 
 hurried along with the others, in- 
 spired and enthused by the wonderful 
 little commander who limped on ahead. 
 
 Was all this real? Were the men 
 about him real ? So it seemed from the 
 talk, laughter, shouts, commands, and 
 all the noise and commotion of a hurry- 
 ing throng. John's curiosity was 
 greatly aroused and, hurrying forward 
 to an under commander, made bold to 
 touch him on the shoulder. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" said that gentle- 
 man, looking at John with an author- 
 itative yet friendly look. Yes, it was a 
 real voice, a real man, possessing some 
 of the characteristics of the little gen- 
 eral. 
 
 "This is a wonderful thing," said 
 John, looking back at the desert that 
 had been so quickly turned into a 
 thriving and prosperous community. 
 
 "Not so wonderful ; it is being done 
 all over the country." 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 343 
 
 "And who is the Little Corporal 
 there?" asked John, pointing to the 
 general from whom he could not keep 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Not the Little Corporal, but the 
 spirit of the Little Corporal — the Little 
 Willit. In times past he would have 
 been a Napoleon, a Caesar, or an 
 Alexander, but," in confidential tone, 
 "the world will not tolerate such men 
 in these days. Instead of conquering 
 and slaughtering each other, men are 
 becoming more and more engaged in 
 conquering Mother Earth, as you have 
 just seen. The world is growing wiser. 
 Little Willit there is the only one who 
 still clings to a military dress, a mere 
 relic of his past achievements." 
 
 "So that's Little Willit, is it?" re- 
 plied John, as if he was more or less 
 familiar with the character. "I am 
 surprised that so small and frail a 
 person should have charge of such vast 
 forces and such great works." 
 
 "My friend, it is not physical bulk 
 and strength, but Will and Purpose 
 that accomplish both the great and 
 small things in this world. Invalids 
 
344 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 on beds of sickness have been so filled 
 with a mighty purpose as to be able to 
 accomplish tasks athletes could not. 
 Little Willit may be small and frail in 
 body, but he is great and mighty in 
 spirit. He has but to make up his 
 mind and a thing is done. Nothing is 
 impossible to him." 
 
 "What, nothing at all?" asked John 
 in astonishment. 
 
 "Nothing within certain limitations. 
 Napoleon had his Waterloo and could 
 not do as he pleased. Providence has a 
 hand in the affairs of men; there's no 
 use denying it. Sometimes the strong- 
 willed are permitted to go to great 
 lengths, but sooner or later, the day of 
 reckoning comes. That is a wise man 
 who has his will, trained and dis- 
 ciplined, turned in the right channels 
 and directions, and when such is the 
 case there is no greater power in man 
 than a strong will." 
 
 "So the little general is a man of 
 strong will, is he?" 
 
 "Yes, that is the secret of his com- 
 mand over these forces, of his accom- 
 plishment with such ease of these great 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 345 
 
 works. The same is true with all men 
 throughout the world and throughout 
 history. Any man can accomplish any- 
 thing he undertakes if he only has 
 sufficient will and staying qualities." 
 
 "Yes, if, */. But a pretty big if. The 
 little general there has been so endowed 
 by nature. Such is not the case with 
 most of us poor fellows." 
 
 "My friend, I can only say what 
 Little Willit has often said to his men. 
 However poor your natural endow- 
 ments in this respect, these are qualities 
 that can be developed and strengthened. 
 Every man has far greater will and 
 staying capacity at the age of forty than 
 he had at the age of ten, and undertakes 
 and accomplishes every day tasks that 
 were impossible to him as a child. How 
 has he obtained these greater powers? 
 Largely by exercising what he had, by 
 overcoming difficulty after difficulty, 
 sometimes by choice, but generally 
 through necessity. Each time the diffi- 
 cult, perplexing, and apparently im- 
 possible is overcome, will power and 
 staying capacity is strengthened for still 
 greater tasks; but each time you give 
 
346 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 up, you are weakened — less strong than 
 before. 
 
 "What a splendid opportunity you 
 have just had and abused! Instead of 
 lying down along the track, given up 
 and undone, you should have seized the 
 difficult and trying situation for the 
 purpose of strengthening your powers. 
 If Little Willit and the rest of us had 
 not come along you would have been 
 there yet. You should — " 
 
 Just then a train came rushing upon 
 them. John stepped to one side of the 
 track. Willit and his men scattered in 
 different directions. After it had 
 thundered by, nothing was to be seen 
 of any of them. 
 
 "Yes, be ashamed of myself," said 
 John, finishing the sentence. "I need 
 the will and determination to go right 
 on as if nothing had happened, and that 
 is what I will do right now." 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 Walking about two miles, John 
 rounded a curve and saw a gang of sec- 
 tion men at work down the road. It 
 was a most welcome sight, and as he 
 came nearer he felt the advisability of 
 making friends, if he possibly could, 
 with the only men for miles about in 
 that desert. The foreman was the first 
 to greet him. 
 
 "Hello!" said he pleasantly. "How 
 did you get out here?" 
 
 "I was put off a train a few miles 
 back." 
 
 "Bad place to be put off. Where're 
 you going?" 
 
 "Denver." 
 
 "Are you a laboring man?" looking 
 John over critically. 
 
 "I work when I can get it." 
 
 "If that's so, I'll give you a job. I 
 am short of hands. You can start right 
 in and work an hour before dinner," 
 
 "What are the wages?" 
 
 "A dollar and a half a day, with five 
 dollars a week off for board." 
 
 347 
 
348 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "All right," said John, starting in at 
 once. 
 
 This was fortunate, as it would 
 enable him to make the few dollars of 
 which he would be in such great need 
 when he arrived in Denver. 
 
 It was long until dinner time, for 
 John was hungry, but it came at last, 
 when the hand car was placed on the 
 track and John took a place at one of 
 the handles. Running down the road, 
 they came to a cluster of four small 
 buildings composed of an operator's 
 office, the foreman's house, hand car, 
 and bunk house, all painted brown, 
 and designated on the map as a town. 
 The foreman's wife had a good dinner 
 ready, which was a good sight in John's 
 eyes. 
 
 Thus John was introduced to a work 
 and a life new to him. The foreman 
 took much pains, at first, to show him 
 each part of the work, which consisted 
 of driving spikes, tamping ties, and 
 leveling grade. But John had diffi- 
 culty in doing as much work as the 
 other men. He desired to get in at 
 least two weeks' time and, to hold his 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 349 
 
 place, he would have to make a better 
 showing. This caused him to skim over 
 and half do most of his work, though 
 he thought he was doing it quickly, but 
 good enough. He had ideas of his own 
 as to the best way the work should be 
 done. The foreman was well aware of 
 his methods. He had much patience 
 with him the first days, but seeing that 
 he willfully persisted in his own way, 
 the foreman lost patience, and often 
 reprimanded him for not doing his 
 work better. One morning John was 
 at a distance from the other men, 
 working by himself. The foreman 
 came up to inspect his work. 
 
 "Here, this won't do; this won't doi 
 Can't you ever learn anything? I have 
 told you enough about this," said he, 
 snatching the shovel out of John's 
 hands, and becoming angry. "This is 
 the way to do it. This way. This way, 
 dumb head! Don't be afraid of your 
 back." 
 
 Saying which, he threw down the 
 shovel and walked off. By the time the 
 foreman reached the other men, John 
 himself became angry. The work he 
 
350 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 was doing was not of much conse- 
 quence, he thought, and here he was, 
 working as a section hand on one rail- 
 road while on his way to accept a posi- 
 tion as attorney on another. It was but 
 a temporary matter with him and he 
 was doing the work good enough. He 
 was not going to stand the abuse of the 
 boss any longer, which was without 
 cause, and was on the point of going 
 to have it out with him, when some 
 one said: 
 
 "Don't do it, my lad; don't do it! 
 'Never fall out with your bread and 
 butter.' " 
 
 John looked up and beheld a man, 
 shovel in one hand, motioning him with 
 the other to remain where he was. 
 Dressed as a laborer, with sleeves rolled 
 up over brawny arms, John at first 
 thought him a fellow workman. But a 
 second glance into the strong, clear-cut 
 face, in every line of which was written 
 thoroughness and mastery, told him 
 differently. 
 
 As he stood gazing, wondering who 
 he could be, a crown inscribed with the 
 words, "Master Workman, the Un- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 351 
 
 crowned King," appeared upon the 
 man's head. As John looked, the 
 crown melted into a plain working- 
 man's cap, while the man modestly 
 went on with his work, scraping with 
 his shovel, which had a distinct metal- 
 lic ring as it came in contact with the 
 stones and gravel. As the man worked 
 away, the shovel and everything about 
 him as real as the rails, as real as the 
 ties, as real as. the men in the distance, 
 John felt sure he was listening to a real 
 voice, which spoke as follows : 
 
 "You think you are much abused, and 
 that no fault should be found with you 
 and your work. My son, is it possible 
 you are not aware of any fault at all? 
 Therein is the most fault; 'for the 
 greatest of all faults is to be conscious 
 of none.' There is fault to be found, 
 and your employer is right. You are 
 not doing your work well; you are not 
 thorough; you are skimming over the 
 little things, thinking that because they 
 are small, any way is good enough for 
 them. Wherever you are, whatever 
 you are doing, 'do a thing well or let it 
 alone,' for 'what's worth doing at all 
 
352 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 is worth doing well.' 'Quality is better 
 than quantity.' 'A little well done is 
 better than a great deal in poor style.' 
 Be a master of whatever you do, how- 
 ever small, however little, however un- 
 important the work, for 'it is a great 
 thing to do a little thing well.' Do not 
 despise the small things, the. details of 
 any work; for only by thoroughness 
 and accuracy in these does one become 
 the proficient workman. It is the 
 mastery of small and insignificant de- 
 tails that makes perfection in any 
 work. It is true, you have no desire to 
 attain perfection in this work ; it is but 
 a temporary matter and you consider it 
 beneath your talents. But the same 
 qualities and traits of character that 
 strive for perfection in the small, insig- 
 nificant, uncongenial, temporary work, 
 are the ones that achieve perfection in 
 the great, important, congenial, and 
 permanent work. And what is said 
 now is applicable anywhere and to 
 any work. Pay, then, close heed. 
 
 "For your employer, and for your- 
 self, 'one thing well done is better than 
 two things half done;' for if you skim 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 353 
 
 over and half do, your work must be 
 gone over again, which makes it dear 
 work for him, and he is likely to dis- 
 charge or at least not rehire you, which 
 makes it dear work for you. 'Half do- 
 ing is many a man's undoing.' 
 
 "Then, you are all out of breath, 
 scraping and hastening to make as big 
 a show as possible. This is an age of 
 haste, and everything must be done in 
 a rush; but 'quick and well seldom go 
 together,' and 'haste trips up its own 
 heels.' Time is valuable, I know, and 
 the successful workman must despatch 
 his work as quickly and expeditiously 
 as possible. But there is a limit, and 
 whenever this is exceeded, 'haste only 
 makes waste.' 
 
 "You are trying to do several things 
 at once, trying to level off grade with a 
 shovel and tamp it down with the feet 
 at the same time. 'Be a whole man to 
 one thing at a time.' Do not scatter 
 your efforts among several things at the 
 same time. 'The shortest way to do 
 several things is to do only one thing 
 at once.' 'Whatsoever thy hand findeth 
 to do, do it with all thy might.' 
 
 23 
 
354 HIS BETTER SELF. 
 
 "Then there is the best way of doing 
 everything. The secret of all progress, 
 both in nations and individuals, is in 
 discovering the 'best way,' and apply- 
 ing it to the thing in hand. If you 
 would succeed in this or any other work 
 always be on the lookout for the best 
 way of doing it. This is what your 
 employer has been trying to show you, 
 and you should always be willing to be 
 shown another way, especially when 
 you think you have been doing it the 
 best way, and that your method cannot 
 be improved; for whenever a man 
 reaches that point, he is at the end of 
 advancement. 
 
 "Be expedient; be thorough; but 
 never sacrifice thoroughness to haste. 
 Make sure of what you do. 'Don't 
 drive a second nail until you have 
 clinched the first.' Be accurate and 
 precise in the minutest details. Do 
 your work well; do it your best! Be a 
 master! Be nothing else!" 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 After John quit work on the section, 
 he made his way to Laramie. It was 
 now the first week of June and he had 
 about one hundred and sixty miles to 
 travel to reach Denver. The nearer he 
 came to his journey's end, the more dif- 
 ficult it became to beat the road. The 
 hardest division of all was the last, from 
 Cheyenne to Denver, where, according 
 to rumors, several tramps had been 
 thrown by brakemen under the wheels 
 and killed, and also that one or two 
 brakemen had been killed by tramps. It 
 was difficult enough to beat the trains 
 out of Laramie. John had tried with a 
 number of men, time and time again, 
 for a period of several days. Every time 
 a train pulled out, and was going at 
 good speed, a crowd of men would rush 
 from hiding places and try to board it. 
 But on every freight, brakemen with 
 clubs were on each side where they had 
 a view of all the cars, and no one was 
 permitted to ride who could not put up 
 some money. On the passenger trains 
 
 3S5 
 
356 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 none could ride at all ; but the company 
 itself did not object to tramps riding 
 on the freights, no doubt wishing to. get 
 them off the road and out of their part 
 of the country. But the brakemen 
 made great efforts to derive revenue 
 from this sort of travel and were very 
 rigid and severe with any who at- 
 tempted to ride without pay. 
 
 John had made the most strenuous 
 efforts, every day, to get out of the 
 place. He had no money ; what he had 
 earned working on the road he carried 
 in a draft, payable at Denver. It was 
 risky to carry the cash on the road, and 
 he would need every cent of the little 
 he had when he reached his destination. 
 Time and time again he had made 
 efforts to conceal himself somewhere on 
 both passengers and freights; but every 
 time the train was stopped and he was 
 put off. On the afternoon of the third 
 day he made a rush as a double-headed 
 passenger was pulling out of the station, 
 and jumped on the cowcatcher of the 
 second engine, thinking the train would 
 not want to lose the time necessary to 
 put him off. But the train was stopped 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 357 
 
 and he was ordered off. It backed up 
 to the station for another start up a 
 grade. John made a second rush with 
 the same results. The train was started 
 a third time, and John made a third at- 
 tempt. Considerable time had now 
 been lost, the train crew got out, sur- 
 rounded the engines and guarded the 
 train until it was out of his reach. All 
 the passengers had been watching his 
 attempts, and a crowd of ladies, on the 
 platform of the last car, waved hand- 
 kerchiefs and smiled approval as the 
 train sped on. 
 
 John was liable to arrest for making 
 these attempts, for it was against the 
 law of the state to beat a train. He 
 saw a policeman at the railroad station 
 coming toward him, at which John 
 hastily disappeared. The next after- 
 noon he went up the track to a place 
 where the trainmen ceased to watch, 
 and would have succeeded, but the 
 train was going too fast for him, and he 
 nearly got under the wheels. 
 
 John had now made so many 
 desperate attempts that he was thor- 
 oughly disheartened. 
 
358 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "It can't be done. It can't be done," 
 said he, without an atom of energy or 
 determination left to make another at- 
 tempt. "I must get out of town, 
 though. I can't stay here. I can't walk 
 through a desert country on the little 
 food I've had the last few days. But it 
 is impossible to beat these trains. Im- 
 possible! It can't be done." 
 
 "It can be done! It can be donel" 
 said Little Willit, who appeared that 
 instant. " 'A strong will walks through 
 a wall.' 'Try and trust will remove 
 mountains.' It can be done! You have 
 no right to ride these passenger trains ; 
 but the company itself has no objection 
 to your riding the freights. It can be 
 done! Make them carry you! Come 
 with me." 
 
 John was somewhat surprised that so 
 great a man as Little Willit should con- 
 descend to come before him in person, 
 and looked around for the large army 
 he had seen before. But, divining his 
 thoughts, the little commander said: 
 
 "Be not surprised. I am likely to 
 appear at any place, at any time, and 
 am not above acts of low degree. You 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 359 
 
 are just the kind of a man I want, and 
 I'll have you. Come with mel" 
 
 Little Willit started down the rail- 
 road yards while John lagged behind. 
 John could not help admiring the little 
 man, especially his strong, determined 
 face, and his whole dress and make-up, 
 consisting of handsome cockaded hat, 
 dark blue cutaway coat with shining 
 gold buttons, and white pants incased 
 in genuine leather boots. He was 
 obliged to give a twist to one of his feet 
 before taking a step, causing a crunch- 
 ing noise of the gravel as he walked, 
 while at his side dangled a large sword 
 occasionally striking a tie with a loud, 
 metallic ring. His whole carriage was 
 that of a born commander. John felt 
 constrained to follow, but held back. 
 While he was convinced the little man 
 possessed great power, he realized he 
 might disappear any moment and leave 
 him to deal with stern realities by him- 
 self. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" he 
 asked. "See some. official and report 
 that the men are violating the rule to 
 let men ride on the freights?" 
 
360 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "That would be useless. There are 
 no officials here high enough, and the 
 rule is not of sufficient importance to 
 the company to be enforced. Come 
 with me. Make the brakemen carry 
 you." 
 
 "I don't think it advisable to use 
 force," said John, still more hesitat- 
 ingly. "These brakemen are strong, 
 burly fellows, most of them are armed, 
 and what can one man do against a 
 whole crew?" 
 
 "Come with me! Make them carry 
 you!" The words were spoken in such 
 a tone of command that John dared not 
 disobey or lag behind longer, so he 
 meekly and somewhat tremblingly 
 followed Little Willit through long 
 lines of freight cars to the place in the 
 yards where the trains going east were 
 made up. They came to a string of 
 empty cars coupled together with 
 caboose attached, by which sign John 
 knew it Would pull out in an hour or 
 two. No brakemen were about, but on 
 one side oi the track was a warehouse, 
 at which several men were at work, 
 loading freight upon wagons. They 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 361 
 
 passed along the opposite side of the 
 track until they came to a refrigerator 
 car, near which the men were at work. 
 
 "This is the kind of car we want," 
 said Little Willit. "Open the door and 
 jump in!" 
 
 "That's folly!" protested John. "Be- 
 fore the train pulls out the brake- 
 men will be along and open every car, 
 and we will have nothing to do but get 
 out. I have tried that before." 
 
 "Open the door!" repeated Little 
 Willit, and John obeyed. The door 
 was opened by first pulling it toward 
 him and then sliding it along the side 
 of the car. 
 
 "Now jump in!" 
 
 John obeyed, Little Willit following. 
 
 "You see this piece of iron on the 
 door — a sort of handle," said he. "By 
 running a piece of iron through this to 
 the side of the car, the door cannot be 
 pulled outward, and hence cannot be 
 opened. Get a stout piece of iron some- 
 where and something heavy with which 
 to pound it." 
 
 "The men working at the warehouse 
 will know all about it and report. The 
 
362 HIS BETTER SELF. 
 
 police will be here and arrest us both," 
 protested John. "And arrest is the 
 worst thing that could happen to me at 
 this time." 
 
 "Gol" said Little Willit, determin- 
 edly, striking his sword against the side 
 of the car with a loud, sharp ring that 
 intimidated John and compelled obedi- 
 ence. 
 
 After searching around a few mo- 
 ments, he found an old piece of iron 
 about three feet long, and also a heavier 
 piece to use as a hammer, though he had 
 to go among the men working at the 
 warehouse to get them. 
 
 "Just the thing," said Little Willit 
 as he returned. "Now close the door 
 and wedge it so it cannot be opened 
 from the outside." 
 
 John closed the door, inserted the 
 iron in the handle across the door, until 
 it reached the side of the car, and com- 
 menced to hammer it tight. The 
 pounding made a deafening sound on 
 the inside of the closed car, and he 
 trembled at each blow. He was sure the 
 workmen near would hear and would 
 report, and that trouble would result. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 363 
 
 "Harder!" ordered Little Willit. 
 
 "I'm pounding as hard as I can!" 
 said John. 
 
 "Harder!" 
 
 "I am afraid of this proceeding," re- 
 plied John. "It is a desperate under- 
 taking." 
 
 "Harder! I say. What are you 
 afraid of? Wedge the door so no one 
 can open it but you. How can they 
 arrest you if they can't get in ? This car 
 is needed at the other end of the line. 
 Fix it so they will have to take you 
 when they take the car. Make them 
 carry you! Make them carry you! 
 Harder! Harder!" commanded Little 
 Willit with each blow given, until 
 John struck so hard and wedged the 
 door so tight that it would have been 
 impossible for anyone to open it with- 
 out tearing it to pieces. 
 
 "Now lie down and take things easy 
 until the train is ready to start," said 
 Little Willit. All out of breath, John 
 lay down at one end of the car, and after 
 what seemed a long time felt the jar of 
 the engine bumping up against the cars. 
 He soon heard the brakemen coming 
 
364 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 along the train, opening and closing 
 the door of every car to see if any were 
 hiding inside. They were getting very 
 near. The next car to his was opened 
 and closed. John trembled. Would 
 the scheme be successful, or would his 
 worst fears be realized? He felt it was 
 a desperate chance and his heart beat 
 quickly and loudly. Now he heard the 
 brakemen's feet crunching the gravel 
 outside. 
 
 "Not a word, and as still as a mouse 1" 
 whispered Little Willit. 
 
 John dared not move a limb, and his 
 own stillness made his heart beat all the 
 louder. The door was tried, but not 
 opened. It was tried again. Then 
 some pounding was done on it, which 
 made John tremble still more. After 
 making a futile attempt, the brakemen 
 left the car, and John heard them open- 
 ing and closing the doors as they passed 
 along towards the rear of the train. 
 Then, after awhile, two blasts of the 
 engine whistle announced that the train 
 was ready to start ; and as it moved 
 through the yards, out into the country, 
 gaining speed as it went along, John's 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 365 
 
 fear subsided and he felt highly elated 
 that he was getting out of the town, and 
 that the scheme, so far, was successful. 
 But it would take several hours to 
 reach Cheyenne, and he did not know 
 what would happen before that time. 
 Besides the brakemen could easily fasten 
 the door on the outside. Suppose they 
 took a notion to do this, hold him a 
 prisoner and turn him over to the 
 officers at Cheyenne ! It was a desperate 
 and risky undertaking. How it would 
 end could not be told. 
 
 Every time the train stopped, the 
 brakemen would try to open the door. 
 
 "Who's in there? Open the door!" 
 
 No response. 
 
 "I'll break your neck if I ever get 
 hold of you!" 
 
 Finally, about ten o'clock in the 
 night, when the train had made a long 
 stop on a siding, the brakemen pro- 
 cured a crowbar from the engine, and 
 were prying and tearing the boards off 
 the door in their attempts to open it. 
 John did not wish to see the car thus 
 injured, and knew it would only be a 
 question of time until he would have to 
 
366 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 face the brakemen. From the number 
 of threats made, they were likely to beat 
 him and leave him bruised, perhaps un- 
 conscious, in a lonely, desert place. 
 
 "Is it not prudence to open the door 
 and have this thing ended?" he asked of 
 Little Willit. 
 
 " 'Prudence is good before the act, 
 but courage in the act,' " said the latter. 
 "You are in the act now, and must have 
 the courage to carry it through. 'Many 
 fail by drawing in the lines while the 
 horse is leaping the hurdle.' Don't give 
 up! 'There is more than one way to 
 kill a cat.' Make an agreement with 
 them to open the door if they will let 
 you ride to Cheyenne." Saying which, 
 Little Willit left John to himself. 
 
 "Hold up there, fellows!" called 
 John to the brakemen pounding and 
 prying away on the outside. "Do you 
 want the door opened?" 
 
 "Yes, we want the door opened!" 
 
 "Will you let me ride to Cheyenne if 
 I open the door?" 
 
 To his surprise, the men assented. 
 
 "I can depend upon your word, can 
 I?" 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 367 
 
 * 
 
 "You can depend upon it." 
 
 The brakemen, being thus put upon 
 their honor, had sufficient honor to keep 
 their word. John opened the door. 
 The trainmen were curious to see him 
 and held their lanterns to his face, ask- 
 ing him questions as to who he was and 
 where he was going. John had beaten 
 them at a clever little game, they had 
 become interested in the outcome, and 
 his locking himself inside the car had 
 furnished a diversion from the long and 
 lonesome hours of their monotonous 
 duties. 
 
 "Well, sir, you're all right!" said the 
 larger of the brakemen. 
 
 "That's what you are!" agreed the 
 other. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 At Cheyenne John picked up with 
 an English sailor, and after several 
 days the two succeeded, one evening, 
 in boarding a train of empty cattle cars 
 pulling out for Denver. At last he was 
 on the home stretch, was riding the last 
 and hardest division to beat. He would 
 be mighty glad when it was over ; glad 
 to get over this difficult division safely; 
 glad because his hardships and pri- 
 vations would be ended; glad be- 
 cause he would see Florence. The cars 
 had end as well as side doors, all open, 
 giving the interior the appearance of 
 a rude passenger train with all the 
 doors and windows open. Being 
 empty and on a down grade the train 
 traveled fast, slowing up or stopping 
 with violent jerks, which made it neces- 
 sary for John and his companion to 
 hold to the side bars continually to keep 
 from being thrown out. The openness 
 of the car made their discovery easy, 
 and for this reason it was necessary 
 for them to jump off at each stop and 
 
 368 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 369 
 
 hide, then board the train as it started 
 again. They had several close runs, but 
 by using great care and caution they 
 succeeded in riding to within about 
 thirty miles of Denver. 
 
 "If I am not mistaken," said John, 
 much pleased at the prospect, "the next 
 stop will be Denver. Haven't we been 
 making time though? Mighty lucky, 
 too, to get through so easily." 
 
 A little later they saw a light moving 
 about in front of them. 
 
 "What's that?" asked John. 
 
 The sailor looked and thought it was 
 the fireman doing something on the 
 tender. The light disappeared, and 
 when they saw it again it was but a few 
 cars ahead. 
 
 "I'll tell you what it is," said John 
 excitedly; "it is a brakeman coming. 
 Now we are in for it. What will we 
 do? Quick, let's get on top!" 
 
 They hurriedly climbed to the top, 
 only to find another brakeman coming 
 there. The only thing they could do 
 now was to remain where they were, 
 clinging to the outside of the car. Re- 
 maining here but a moment, John ad- 
 
 24 
 
370 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 vised returning to the inside, thinking 
 it better to face the brakeman than to 
 run the risk of being seen and pushed 
 off while on the outside. The next 
 moment the brakeman entered the car. 
 
 "What you doing in here?" said he 
 savagely, in a rage at discovering the 
 two men crouching in a corner. "Get 
 out of there! Get off !" 
 
 "You don't expect a man to get off 
 going this fast, do you?" pleaded the 
 sailor, straightening up and innocently 
 putting his hand to his hip pocket to 
 get his handkerchief. 
 
 "No, you don't 1 Don't try that on 
 me I" said the brakeman, flashing a re- 
 volver and cocking it in the sailor's 
 face. 
 
 "Beg your pardon, my friend," re- 
 turned the sailor calmly. "I was only 
 going to get my handkerchief. Never 
 carried a weapon in my life." 
 
 "Don't tell me that!" scorned the 
 brakeman, and in a fiercer rage than 
 ever, "Go on ! Jump off, I tell you 1" 
 
 Seeing that the brakeman meant it 
 and that he would not brook the slight- 
 est opposition, the sailor reluctantly 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 371 
 
 stepped over to the side door and looked 
 out It was very dark. The brakeman 
 covered him with his weapon all the 
 time, and also, by means of the light his 
 lantern afforded, kept an eye on John. 
 The sailor stooped to jump, but hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 "This is a little bit hard, my friend," 
 said he softly. "If I could only see 
 where I was going to land! But if I 
 have to, I have to." 
 
 A spirit of self-defense seized John 
 and he thought that the sailor, a much 
 larger and heavier man than the brake- 
 man, ought to make a defense also in- 
 stead of meekly complying. John felt 
 like rushing upon and seizing the 
 brakeman, taking the weapon from 
 him, and throwing him off. If he 
 could get a sign to the sailor, he would 
 try it. He would be killed if made 
 to jump, and he did not propose to give 
 up without a struggle. 
 
 "Never mind how dark it is. Jump 
 off, I tell you 1" 
 
 The sailor made ready again. 
 
 "Go on I" shouted the brakeman, his 
 face red with passion, and murder 
 
372 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 glistening in his eye. "We don't allow 
 tramps, thugs, or thieves to ride this 
 train." 
 
 "My friend," said the sailor, softly, 
 again, "Will you let me say just one 
 word before I go?" 
 
 "Well, out with it! Quick!" 
 
 "I'm neither a tramp, a thug, nor a 
 thief." 
 
 "What are you, then?" 
 
 "A sailor." 
 
 "What you doing here, then?" 
 
 "I got stranded in 'Frisco and thought 
 I would try to make my way across land 
 to New York. I'll never try it again; 
 no, I'll never try it again," sighed the 
 sailor from the depths of his heart. 
 
 The brakeman saw the humorous 
 side, and a slight smile broke the hard- 
 ness of his face, its intense redness les- 
 sened, and his rage began to subside. 
 
 John, also, was forced to smile. Look- 
 ing the sailor over carefully and seeing 
 that his appearance did not belie his 
 words, the brakeman turned to John. 
 
 "And what have you to say for your- 
 self?" 
 
 "I'm not a tramp, either. I've been 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 373 
 
 working on this same road. Here, you 
 can see for yourself." 
 
 John handed the brakeman a Union 
 Pacific order on the Denver office, 
 signed by a section foreman of the road, 
 and the brakeman saw that it was gen- 
 uine. The other brakeman now ap- 
 peared, and after considerable talk and 
 parleying, the two agreed to get off at 
 the next stop. Alighting at the next 
 station, they found they were within 
 twenty miles of Denver. They con- 
 cluded to rest until morning and then 
 walk the rest of the way. 
 
 "That was a close call," said John, 
 as they climbed into a box car for a lit- 
 tle sleep. 
 
 "Yes?" replied the sailor, as if he did 
 not think so. 
 
 "I thought you were going to jump 
 several times. I was ready to attack 
 him in self-defense, but I couldn't get 
 a sign to you." 
 
 "The worst thing you could have 
 done. It would have gotten us both 
 into trouble. The brakeman meant it 
 and would have fired on us if we had 
 crossed him in the least. I didn't in- 
 
374 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 tend to jump at all, though," continued 
 the sailor, smiling. "You see the man 
 was in a rage ; few can remain that way 
 long. What I was playing him for was 
 a little time for it to cool, or to say 
 something to make a change." 
 
 "You said it all right," said John. 
 
 "I've traveled all over this world and 
 been in many scrapes. I've always found 
 that a soft word is the best weapon of 
 defense every time." 
 
 The next morning the sailor found 
 work on the road, while John went on. 
 By nightfall, wearied and tired, he 
 came within plain view of the city 
 lights. How they sparkled, twinkled 
 and glistened! John stopped to admire 
 and imagine. What scenes there must 
 be among them! There was pleasure, 
 joy, gayety, beauty, activity and life. 
 There, also, was Florence. At last the 
 glittering lights of the promised land 
 were before him. Never before had he 
 beheld such beautiful and attractive, 
 such gay and sparkling lights. They 
 beckoned him on, to come at once. But 
 being tired, and not desirous of arriv- 
 ing in the city late at night, John spread 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 375 
 
 an old blanket on the ground, and lay 
 down until morning. He was alone 
 upon the plain and slept but little, for 
 the lights were constantly beckoning 
 him to be up and on, to be up and on. 
 
 At last the day broke, and by nine 
 o'clock John had arrived in the city, 
 cashed his order, secured a cheap lodg- 
 ing, and started for the express office. 
 While working on the road he had 
 written the broker with whom he had 
 pawned his clothes to get out of Port- 
 land to ship them "C. O. D., Denver," 
 where he would redeem and pay all 
 charges in full. The suit he wore 
 showed many marks and stains of the 
 trip he had made, despite his efforts to 
 get rid of them, and he had much the 
 appearance of a tramp. Not for any- 
 thing in the world would he let himself 
 be seen thus by Florence. Aside from 
 Florence, he was heartily ashamed of 
 himself, sneaking through the streets 
 among so many well-dressed people, 
 afraid someone might discover and rec- 
 ognize him. 
 
 . He called at every express office in 
 town. There was nothing for him. He 
 
376 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 would have to wait another day, though 
 he hardly had the patience to do so, for 
 it was now the twelfth of June. The 
 next day, the same thing. John now be- 
 came desperate in his desire to receive 
 his good clothes and put on the appear- 
 ance of a gentleman. All sorts of ideas 
 seized him, — write the broker at Port- 
 land; telegraph him; telegraph points 
 along the road; buy a new suit — he 
 hadn't enough money; rent one — no 
 dealers had ordinary suits for rent, only 
 full dress and costumes. It all ended 
 in his doing nothing. 
 
 The morning of the fourteenth came. 
 John went down to the station and 
 sneaked among the baggage and express 
 trucks, looking for the package. He 
 waited all day in vain. There were 
 several night trains. He sat up for them. 
 He was there for the early morning 
 train of the fifteenth. The package 
 would surely come! His intention was 
 to follow the express wagon to the office 
 and get his clothes without the loss of a 
 moment. At last the train rolled into 
 the station. John had one of the express 
 messengers on the lookout. While the 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 377 
 
 car was unloading, the boy waved one 
 hand, pointed to a large package in the 
 other, and called, "All right!" 
 
 A smile of joy lighted John's face. 
 But it soon subsided. There was a pos- 
 sibility of Florence taking this same 
 train east. He had been on the lookout, 
 but had not seen anything of her. He 
 now went into the express room. The 
 train was about ready to start and the 
 time was now so short that his fear of 
 Florence taking this train subsided. 
 He was just beginning to feel happy 
 and triumphant, when looking out the 
 window, he saw a cab rushing down the 
 street with the horses in a gallop. Be- 
 fore he could realize what was taking 
 place, the cab came to a stop, out hur- 
 ried Florence — yes, it was Florence, in 
 a handsome traveling dress, the beauti- 
 ful and lovely Florence! John all but 
 collapsed. She rushed through the sta- 
 tion to the gate. John followed at a 
 safe distance. Yes, it was Florence, it 
 was Florence! 
 
 Rush up to her? Bid her good-bye? 
 Ask her to remain a day longer? He do 
 that, looking like a tramp — in fact a 
 
378 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 tramp? John turned in the opposite di- 
 rection. He walked so fast he almost 
 ran and never stopped until he reached 
 his room, where he threw himself upon 
 his bed, entirely undone. It was several 
 hours before he arose and went to the 
 express office. He had been so intent on 
 obtaining his clothes ever since his ar- 
 rival in the city that he had not yet 
 taken the time to obtain his mail. As 
 soon as he was dressed as a gentleman, 
 he went to the postoffice, where another 
 blow awaited him. There were two 
 letters from Kansas City, one contain- 
 ing the pass, the other dated a week 
 later, as follows: 
 
 "Dear John: Where on earth are 
 you? What has become of you? What 
 has happened? Have wired you at 
 Helena, Butte, Cheyenne, Denver, and 
 all the large towns along the line. My 
 friend, Judge Brown, had a nervous 
 collapse. The firm is rushed with busi- 
 ness and had to have a man at once. I 
 am sorry, but I did everything to reach 
 you. I will look out for something else 
 for you, but hardly expect it will be as 
 good as this." 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 379 
 
 John walked down the street, bitterly 
 disappointed. It was only another il- 
 lustration of the adage that misfortunes 
 never come singly. This thought re- 
 called other words of Hope. Nothing 
 whatever was to be gained by despair. 
 He also recalled the words of Content, 
 "always look on the best side." These 
 thoughts helped him. After all, it only 
 meant a little delay in obtaining a posi- 
 tion, and as for Florence, it would only 
 be a few months, in the fall, when he 
 would see her. The only thing to do 
 was to wait. 
 
 Meanwhile he would remain in Den- 
 ver, where the only real problem con- 
 fronting him was how to live. In a few 
 days his money gave out ; then he unex- 
 pectedly stumbled on employment as a 
 musician at a cheap theater near one of 
 the suburban resorts. This furnished 
 him bread and butter, though he was 
 heartily ashamed of the work. 
 
 In about a month's time John re- 
 ceived a violent shock one morning 
 upon picking up a daily paper in which 
 these words, displayed in large head- 
 lines, met his eyes: "REAR END 
 
380 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 COLLISION ON M., K. & D. PRI- 
 VATE CAR OF GEN. MANOR. 
 JAS. C. COLLINS TELESCOPED. 
 COLLINS KILLED," followed by a 
 two-column account of the accident 
 which occurred at midnight. There was 
 no question about it; for several days 
 all the papers contained news of the 
 wreck, ending with an elaborate ac- 
 count of Collins' funeral at Kansas City. 
 John was filled with an inexpressible 
 sadness, both on account of the un- 
 timely death of his friend and because 
 it ended all hopes of his obtaining a po- 
 sition through his help. He would 
 have to rely now entirely upon himself. 
 This is the only true and substantial 
 success, but it was difficult for him to 
 see it that way at the time. What to 
 do, where to locate, were difficult prob- 
 lems. In a couple of months Florence 
 would return to Denver. The possibil- 
 ity of being discovered playing the pi- 
 ano at a cheap and questionable resort, 
 which respectable people avoided, was 
 a risk he would not assume for a mo- 
 ment. On the other hand, there seemed 
 little prospect of engaging in his profes- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 381 
 
 sion, or anything else, in Denver. A 
 month after John's arrival, the silver 
 mines shut down and idle miners 
 from all over the state flocked to 
 the city. Tents were erected in one of 
 the parks, and every day hundreds were 
 sent on freight trains to their homes in 
 the east. At the same time, many busi- 
 ness firms failed, and, at places, free 
 bread was distributed to the people. In 
 truth, John was fortunate in having any 
 kind of employment under the circum- 
 stances. 
 
 In a few weeks the question as to 
 what he should do solved itself. His 
 employment did not require him during 
 the day and he was badly in need of 
 something to occupy this time. 
 
 "If you can't find work, make some," 
 Just Sense had said. Anything was bet- 
 ter than being idle. So to free his mind 
 from the disappointments of the sum- 
 mer and to get away from thoughts of 
 unpleasant things that confronted him, 
 he put in his spare time writing a num- 
 ber of letters descriptive of the west. He 
 not only found relief, but soon discov- 
 ered that he took great pleasure in this 
 
382 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 kind of work. The letters were sent 
 home and published in the leading 
 paper. The first one made a decided 
 hit, far beyond anything John had ex- 
 pected. The whole town became inter- 
 ested, it was the talk of everyone, and 
 many were the compliments that poured 
 in from unexpected sources upon John's 
 mother. Florence wrote him at once, 
 praising him in the highest terms, and 
 "so interested" she could hardly wait 
 for the next week's issue. John was 
 immensely flattered and was one of the 
 happiest men in Denver. All the trials 
 and hardships he had suffered were now 
 nothing. He was repaid in true pleas- 
 ure and satisfaction for all he had been 
 through. In fact, so much pleasure did 
 he take in this kind of work that he be- 
 gan to think of following some line of it 
 altogether. "Whatever a man delights 
 in he will do best and that he had best 
 do" had been told him. He took more 
 delight in this than in any kind of work. 
 In fact there was no other congenial 
 work of any kind for him in keeping 
 with his abilities and talents. There 
 was no other choice. So there was noth- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 383 
 
 ing to check the development of an ar- 
 dent and absorbing ambition to become 
 some kind of a writer. At first he tried 
 the Sunday editions of the Denver pa- 
 pers with articles descriptive of the 
 west. But there the west was so well 
 known and had been so much described 
 that nothing more was wanted. Then 
 he tried various papers in the east. All 
 his articles were returned, and he came 
 to the conclusion they had been rejected 
 for the same reason, and that, in order 
 to succeed, he would have to visit some 
 foreign country. Then he would not 
 be able to remain in Denver over win- 
 ter. Furthermore, he would not, if he 
 could, on Florence's account. He had 
 had enough of sneaking around, afraid 
 of being discovered. Not until he 
 achieved a permanent and substantial 
 success would he see Florence again, or 
 be near enough to run any risk of her 
 seeing him. The two years she had 
 promised to wait were nearly gone, but 
 he had given so much promise along 
 literary lines that she had concluded to 
 wait longer. For some time to come 
 his means of support would be very un- 
 
384 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 certain. He might at any time be with- 
 out money and in a bad predicament. 
 On this account he desired to be in a 
 warm climate, where outdoor life was 
 less rigorous. 
 
 So his thoughts turned to Mexico 
 and, his employment at the theater hav- 
 ing ceased in September, he started out 
 three days before Florence's return, and 
 in two weeks reached Dallas, Texas. 
 While here he wrote a number of pa- 
 pers, saying he was on his way to Mex- 
 ico, and offering to furnish articles on 
 different subjects for their Sunday edi- 
 tions. He received a reply from only 
 one, a St. Louis paper, saying it would 
 pay twenty-five dollars for an article on 
 "How Mexico Amuses Itself," with il- 
 lustrations, provided it contained new 
 and original features, and was written 
 in an interesting style. John read the 
 letter several times, put it in his pocket, 
 pulled it out and read it again. He 
 had given up hopes of receiving any 
 offer at all and could hardly believe his 
 good fortune. It was not much, 'tis 
 true. It would not pay car fare alone, 
 to say nothing of other expenses. But 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 385 
 
 to John it was a great thing; it was a 
 chance, an opening. He would beat his 
 way into Mexico and spend a couple of 
 months in the undertaking, if necessary. 
 If he succeeded, the way might open to 
 other things. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 While in Dallas John was sick, and 
 when ready to start for Mexico, had 
 only about five dollars for the trip. He 
 made his way to San Antonio, where, 
 early one morning, he had difficulty in 
 escaping from a hay mow on the out- 
 skirts of the city, where he had slept, 
 several men giving chase and threaten- 
 ing his arrest for vagrancy. Outrunning 
 the men, he walked on to the first stop 
 on the railroad going to Laredo, and 
 waited there to catch a train. This road 
 was the most difficult to ride of any 
 John had yet attempted, and he soon 
 saw that he had a stupendous task be- 
 fore him. There were only two trains 
 a day, one passenger and one freight, 
 both of which passed in broad daylight, 
 thus making it extremely difficult to 
 board them without being seen. 
 
 John had spent a week and only cov- 
 ered fifteen miles. He could have 
 walked a greater distance, but the coun- 
 try was barren and desolate, the towns 
 small and far between, and he could 
 
 386 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 387 
 
 not think of making a journey of over 
 four hundred miles on foot through 
 such a country. Could he get on a train, 
 he could ride farther in an hour than he 
 could walk in a day. So he kept trying, 
 being put off between stations, walking 
 on to the next town, sleeping alone at 
 camp fires at night which he made 
 along the road. 
 
 He came to the conclusion that his 
 only chance was on the truss rod run- 
 ning along the side and underneath the 
 passenger coach. He had tried this the 
 last few days, laying lengthwise on the 
 rod, face downward. It was a danger- 
 ous place to ride; if he lost his balance 
 he would be under the wheels, and so 
 close were the cattle guards, as he 
 whisked over them, that he was afraid 
 of being struck in the face. Yet he was 
 willing to risk it, so great was his desire 
 to get through and make something out 
 of the opportunity offered him. Having 
 been discovered and put off several 
 times, the same train crew going through 
 each day, they began to. watch for him, 
 and thus made it next to impossible to 
 ride the train. John began to be drscour- 
 
388 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 aged and entertained thoughts of turn- 
 ing back. Still he held on ; it was not 
 easy to give up. But one day, wholly un- 
 successful in a desperate effort to ride, 
 and having contracted a fever from 
 sleeping outdoors, which he feared 
 would be aggravated with further ex- 
 posure, John returned to the camp fire 
 completely discouraged, fully resolved 
 to turn back. 
 
 "It's difficult to get through," said 
 he, as he lay weak and sick before the 
 fire. "Yes, it's very difficult ; too difficult 
 forme!" 
 
 "Difficult?" said Little Willit, as he 
 stood before the fire in black cockaded 
 hat, dark blue cutaway coat, and white 
 pants in leather boots, while the sword 
 at his side glistened before the flame. 
 "Too difficult for you?" he continued 
 in a sharp, clear voice, his gray, eagle 
 eye fixed upon John with a look that 
 pierced him through and through. 
 "What is there not difficult in this life? 
 Nothing worthy of achievement. 'What 
 costs nothing is worth nothing.' What 
 requires no effort to attain is not worthy 
 of attainment. 'No gains without pains.* 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 389 
 
 From the very cradle man is hedged 
 about by difficulty. Providence has so 
 decreed it. The art of walking, of feed- 
 ing and dressing yourself, and all the 
 other things you now do with such facil- 
 ity were all difficult once, and had to be 
 learned by trial after trial. In fact, 
 'everything is hard at first.' At least, 
 'most things are difficult before they are 
 easy.' 
 
 "Yes, difficulty is something to be 
 expected in this life ; and whenever en- 
 countered is to be grappled with at 
 once, to be overcome by trial after trial, 
 just as in infancy you overcame the dif- 
 ficulties of walking, feeding and dress- 
 ing yourself. With these, as with all 
 things, 'facility comes with practice,' 
 and 'practice makes perfect.' Encoun- 
 ter with difficulty develops strength. 
 'The more thou doest, the more thou 
 canst do.' 
 
 "Yes, difficulty is to be expected. 
 Whatever you undertake to do or ac- 
 complish, expect to encounter obstacles 
 and impediments that destroy and de- 
 feat your projects, so that, at times, 
 there may neither be life in them nor 
 
390 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 hope for them. Expect constantly what 
 appears to be defeat, and what is defeat 
 unless you make it otherwise. Most 
 successes are wrung from defeats. If 
 you want to win, wring victory from de- 
 feat. If you're knocked down, get up 
 again ; if you run into a wall, climb over 
 it ; if you pitch into the ditch, crawl out 
 of it. Thus can you reach any goal. 
 That man attains his object who, every 
 time he is crushed to earth, rises again 
 and goes bravely and serenely along, 
 as if nothing had happened." 
 
 "But, sir," replied John, "I have been 
 crushed to earth so often in this matter! 
 I have already made so many efforts to 
 get through that it is useless to make 
 more. . I have tried every known means 
 of beating the train. I have attempted 
 new and dangerous methods of my own, 
 and now I am sick ; I'll have to give up. 
 I do not want to give up, for it is the 
 only chance I have had. But if a thing 
 can't be done, it can't be done, and 
 that's all there is to it!" 
 
 "Do not say that! Do not say that! 
 Do not say, 'it cannot be done,' but say, 
 'it can be done.' For 'there is nothing 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 391 
 
 impossible to perseverance.' 'The man 
 of courage knows not when he is beat- 
 en.' Keep right on, sir. 'That which 
 looks like a mountain may melt like a 
 mist.' 'Failures daunt a dastard, but 
 make a man.' Keep right on! 'Perse- 
 vere and never fear; all things yield to 
 industry and time.' 'None cease to rise 
 but those who cease to climb.' Have 
 perseverance, sir, have courage. As for 
 being sick, 'never say die until you are 
 dead and then it is no use.' 
 
 "And with perseverance and courage 
 have determination. Do not say, 'it can- 
 not be done.' 'Either I will find a way or 
 make one.' Say that! I must remind 
 you of what I have said before, 'A 
 strong will walks through a wall.' 'Try 
 and trust will remove mountains.' It is 
 will power, resolution, invincible de- 
 termination, a purpose once fixed, and 
 then death or victory, that accom- 
 plishes anything that can be accom- 
 plished in this world. 
 
 "Sick, are you?" continued Willit 
 with a half sneer. "Be so full of pur- 
 pose that you cannot be sick! And not 
 only let it be death or victory, but so fill 
 
392 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 yourself with purpose that death is im- 
 possible until its object is accomplished. 
 Even the Grim Reaper can be held at 
 bay by the man of purpose." 
 
 "But," returned John, "granting that 
 all you say is true and that I can get 
 through, I am not by any means certain 
 that my undertaking will be successful, 
 that I have the talent to write an article 
 that will be accepted. I am but a slow 
 plodder in this kind of work, and I may 
 have all my efforts and hardships for 
 nothing." 
 
 " 'Those who slowly paced are by 
 plodding on may travel far,' " replied 
 Little Willit. " 'By perseverance the 
 snail reached the ark.' Get yourself 
 in the right road for the right thing. 
 When you have done that, remember 
 that 'a lame foot may travel the right 
 road;' and that 'a cripple in the right 
 road is better than a racer in the wrong.' 
 Have no fear as to your ability. You 
 can have that, too, if you will to have it, 
 for 'will power, force of purpose, ena- 
 bles a man not only to do, but to be 
 whatever he sets his mind on being.' 
 'Whatever you wish, that you are ; for 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 393 
 
 such is the force of our will, joined to 
 the Divine, that whatever you wish to 
 be, seriously, and with true intention, 
 that you become.' Sir, you can have 
 the ability if you will to have it. 
 
 "But you cannot will anything or do 
 anything if you have no confidence in 
 yourself. You must have this, also ; not 
 the confidence born of a first easy vic- 
 tory — beware of this — but the confi- 
 dence born of a faith in your powers, 
 and a realization of their possibilities. 
 No man can tell what he can do until 
 he tries. 'I'll try. I'll try, he'll rise by 
 and by.' You must try and try, and then 
 try again. But if you have no confi- 
 dence, no faith, you will either not try 
 at all, or if you do try, you will not put 
 forth your best effort. You must have 
 confidence; you must have faith in 
 yourself. 'To think you are able is al- 
 most to be so ;' but'to believe a thing im- 
 possible is the way to make it so.' Those 
 who have faith need not stop to ask 
 whether they can succeed in anything, 
 for 'they can because they think they 
 can.' And you can, if you think you 
 can. Fill and enthuse yourself with the 
 
394 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 idea that you can and that you will. 
 Your mood will be communicated to 
 others and hostile and unwilling minds 
 will cease to oppose. Now will you go 
 on with this undertaking? Will you 
 succeed with it? Will you? Will you?" 
 shouted Little Willit, striking the fire 
 fiercely with his sword and making the 
 embers fly. John became alarmed. 
 "I will!" he shouted in self-defense. 
 "You have already succeeded!" 
 When Little Willit disappeared John 
 was on his feet with a stout stick in his 
 hand. He wondered whether he him- 
 self had been striking the fire. It may 
 have been, but Little Willit and the 
 sword were so real — so real. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 John's fever disappeared, and when 
 the freight arrived the next morning, 
 full of determination, courage, purpose, 
 and confidence, he struck a bargain 
 with the trainmen to let him ride in re- 
 turn for his assistance in handling 
 freight. He reached Laredo that night. 
 Thus a strong will walked through a 
 wall, and did it easily. 
 
 John started out from Laredo over 
 the Mexican National, a road even 
 more difficult to ride than the one he 
 had just passed over, but by dint of per- 
 severance and determination he suc- 
 ceeded in reaching Monterey. Here he 
 remained a week, living cheaply — a few 
 cents a day — on fruits and native foods, 
 and sleeping where he could. 
 
 His subject required a wide view of 
 Mexican life, from the barefooted boy 
 in his sports, the duenna with the game 
 of love and marriage in hand, to the 
 toreador and the bull. After he had 
 seen what he wanted, he made his way 
 back to San Antonio, and from there 
 
 395 
 
396 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 started east, on the lookout for some 
 place to remain while preparing his 
 manuscript. 
 
 After riding all one night in an 
 empty box car, cold and hungry, with 
 the dirt of travel upon his face and 
 clothes, he was about to enter the yard 
 of a small house, when a small, dirty 
 child ran around the corner,' whom 
 John addressed pleasantly, saying he 
 wished to speak to his mother. The 
 child surveyed him quickly from head 
 to foot, and called out: 
 
 "Mamma! Here's an old tramp 
 wants something to eat!" 
 
 Mamma not appearing that instant, 
 the child called out louder the second 
 time: 
 
 "Mamma! Here's an old tramp 
 wants something to eat!" 
 
 Though from but a child, the words 
 stung John to the quick and he made a 
 hasty retreat, his cheeks burning with 
 shame. 
 
 "The world will not respect you more 
 than you respect yourself," said Just 
 Sense, who appeared as he was hasten- 
 ing away, the sting of mortification deep 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 397 
 
 upon him. "If you want others to re- 
 spect you, you must respect yourself. 
 You do look like a tramp. But even if 
 it is so, why such mortification and 
 shame? 'Rubs and snubs and drubs 
 make the man.' Better criticisms than 
 praises, for praises are apt to make you 
 think you are better than you are, and 
 'he who is your flatterer cannot be your 
 friend.' But criticisms show you what 
 you are, and he who criticises you may 
 be your best friend. Hence if any praise, 
 deafen your ear. But if any criticise, 
 pay close heed, and consider whether it 
 is true or not. If not true, you can be 
 thankful for being better than sup- 
 posed. If true, you can be thankful that 
 your faults have been pointed out, that 
 you may profit thereby in mending 
 them." 
 
 Saying which, Just Sense disap- 
 peared. John acquiesced in the justice 
 of his remarks. He had not shaved for 
 two weeks and was dirty. The first 
 thing he would do would be to procure 
 a shave and wash and clean himself. He 
 hunted a barber shop and obtained what 
 he wanted in return for some work he 
 
398 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 did for the barber. John always ad- 
 hered to the strict rule never to accept 
 anything without adequate compensa- 
 tion of some kind. Thus, by a narrow 
 margin, he had always kept himself 
 from being an actual tramp. 
 
 When John was shaved there was 
 great improvement in his appearance. 
 Perhaps this had much to do with the 
 unexpected good fortune he encoun- 
 tered at the first house he tried. It was 
 an old-fashioned frame, in colonial 
 style, every speck of paint long ago 
 washed off the sides — a relic of past 
 grandeur, now humbled by the sign, 
 "Boarding." A kindly-faced, charita- 
 ble looking lady greeted him at the 
 door, and was soon busy preparing him 
 a savory breakfast, while John thor- 
 oughly cleaned the yard. 
 
 "Sorry I can give you nothing bet- 
 ter," said the lady, as John seated him- 
 self at the table. "We could have done 
 it once." 
 
 It was unusual for John to be invited 
 into a house. It was still more unusual 
 for any apologies to be made for what 
 was placed before him. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 399 
 
 "Plenty good enough, madame, plen- 
 ty good enough!" said John. "I am very 
 thankful. I have seen better days my- 
 self." 
 
 "Yes, you don't look like you were 
 accustomed to this." 
 
 This aroused John's sense of pride, 
 and the lady seeming to take much in- 
 terest in him, he related briefly his 
 story, explaining his trip to Mexico, 
 saying he was on his way to New Or- 
 leans, looking out for some place to stop 
 while he could write his article. 
 
 "If that's the case you may stop with 
 me," she said, "and pay me when you 
 get your money. I'll trust you. I have 
 been wanting boarders for some time." 
 
 John could hardly speak for grati- 
 tude. "Madame," said he, "it is only 
 right that I inform you that I am not 
 absolutely certain of my article being 
 accepted. You have only my confidence 
 and determination to succeed to depend 
 upon. But rest assured that if you are 
 not paid now, you will be some day." 
 
 "I think I can tell an honest person," 
 said she. "You can just stay. I will 
 give you a room upstairs — we have 
 
400 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 plenty of them — where everything is 
 quiet, and you can be alone." 
 
 John soon learned that the lady who 
 had so kindly befriended him was 
 named Minnot; that her father had 
 been quite wealthy, at one time owner 
 of the town site and of large plantations 
 and numerous slaves, all of whom he 
 freed of his own accord during the war ; 
 that he had been a man of public bene- 
 factions, among other things having do- 
 nated the ground, now a valuable site, 
 on which stood the old Episcopal 
 Church ; that he had met reverses in his 
 old age, being able to save only the old 
 homestead for his daughter, who was 
 now a widow; that Mrs. Minnot had 
 managed to rear and educate an only 
 daughter, Helen, who was now an ac- 
 complished girl of twenty, teaching 
 school in a neighboring town. 
 
 John at once sent for his satchel of 
 clothes, and was exceedingly glad he 
 had done so, for when Helen came 
 home in less than a week for her Christ- 
 mas vacation, he was able to appear as a 
 gentleman. Stopping in the same house, 
 an acquaintance of some kind could 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 401 
 
 hardly be avoided. John had complete- 
 ly denied himself the society of women 
 during the two years since he had left 
 home. There seemed to be an abyss 
 between him and Florence which he 
 had dared not pass, and his circum- 
 stances had been such during the two 
 years that no other woman had encour- 
 aged the slightest acquaintance. In 
 fact, he thought himself not entitled to 
 it. Hence he was in a mood to appre- 
 ciate the slightest favors. It was quite 
 natural, then, that he should be filled 
 with the tenderest feelings toward the 
 first and only woman who condescended 
 to permit any acquaintance at all, espe- 
 cially when that woman was young, 
 handsome, and womanly, bubbling over 
 with health and youthful vivacity, for 
 such was Helen Minnot. A delicate 
 complexion, beautiful dark eyes that 
 sparkled, and a figure full of grace and 
 beauty, compelled John to admit that 
 she was handsome. Then she was tasty 
 in dress, and whatever she wore was be- 
 coming. In fact, John thought her pret- 
 tiest in a calico gown in the kitchen. 
 Moreover, she was both cultured and 
 
 26 
 
402 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 refined, possessed both brilliance and 
 good sense, and that southern charm 
 and accent so attractive to the northern 
 man. In truth, he could not get away 
 from the fact, struggle with it as he 
 would, that she was the equal, if not the 
 superior, of Florence in every respect, 
 in culture, beauty, womanliness, and in- 
 telligence — all the qualities he most ad- 
 mired. Is it any wonder, then, he was 
 deeply grateful ? 
 
 At first she treated him with extreme 
 reserve, yet with kindness, deigning 
 scarcely the slightest acquaintance. But 
 being unavoidably thrown in his pres- 
 ence, and finding him educated and re- 
 fined, able to talk intelligently and even 
 brilliantly on such subjects as literature, 
 music and art, in all of which she was 
 deeply interested, it was difficult for her 
 to avoid conversations, short at first, but 
 soon long and animated, and apparently 
 intensely interesting to her as well as to 
 John. Thus she permitted things to 
 drift, slowly at first, but soon with the 
 sweep of a rapid current. 
 
 John thought she permitted the ex- 
 treme pleasure her acquaintance afford- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 403 
 
 ed him through kindness of heart, as her 
 mother had doubtless taken him in for 
 the same reason. Kindness and sympa- 
 thy seemed to be characteristics of the 
 family. What a great kindness for this 
 charming creature to permit the ex- 
 treme joy and pleasure of her acquaint- 
 ance along the rough and rugged road 
 of life he had been traveling 1 She could 
 do it, and yet not harm herself. But, 
 though mere kindness be the motive, 
 this did not prevent John from enjoying 
 'the happiest days of his life. When she 
 seated herself at the old piano, and 
 played for him some of the classics of 
 which he was so fond, and had not 
 heard for so long — when she thus, en- 
 tertained him, John thought himself 
 honored far beyond his deserts. And 
 what was more, each day when he 
 showed her parts of the manuscript he 
 had completed, in which she was great- 
 ly interested, it was evident she sympa- 
 thized with his effort and desired his 
 success as much as he did. 
 
 "I don't see how you can fail, Mr. 
 Downey. It could not be written bet- 
 ter." 
 
404 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 How good it was to be addressed so 
 once more ! 
 
 "Thank you! Thank you! But I am 
 afraid you overestimate its merits." 
 
 "I think not. If this is not accepted, 
 it is hard to tell what would be. Then 
 you deserve to succeed ; you have made 
 such an effort! In truth, I do not see 
 how you are able to write at all, after 
 what you have been through." 
 
 "You know," replied John, "and I 
 hope you will not think I am desirous 
 of making any comparison, for my 
 thoughts are far from it — that some of 
 the best things, in both literature and 
 art, have been produced under stress of 
 the greatest hardships." 
 
 "There you are!" laughed Helen 
 heartily — her laugh had a joyous ring 
 that was the sweetest music to John — 
 "making the strongest argument you 
 possibly could that you are going to 
 succeed." 
 
 John saw that he had unintentionally 
 made a strong plea for himself, and 
 laughed at the clever way in which he 
 had been led to do it. 
 
 "Well," said he, "perhaps I have had 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 405 
 
 enough hardship to insure success. But, 
 after all, if I should, it isn't much." 
 
 "It may lead to other things. It is 
 no small honor to appear as an author 
 in the magazine department of the St. 
 Louis Courier-Journal. It is one of the 
 best papers in the country, and some of 
 the best known writers have appeared 
 there." 
 
 That was the right kind of girl — one 
 who was willing to receive him as he 
 was, to entertain, sympathize, encour- 
 age, and thus help him to success, in- 
 stead of waiting until success had been 
 achieved. Oh ! if he could succeed ; he 
 wished it for her more than for himself. 
 And if he should, she would be the one 
 with whom he would share it, not with 
 Florence. When the manuscript had 
 been finally completed and mailed, and 
 while waiting for a report, John was 
 filled with great doubts. What, then, 
 was his pleasure, when one day he re- 
 ceived a letter — "We are well pleased 
 with your article" — John could read no 
 more. 
 
 "Read it; read it!" he said, handing 
 it to Helen. He had difficulty in re- 
 straining tears of joy. 
 
406 HIS BETTER SELF. 
 
 "Just as I said," ejaculated she, in a 
 burst of sunshine. "It couldn't be re- 
 fused." 
 
 When they received the paper the 
 next Monday there was cause for still 
 more joy and congratulation. John had 
 been honored with first place among 
 well-known writers, and special atten- 
 tion had been called to his article by a 
 large advertisement in another part of 
 the paper. What more could he have 
 asked? What more could he have ex- 
 pected? His cup of joy was full; it 
 overflowed. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 During the few days John continued 
 at Minnots' the deep sense of gratitude 
 he felt toward Helen ripened into love 
 and he felt much disposed to declare 
 himself. He had recognized in Helen 
 a kindred soul, and she had honored, re- 
 spected, and sympathized with him as 
 he was. Would Florence have done the 
 'same thing under the circumstances? 
 Would she honor, respect, sympathize 
 with and encourage him should she 
 know all he had been since leaving 
 home? These were questions he would 
 liked to have answered. He was on the 
 point, several times, of making a con- 
 fidante of Helen, of relating the story 
 of his visions. This was a delicate sub- 
 ject. So far he had revealed it to no 
 one, not even Florence, and he would 
 not wish to tell it to any woman except 
 the one that was to become his wife. He 
 hesitated because he felt she would 
 think it a strange story, and might, pos- 
 sibly, consider him insane. Moreover, 
 he was afraid of a repulse. Then he 
 
 407 
 
408 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 did not know how soon after his depar- 
 ture the old love for Florence would re- 
 turn. It would be wrong to make any 
 declaration to Helen unless he could re- 
 main faithful. And back of all the 
 honor, respect, sympathy, and enter- 
 tainment she had shown him was still a 
 reserve that held him in check. He 
 could not quite bring himself to do it. 
 
 When the time came to depart, John 
 rode out of the little Texas town on a 
 passenger train. Helen bade him a 
 pleasant good-bye, with an abundance 
 of wishes for his success. In fact, so 
 hearty were her well wishes that John 
 thought he saw in them a willingness to 
 hear from him. He said nothing, how- 
 ever, about writing to her. If he con- 
 tinued to succeed, he would do so ; but 
 if he should be obliged to descend into 
 the depths again, he wished nothing to 
 bind him to, or to 'remind him of, the 
 heights of pleasure to which she had led 
 him. 
 
 At New Orleans John called at the 
 newspaper offices in an endeavor to 
 find some opening. He also suggested 
 the preparation of articles on special 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 409 
 
 subjects. But there was no chance of 
 any kind for him. He then wrote to 
 papers in other cities, including the one 
 at St. Louis, suggesting the submission 
 of manuscripts on other subjects. They 
 were unable, however, to make use of 
 any of his other subjects, and so things 
 went until John was again without 
 money. He walked out of the city one 
 morning, after having spent his last 
 nickel at the French Market for a mea- 
 ger lunch and coffee. He had been 
 obliged to doahis old clothes once more 
 and his heart was heavy. 
 
 He made his way slowly from town 
 to town, along the Gulf, sleeping at 
 night with crowds of men, outcasts and 
 penniless like himself, at sawdust fires 
 which constantly burned at mills in all 
 the towns. As he lay upon the rough 
 boards in the open air, his face burning, 
 his back freezing, he now thought of the 
 far-away Texas town instead of Denver. 
 What would she think of him if she 
 could see him now? He wondered that 
 she had permitted any acquaintance at 
 all. As for him, it would be best to for- 
 get, and put her out of his thoughts as 
 
410 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 soon as possible, for such pleasant mem- 
 ories only served to make his hardships 
 greater. He could not look upon the 
 best side of things and think of her. So 
 John determined to forget, and, after 
 a time, succeeded. 
 
 At Mobile John found employment 
 for a couple of months in a cheap res- 
 taurant While there he heard of a 
 newspaper struggling hard for exist- 
 ence in a small town in western Florida. 
 The press was old and the type worn. 
 They could only be sold for scrap, and 
 the man who held a chattel mortgage 
 upon the whole was willing to let any- 
 one run the paper who was willing to 
 make the effort and try to pay him inter- 
 est on his claim. John proceeded to the 
 place, a small boom town of about two 
 hundred population, now in the throes 
 of a relapse, half the houses empty. He 
 found one printer in the office, who had 
 stuck to the little paper through thick 
 and thin, and who had managed to issue 
 the last editions. 
 
 "So you have been doing everything 
 yourself?" said John. 
 
 "Yes," drawled the man, an old pipe 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 411 
 
 in his mouth, "and it's too much for one 
 man." 
 
 "What was the matter with the last 
 editor?" 
 
 "Got tired working for his board." 
 
 "Well," said John, "if there is a liv- 
 ing in it, I'll try it for awhile, until I 
 can do better. Anything beats nothing." 
 
 John at once entered upon his duties, 
 which consisted in supplying "copy" 
 for the one printer. He was given a free 
 hand, wrote upon any subject he saw 
 fit, and considered it an excellent op- 
 portunity for training himself along the 
 lines he was desirous of following. 
 
 His work on the paper requiring only 
 about a fourth of his time, he began to 
 consider means of filling up the re- 
 mainder; for life in this small town was 
 monotonous in the extreme. For a long 
 time he had entertained thoughts of 
 New York. That was the literary cen- 
 ter of the country, and if he was to suc- 
 ceed in any line of literature or journal- 
 ism, that was the place. He now fully 
 made up his mind to go there.. But first 
 he would write a book on some subject 
 to take with him. He considered a va- 
 
412 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 riety of subjects, and finally selected one 
 of a theological Character, "Views of 
 Divinity." Since the vision at the moun- 
 tain lake in Washington, John had 
 given much thought and study to the 
 subject of Christianity, and had become 
 a believer. Indeed, he had always a 
 predilection for theological subjects, 
 and while a student at college, used to 
 delight in attempts to argue down stu- 
 dents preparing for the ministry. So he 
 took to it naturally, and soon became 
 deeply absorbed in his work. It was to 
 be a popular book and intended to an- 
 swer and refute much of the skepticism 
 that had lately arisen. 
 
 Time passed rapidly, and thus em- 
 ployed John spent one of the happiest 
 years of his life. Not a little of this 
 happiness grew out of a correspondence 
 started anew with Florence. He now 
 had no hesitancy in letting her know he 
 was in a small, unknown place. He had 
 a good reason ; he was writing a book. 
 He cautioned her, however, and also 
 his mother, not to let it be known. But 
 from one or the other the secret got out, 
 and John was greatly surprised, one 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 413 
 
 day, to receive a home paper contain- 
 ing the following: 
 
 COMING TO THE FRONT. 
 
 "The many friends of John Downey 
 will be pleased to learn that he is rap- 
 idly climbing to the top of the ladder as 
 an author and writer. He undoubtedly 
 has great ability in this line, as his 
 splendid articles in this paper attest. 
 Since then he has been meeting with the 
 highest success in the best journals in 
 the country. At present he is spending 
 the winter at a Florida resort, writing a 
 book on an important subject. The 
 public is waiting with much interest its 
 appearance from the press." 
 
 The article filled John with a mixture 
 of regret, amusement and pleasure. It 
 had been intended well and was no 
 doubt the editor's honest opinion. Flor- 
 ence also informed him that she had 
 been informed that his article in the St. 
 Louis paper made the biggest hit ever 
 scored at home. An enterprising news- 
 dealer had heard of it, sent for two hun- 
 dred copies, and sold every one, though 
 ten days old. All this pleased Florence 
 
414 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 greatly, and elevated him much in her 
 esteem. A noted author for a husband 
 appealed to her strongly, her tastes be- 
 ing decidedly literary. 
 
 "I have a little surprise for you," she 
 wrote. "I am also getting ready a book. 
 You won't tell me what yours is about ; 
 I will be good to you and tell you all 
 about mine. If the book you are writ- 
 ing is as good as your letters, it will be 
 very fine indeed. I am carefully pre- 
 serving every one of them. Who knows? 
 Who can tell? The world may want 
 them some day. How does the title 'Let- 
 ters to a Lady" strike you?" 
 
 John did not know whether to take it 
 seriously or as one of her little jests. He 
 chose the latter and replied in a bright, 
 happy vein, and thus the correspond- 
 ence continued, discussing literature, 
 the noted authors, Florence mingling 
 his name with them, and praising him 
 in the highest terms until John began to 
 feel that he really was a writer of note. 
 He dreamed with all his old-time free- 
 dom of being a great man in a great 
 city. Every evening he took a long walk 
 and it was at such times that his imagi- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 415 
 
 nation was turned loose and he pictured 
 in happy detail the life before him. 
 Those were happy, happy hours, for the 
 intoxication of the dreams took full pos- 
 session of him. He purposely chose the 
 most lonely walks so as not to be spoken 
 to or disturbed by anyone. 
 
 His book and its success now became 
 his chief object; Florence was second- 
 ary and subsidiary. He now looked 
 down, whereas he had always before 
 looked up to her. And she now looked 
 up to him. His attitude had prevented 
 her doing this before, and that had been 
 the difficulty, she wrote him. She could 
 never give a husband the love she ought 
 unless she could look up to him. John 
 thought he came nearer to being that 
 husband than ever before, but he in no 
 way urged or pressed his claim. 
 
 While John's success was assured, he 
 expected to encounter difficulties and 
 obstacles, and he was ready to endure 
 privation and hardship, if necessary. 
 
 "Won't I be glad when this work is 
 completed, and I am ready to go to 
 New York?" he pondered. "Yes, New 
 York! That's the place! I will be will- 
 
416 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 ing to sleep on the floor in a bare room 
 with only enough food to keep off hun- 
 ger, in order to stay there. I will be 
 willing to put up with a crust of bread." 
 So completely was John absorbed in 
 his work during the day, and his imagi- 
 nation in recreation hours at night, that 
 the only time for unpleasant experiences 
 to steal upon him was during sleep. It 
 was then his old life haunted him in its 
 worst aspect. He dreamed of exposure 
 in storms, trying to beat trains, being 
 put off — all of which had become ter- 
 rors to him — and he often awoke in a 
 nightmare, exceedingly thankful that 
 they were only dreams, and not actual- 
 ities, as they had once been. Now that 
 he had a bed to sleep in, and three regu- 
 lar meals a day, the idea of being driven 
 about from place to place became a hor- 
 ror. It did not pay to try to beat the 
 trains, anyway. The same amount of 
 time, labor, and exertion it took to beat 
 his way, if spent in legitimate pursuits, 
 would have made enough money to do 
 all his traveling in comfort and ease. So 
 it is with any kind of beating. Whoever 
 heard of a thief or robber dying rich? 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 417 
 
 What an immense amount of ability and 
 energy is thrown away by the man who 
 seeks to obtain his objects by illegiti- 
 mate methods, receiving in return but 
 little remuneration and a life of the 
 severest hardship and exposure. It 
 doesn't pay. 
 
 So when his book was at last com- 
 pleted, John looked about for other 
 means to reach New York. 
 
 He went to Pensacola and there, 
 luckily, found a lumber vessel bound 
 for Boston, the captain willing to let 
 him work his passage. This would be 
 a new experience, and he was pleased 
 with the idea of going to sea. 
 
 While passing out the harbor the 
 cook prepared a good meal. John was 
 both pleased and surprised at the excel- 
 lence of the fare, and everything went 
 well for the first two days. The 
 weather was beautiful, and as John 
 watched the sunsets with all the rich 
 colors of a semi-tropical sea and sky, 
 while the vessel, full sail, glided 
 softly through the waves, he thought 
 there was nothing more pleasant than 
 going to sea. 
 
 27 
 
418 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 At midnight, however, of the second 
 day he was awakened by a terrible 
 commotion on board. All was intense 
 blackness, and the sailors were hurrying 
 and scurrying over the roof of the fore- 
 castle with their heavy shod shoes, 
 which came down so violently that John 
 thought they would break through and 
 be precipitated upon him. In the midst 
 of the uproar the captain shouted wild- 
 ly and the sailors did the same to each 
 other. It was pandemonium complete. 
 Hurriedly dressing himself, John went 
 on deck to see what was the matter. The 
 vessel was tearing through the black- 
 ness at a terrific speed, one side of the 
 deck elevated to an angle of forty-five 
 degrees. Clinging to the railing to keep 
 from sliding off into the sea, John made 
 his way to the captain, who continued 
 shouting wildly, like one out of his 
 head. He had been caught, full sail on, 
 in one of the Gulf squalls, so much 
 feared by seamen. 
 
 "We're lost! We're lost! There's a 
 light! We're going on the rocks!" 
 shouted the captain, still more wildly. 
 
 Strange to say, John was not filled 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 419 
 
 with any sense of fear. Amidst all the 
 confusion, excitement, and danger, as 
 the vessel sped through the blackness 
 like a runaway, the bit of the winds in 
 her teeth, John seemed to hear the notes 
 of a cornet from somewhere above the 
 mizzenmast playing a lively and merry 
 tune. It was the song of the storm. 
 There is music in all nature and even 
 the elements in their furies have their 
 merry notes, which sometimes strike a 
 responsive chord in man. 
 
 The light the captain had seen disap- 
 peared, and the vessel was brought 
 under control. The sails now began to 
 crack in the wind with the sound of 
 cannon as they were being reefed. 
 Finally, when they were all in, the rain 
 came down, not in drops, but in a mass. 
 The next morning, it was found that 
 the vessel had been strained and was 
 leaking. The pumps were started and 
 had to be kept going day and night. 
 The good meals ceased and the crew 
 was given the poorest of food. "Horse 
 flesh — the worst kind of old, tough, 
 salted horse flesh" — they called it; 
 "biscuits and coffee." They had diffi- 
 
420 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 culty in getting it down. There was 
 growling, quarreling and constant 
 complaint of the work and food. 
 There was talk of mutiny, as to 
 whether the vessel was seaworthy, and 
 of forcing the captain to put in at the 
 nearest port. John dreaded delay of 
 any kind; still he did not know as to 
 the ship's safety. Rats overran the deck 
 and forecastle — hungry, fighting, squeal- 
 ing rats, even attacking some of the sail- 
 ors at night and trying to make way 
 with their toes. 
 
 One of the sailors told John one day 
 that the ship was still safe. 
 
 "Needn't be afraid of that. The ratsl 
 The rats! As long as the ship's safe 
 they stay with it. But whenever you 
 see them leaving you'd better get too." 
 
 The rats did not leave, and for twen- 
 ty-one long days John worked at the 
 pumps until he thought his back would 
 break, forced down the horse flesh for 
 food, his sleep disturbed and terrified 
 by the rats. But hard as the voyage 
 was, he preferred it to trying to beat a 
 train. 
 
 Reaching Boston at last, John pro- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 421 
 
 ceeded by rail and boat to New York, 
 that great city, crowded to the very 
 water's edge. What would it have in 
 store for him? 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 It did not take long to locate in inex- 
 pensive quarters on the East Side. Like- 
 wise it did not take long to discover that 
 the publishing world cared little about 
 "Views of Divinity," and that the theo- 
 logical world cared less. He kept up a 
 brave heart, however; perhaps there 
 would be something in the city for him. 
 He called at several of the large news- 
 paper offices to see if there was an 
 opening of any kind. At some of the 
 offices he was looked at with curiosity, 
 at others with wonder, that any strange 
 and unknown man could have the au- 
 dacity to ask for a position on such 
 great papers. So he soon became 
 ashamed to show his face. Then his 
 money gave out, as usual. But this time 
 he was not obliged to leave the city. 
 The old lady with whom he had been 
 rooming was crippled and needed a 
 man to do chores about the place and 
 buy provisions for the table. John was 
 glad of the opportunity, as it assured 
 him room and board, with most of the 
 
 422 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 423 
 
 time his own. He first took the time to 
 become well acquainted with the city. 
 The more he saw of it, the more he was 
 impressed — what young man coming 
 from a country town is not charmed 
 with its vastness and greatness, all its 
 multitudinous life, its gayety and 
 whirl? It was his ardent ambition to 
 become a part of it, for to be a citizen 
 of so great a city was greatness itself. 
 Later John found the city possessed this 
 same charm for thousands of other 
 young men like himself, when he 
 sought positions advertised in the want 
 columns of the papers, and met throngs 
 of from one to two hundred well- 
 dressed young men from all parts of 
 the country — young men willing to ac- 
 cept positions which he knew were far 
 beneath their abilities and talents, will- 
 ing to do almost anything to remain in 
 and become a part of so great a city. 
 When he saw the same well-dressed 
 young men obliged to accept the ac- 
 commodations of charitable institu- 
 tions, or read in the papers of one who 
 had fallen in the street unconscious 
 from the want of food, too proud to 
 
424 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 make his wants known, he knew that 
 many were willing to do anything, will- 
 ing to resist unto death, rather than 
 give up and return home, where doubt- 
 less most of them could live in comfort 
 and meet success. For every strange 
 young man that succeeded in New York 
 John thought there must be a hundred 
 that failed. It was exceedingly diffi- 
 cult to get a foothold anywhere. One 
 was simply lost in the throngs trying to 
 put their feet in the same place. 
 
 So John gave up all hopes of obtain- 
 ing a position of any kind. This drove 
 him to his literary efforts again. For- 
 tunately he had the time. He worked 
 first on one manuscript and then an- 
 other, and thus spent a year. But noth- 
 ing he could produce met with success. 
 Long before the year was out he was 
 filled with discouragement, which 
 finally grew to be complete despair. It 
 was useless for him to try more. There 
 being no opportunity to engage in his 
 profession, and fate having completely 
 foiled him in his one ambition, the 
 achievement of literary success, he felt 
 there was now nothing for which to live. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 425 
 
 In his despair and gloom, he not Only 
 lost all faith in himself, but belief in 
 God. He thought of all the good in- 
 struction Patience, Just Sense and the 
 others had given him with a feeling of 
 bitterness. They were pleasant expe- 
 riences, like many others he had had 
 in life, but what had they done for him? 
 For two years he had tried as hard as he 
 could, acting upon the words of Little 
 Willit, that a man can be what he will, 
 only to find that he had been misled and 
 deceived. And neither Little Willit 
 nor any of his old comforters appearing 
 to cheer, encourage and help him, gave 
 him a sense of additional abandon, and 
 he only despaired further. 
 
 It was now he entertained thoughts 
 of self-destruction, and the prediction 
 made by "Himself in Old Age" that 
 had so greatly affected him while at 
 the little mountain lake in Washington 
 came true. But he was too much filled 
 with gloom to know it. 
 
 For some time his mother had been 
 writing and urging him to return home. 
 But there were no prospects for him 
 there; he would have to return an ac- 
 
426 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 knowledged failure, almost a tramp — 
 most of all, a failure and disgrace be- 
 fore Florence, who had quit teaching 
 and was now living at home. For four 
 long years he had dreaded her knowing 
 this. Would he go home, then, and live 
 it out before her and all his friends who 
 had expected so much of him? He 
 could do anything but that. Finally, 
 however, events conspired to force him 
 home. The landlady with whom he had 
 been living died, and strangers took pos- 
 session of the house who had no need of 
 him. He could have remained another 
 year, living at charitable institutions, 
 but he had sufficient pride left not to do 
 that. So events forced him to thoughts 
 of returning home. But he was not 
 easily conquered. In addition to the 
 dread of returning home and living out 
 his life a shameful disgrace and failure 
 before Florence and his friends — how 
 could he muster the courage to face any 
 of them? — like other young men, he 
 was ready to resist to the death, for with 
 all the harsh treatment the great city 
 had given him, he loved her still, and 
 ambition and hope, though crushed, 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 427 
 
 were not yet entirely dead. But his 
 mother's voice kept calling from his 
 far-away childhood home. He could 
 not ignore it longer. He would return 
 for her sake alone. He hoped for noth- 
 ing ; he expected nothing. He was sim- 
 ply going home to live out a dull, hope- 
 less existence until his mother died. He 
 would endure the shame and disgrace 
 for her sake — she would die if he did 
 not — that was the only reason why he 
 himself would consent to live. 
 
 The night before John's departure 
 he lay upon the bed in his bare attic 
 room, which had been stripped of all 
 its furniture except the bed. He 
 thought of the great and throbbing city 
 about him, pulsating with life, all the 
 charm its greatness and vastness pos- 
 sessed for him. He thought of his burn- 
 ing ambition to achieve success and be- 
 come a part of it. He thought of all the 
 efforts he had made and the bitter fail- 
 ures he had met in the last four years; 
 of his ambitions and hopes, so often 
 slain, so often crushed to earth, so often 
 left for dead, only to rise again and 
 again, and go forth for new slaughter. 
 
428 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 But now it was ended for good. Never- 
 more would they rise. No, nevermore 
 would they rise again. It was all over; 
 there was nothing to live for now. He 
 commenced to sob, and hot tears rolled 
 down his cheeks. 
 
 "That's the death of Ambition and 
 Hope; that's the death of them. They 
 are dead for good this time. Yes, dead 
 for good!" sobbed he. And as Alexan- 
 der wept because there were no more 
 worlds to conquer, so he wept because 
 he had not conquered any. 
 
 Thus was enacted the tragedy of am- 
 bition and hope, a tragedy more acute 
 than any of the flesh; for he in whom 
 all ambition and hope is dead is the 
 dead alive — has suffered all the pangs 
 of death, yet lives to bear it. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 The next day John was reconciled to 
 his fate. But as he was making his way 
 to a place on the Jersey shore, where he 
 could catch a freight, he was filled with 
 bitterness at his failure. All hope, all 
 expectation, all ambition had complete- 
 ly disappeared. He was simply going 
 home to live with his mother. One 
 thing was certain; if anything ever 
 happened to drive him from that home, 
 if he ever again was knocked about 
 from city to city, obliged to beat the 
 trains as he had been, he would end his 
 life. This was the last trip he was going 
 to make of that kind. 
 
 John's route took him through his 
 old college town. He would have 
 avoided this but he had learned that the 
 other lines were too difficult to beat, 
 that detectives watched every train, and 
 made arrests of everyone caught steal- 
 ing a ride. In all his ups and downs he 
 had never been in jail, and he did not 
 wish the experience now. So it seemed 
 fate decreed that he should pass through 
 
 429 
 
430 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 Belle Monte, his old college town, to 
 change roads there to get to Indianapo- 
 lis, and from there home. 
 
 After several days on the road, John 
 reached Belle Monte about nine o'clock 
 at night. He jumped off the train be- 
 fore reaching the depot, and walked 
 back to the outskirts of the town, where 
 some tramps had built a fire. He 
 thought he would remain there a couple 
 of hours, until all the inhabitants of the 
 place had retired. He would then 
 cross over to the other railroad and get 
 out of town without being seen. 
 
 About eleven o'clock he got up from 
 the camp-fire where he had been reclin- 
 ing, brushed off his clothes as best he 
 could, and started for the other road. 
 He stole along the back streets under 
 the shade trees, fearful he might meet 
 some one who would recognize him. 
 That he should ever have to sneak at 
 night through the streets of his old col- 
 lege town in the garb of a tramp, 
 ashamed to be seen, or to show his face, 
 was the last thing he dreamed when a 
 student. He had then thought of re- 
 turning as a successful lawyer, perhaps 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 431 
 
 as a congressman or judge; but return- 
 ing as a tramp — he never thought of 
 even the possibility of that. Of all the 
 humiliations he had borne the last four 
 years, this was the greatest, and it 
 seemed that fate had brought him back 
 to thus humble him. 
 
 As he reached the vicinity of the cam- 
 pus he thought he would go over for a 
 last look at the buildings. No one 
 would see him ; he had not been there 
 for five years, and would never see them 
 again. As he reached the place the 
 moon came out from behind a cloud, 
 and the college buildings stood out clear 
 and distinct in the moonlight, as silent 
 as the tomb. All the pent-up bitterness 
 of his failure in life now burst forth. 
 
 "Ah, classic halls! classic halls!" said 
 he, in bitterest irony. "What hopes! 
 What dreams! What happy days! Four 
 of the best and happiest years of my 
 life — I was somebody then. Yes, I was 
 somebody. And to think that this place, 
 of all others, in which I have lived the 
 highest, lived the best, and been exalted 
 the most, alone and in the silent night 
 should see me humbled the most!" 
 
432 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "'He that is exalted shall be hum: 
 bled," said Just Sense, at his side, speak- 
 ing as if he had been there all the while, 
 
 "Who would have thought it I" con- 
 tinued John, ignoring the presence of 
 Just Sense. "Ah! classic halls 1" he re- 
 peated in bitterness again, "How many 
 hours have you seen me at my lessons, 
 burning the midnight oil ? I made good 
 use of my time. I was faithful. I can 
 say that. But it has all come to naught." 
 
 " 'You can't make a silk purse out of 
 a sow's ear,' " said Just Sense. " 'Cut- 
 ting off a mule's ear won't make him a 
 horse.' 'Learning makes a wise man 
 wise, but a fool is made all the more a 
 fool by it.' Too many fools attend col- 
 lege in these days, and therein lies the 
 mischief." 
 
 "Yes, and I was one of them," said 
 John. "I did not know it then, but I 
 see it now. I learned my lessons, though. 
 I ranked high in my studies. I was a 
 good scholar. Would you say a man is 
 a fool that could do that?" 
 
 " 'Folly and learning may live under 
 one hat,'" said Just Sense. '"Great 
 scholars are not always wise men.' " 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 433 
 
 "The fault was in myself, then, and 
 not in the education. But I am of the 
 opinion the fault was in the education, 
 too. It has unfit me for success in life. I 
 am sorry now I ever saw the inside of a 
 college. Once a business position was 
 offered me. I might have accepted and 
 worked myself up, as others have, with- 
 out any college education. But I 
 thought a college education the great 
 thing. I went on and received my di- 
 ploma, and here I am to-night, a total 
 failure, with no hope, no prospect in 
 life, on my way home to spend the re- 
 mainder of my days in a living death. 
 Yet how I had it drummed into my 
 head, 'knowledge is power,' 'knowledge 
 is power,' until I thought all I had to do 
 was to get enough of it and I could do 
 anything. But I see, now, 'a fool is 
 made all the more a fool by it.' " 
 
 " 'Knowledge is power,' " said Just 
 Sense, " 'but wisdom is needed to use it 
 properly.' 'Happy is the man that find- 
 eth wisdom, and the man that getteth 
 understanding,' says Solomon. But 
 knowledge is not wisdom, neither is 
 learning; for 'wisdom does not always 
 
434 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 speak Latin.' In everyday affairs, wis- 
 dom is nothing more than- plain com- 
 mon sense. If a man has this, though he 
 have but very little learning, he will 
 make his way in the world and succeed 
 in life. 'A handful of common sense is 
 worth a heap of learning.' But be a 
 man ever so well learned, 'the want of 
 common sense is a fatal want.' " 
 
 "That's what makes me think my col- 
 lege education was at fault," said John; 
 "because it taught me neither wisdom 
 nor common sense." 
 
 "Common sense is not taught in the 
 schools, and never will be," said Just 
 Sense. "A man has to learn that by 
 bumping up against the world, and, if 
 he is not gifted with this most excellent 
 of gifts in the first instance, and few are 
 — for there is 'nothing so uncommon as 
 common sense' — he must have it beat 
 into his head by hard blows such as only 
 the world can give. You are not the 
 only one that has failed; you can have 
 some consolation in that. The truth is, 
 most men fail at some time in life. This 
 is the price they pay for a little common 
 sense, if they have the sense to profit 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 435 
 
 from failure, and not every man has. 
 You are fortunate in that your failure 
 has occurred in the beginning, and in 
 that it has been an extensive one, for 
 thereby you have learned many things 
 and have most of your life to profit from 
 them, if you will only do so." 
 
 Just Sense, as usual, took off his 
 glasses and pulled out his handkerchief 
 to clean them. There he stood, his shad- 
 ow on the ground in the moonlight, the 
 man and the shadow as real and as much 
 a part of the scene as were the trees and 
 the college buildings. 
 
 After holding up the glasses to the 
 moonlight for inspection, then blowing 
 his breath upon them, Just Sense con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "You now have two educations, four 
 years in college, four years in life; and 
 while your life's education has cost you 
 most, it is far the more valuable, be- 
 cause 'years know more than books,' and 
 'wit once bought is worth twice taught ;' 
 but 'wisdom is a good bargain, cost 
 what it may.' Your mistake when you 
 started out was in not realizing there 
 are the two educations, in thinking your 
 
436 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 college education the only one, and in 
 not realizing it was nothing without 
 some of life's education. Many men 
 without college training achieve great 
 success in life. It is because they are 
 apt and thorough students in the things 
 that life teaches. But be a man ever so 
 well trained in the schools, he will not 
 succeed much until he has learned some 
 of the lessons life teaches. Difficulty, 
 Hardship, Adversity, Necessity, and 
 Failure are the hard schoolmasters we 
 find in life, but they teach the best les- 
 sons — they teach a man to know him- 
 self. The college teaches him to know 
 other things. It is important that a man 
 should receive all the knowledge and 
 instruction he can of other things. But 
 it is far more important to know him- 
 self. In fact, all education and train- 
 ing is a waste of time and of little avail 
 until a man has learned himself. Not 
 how many bones there are in his body — 
 this is not important — but what are his 
 powers and limitations; what can he 
 and what can he not do. Yes, know thy- 
 self. 'The proper study of mankind is 
 man ;' first, to know himself, then, other 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 437 
 
 men — to know them and how to deal 
 with them with judgment, prudence 
 and tact, and with what caution, faith 
 and trust. Yes, 'the proper study of 
 mankind is man.' 'Read men as well 
 as books.' You learn to know your- 
 self and other men in the great school of 
 life. There are many other things to 
 learn in that school. And you must 
 bear in mind, my boy, that your life 
 education has only commenced and that 
 it will only end with life itself. 'As long 
 as we live we may learn.' " 
 
 "I realize that there are the two edu- 
 cations," replied John, "and that the 
 one life gives is far the more important 
 and valuable. When I started out I 
 thought the college education was the 
 whole ; but I have found out differently, 
 to my sorrow. If I could only have had 
 along with my college education some 
 of the things life teaches — but it's too 
 late now. It's no use to talk about edu- 
 cation or anything else. It's all over." 
 
 "That is what you ought to have had, 
 and should have had," said Just Sense, 
 ignoring the last remarks. "The man 
 who devotes his time exclusively for a 
 
438 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 number of years in learning of books 
 will get all the harder knocks when he 
 does start out. But after he has received 
 his proper trimmings, and this is what 
 you have now received, he will be all 
 the better man for his schooling. He is 
 best who is trained in school and trained 
 in life. You have now been trained in 
 both and are in better position to suc- 
 ceed than you have ever been before." 
 
 "It's no use to talk to me about suc- 
 ceeding," said John, the bitterness in 
 him now turned to Just Sense. "I've 
 heard that kind of talk before. I was 
 ambitious to become an author; and 
 how I labored, struggled, and worked 
 through two long years of failure and 
 disappointment ! 'Can be what he wills 
 to be !' You see me to-night." 
 
 "It's true," said Just Sense. 'A man 
 can be what he wills.' Two years of 
 failure and disappointment; what's 
 that? Fail five years, fail ten years! Suf- 
 fer hardship, privation, and hunger! 
 Patient working is the secret of success 
 in any line — to. know how to labor and 
 wait. 'The best harvest is longest in 
 being reached,' and 'as long as there is 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 439 
 
 life there is hope.' Yes, fail ten years, 
 if you want to succeed." 
 
 "I haven't the strength and courage 
 to do that." 
 
 "Then you were never intended to 
 be an author." 
 
 "Yes, I'm good for nothing. I'm fit 
 for nothing," railed John to himself, 
 Just Sense having disappeared. 
 
 "And what will Florence think of 
 me? She can 'look up' to me, now. Oh, 
 yes ! They all can," continued he in bit- 
 terness and chagrin. "And that article 
 in the paper! 'Coming to the Front!' 
 Yes, I'm coming! Coming a tramp, 
 sneaking and stealing home during the 
 dead of night." 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 One year after his return home John 
 was seated at the library table in his 
 handsomely furnished office. On the 
 ground glass door, in neat gold letters, 
 was "J- A. Downey, Attorney at Law." 
 He was in excellent spirits, and was 
 summing up his first year's practice, 
 looking over his bank book and record 
 of cases. He was congratulating him- 
 self when he heard someone at the door. 
 The knob turned with a click, the door 
 opened, and in walked Just Sense, who 
 greeted him cordially. 
 
 "Very fine day, this, my boy," said 
 he ; "very fine ! How are you, anyhow? 
 Just thought I would drop in and see 
 how you are getting along. You are 
 looking well. Nice office, too. Every- 
 thing neat and clean, furnished in good 
 taste, and it looks cosy and comfortable. 
 This is a little bit different from the 
 time I saw you last. From the way you 
 talked then I could hardly have expect- 
 ed to find you, in the space of a year, so 
 nicely surrounded, with every indica- 
 
 440 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 441 
 
 tion that you have been both prosperous 
 and successful. How did it come about, 
 my boy? How did it come about?" 
 
 "Very glad you have come," said 
 John, "very glad. Just be seated and I 
 will try to tell you." 
 
 Just Sense walked to the comfortable 
 chair on the opposite side of the table, 
 seated himself, took off his glasses, and 
 instead of proceeding to clean them, 
 laid them down upon the table. John 
 looked at the glasses ; they were surely 
 gold and glass, as surely as the table was 
 wood. He looked at the man; surely 
 the face and hands were flesh, the hair, 
 hair, and the clothes, clothes, as much so 
 as the chair in which he sat was leather 
 and wood. As Just Sense had settled in 
 awaiting, listening attitude, John pro- 
 ceeded with his story as follows : 
 
 "You recollect having told me at one 
 time that the unexpected generally hap- 
 pens. Well, it has; and I have found, 
 too, that the unexpected good may hap- 
 pen as well as the unexpected bad. I 
 never expected, never dreamed of any- 
 thing of this kind, when on my way 
 home. I was then thoroughly discour- 
 
442 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 aged, had given up, as you well know, 
 and expected nothing in life. Ambition 
 had died, and I thought there was noth- 
 ing more to live for — and when it died, 
 I could not restrain a passing tear, for 
 from my earliest years I had dreamed of 
 being a noted and distinguished man, of 
 being at the top of the ladder some- 
 where, and I could not give all that up 
 without a tear; no, sir, not without a 
 tear." 
 
 "Yes," said Just Sense, "all these 
 years you dreamed of doing great 
 things, like so many youths, and the last 
 four years you have been running all 
 over the country in vain attempts to do 
 great things you could not do, instead 
 of remaining at home and being content 
 to do little things you could do. You 
 have spent too many years dreaming of 
 becoming a great man in a great city, 
 which you could not be, instead of being 
 willing and satisfied to be a little 
 man in a little city, which you could be. 
 'Every little fish expects to be a whale,' 
 you know; and 'every ass thinks itself 
 worthy to stand with the king's horses.' 
 In youth so many little fishes and asses 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 443 
 
 think themselves whales and king's 
 horses, and not a few in later years. 
 What you wept over was the death of 
 youth's ambitions, the end of youthful 
 dreams. Ah, the beautiful dreams of 
 youth! Who has not had these dashed 
 to pieces in the hard and matter-of-fact 
 world, and wept over the catastrophe? 
 Who has not dropped tears into the 
 grave of his youthful ambitions and 
 dreams? But the right thing is to 'cut 
 your wisdom teeth as early as you can ;' 
 for 'he is wise truly who is wise early.' 
 The misfortune with you was that the 
 funeral did not occur sooner, but occur 
 it had to before you could get down to 
 your right level, be content to live in a 
 small town, and achieve an ordinary 
 and common success." 
 
 "Yes, I realize it now," said John. 
 "That funeral was the making of me, 
 though I did not see it at the time. I 
 had so thoroughly made up my mind to 
 being a big man in a big city that I 
 looked down upon, was dissatisfied with, 
 and even so despised the quiet, peaceful 
 life in this little city that it was impossi- 
 ble then for me to live it. I had to be 
 
444 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 knocked about all over the country be- 
 fore I could appreciate life here and be 
 content to come back and live it.. It's 
 many a hard knock I got, sir; many a 
 hard knock. And after it all I came 
 home, penniless, glad enough then to 
 come to what I had run away from be- 
 fore." 
 
 "Well," said Just Sense, " 'a rolling 
 stone gathers no moss.' 'A tree that is 
 often transplanted bears little fruit.' 
 You've learned, too, that 'a rolling rock 
 gets many a knock' and that 'those who 
 shift often will often be put to shifts.' 
 Then 'three removes are as bad as a 
 fire' — I guess it had been both fire and 
 flood in your case. But now you are 
 settled, I would advise you to remain so, 
 for the older you get, the more perilous 
 it is to change. A young tree may be 
 transplanted once or twice, but even it 
 does not always flourish. But 'remove 
 an old tree and it will wither and die.' " 
 
 "Yes, I am going to remain settled," 
 replied John. "I have had my fill of 
 moving about. The fact is, I found upon 
 returning home that I had turned my 
 back upon and run away from one of 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 445 
 
 the best and most prosperous little cities 
 in the whole country. Instead of find- 
 ing life dull, monotonous, and uninter- 
 esting, as I had found it before, and ex- 
 pected to find again, I found quite the 
 reverse. In the first place, I received a 
 most hearty welcome home. The whole 
 population seemed glad to receive me 
 and extended a glad hand. It was an- 
 nounced in the daily paper that 'John 
 Downey, a noted writer, who has been 
 traveling the last four years throughout 
 the United States and Mexico, has re- 
 turned home from New York City — a 
 most welcomed visitor.' Traveling 
 throughout the United States and Mex- 
 ico! That sounded well, and seemed to 
 imply Pullman cars, good hotels, plen- 
 ty of money, and a life of pleasure. But 
 no one seemed to care anything about, 
 nor made any inquiries as to the means 
 by which I had actually gotten about, 
 and I volunteered no information. As 
 to 'noted writer,' my feats in the home 
 and St. Louis papers satisfied them. 
 
 "With this announcement in the pa- 
 per, I at once took my old place in the 
 best society the town affords. I was in- 
 
446 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 vited to parties and receptions. I was 
 feted and honored in the best homes, 
 some of them elegant, and even sumptu- 
 ous places. And as I partook of dainty 
 luncheons amidst flowers, music, and 
 colored lights, made much over by the 
 handsome girls of my schoolboy days, I 
 thought of the many times I had been a 
 wanderer and outcast, seeking with 
 mortification a bit of food at the back 
 doors of many such homes as those in 
 which I was now an honored guest. 
 Fortune had surely turned the tables for 
 me in this respect, though in other re- 
 spects they have been turned the other 
 way. I could not help feeling this 
 when I was stealing at night through 
 the old college town." 
 
 "The kaleidoscope of fortune is turn- 
 ing constantly round and round," said 
 Just Sense. "Look into it and you will 
 see an ever-changing, an ever-shifting 
 scene. Those who are at one time at the 
 top, at another have dropped, or sifted, 
 to the bottom. Those who are at one 
 time at the bottom, at another shift, 
 move to the top. Look closer and you 
 will see that each bit of colored glass is 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 447 
 
 itself a kaleidoscope, and that there is in 
 each a constantly changing scene; for 
 with every man fortune is constantly, in 
 some things, taking from, humbling, 
 and casting down, while in other things 
 she is giving to and raising up. But in 
 the end she generally evens up things, 
 each man according to his merits and 
 deserts. 
 
 "There is cause, though, for all this 
 changing and shifting of scene. It does 
 not take place through mere chance. 
 Back of it all, and the cause of it all, 
 is the fact that 'every man is the maker 
 of his own fortune.' 'As you make your 
 bed you must lie on it.' 'What you put 
 in the dough you will find in the bread.' 
 'As you bake such your cake,' 'as you 
 build such your house;' 'as you sow you 
 must reap.' In fact, 'the world is as you 
 take it; it will be what you make it,' — 
 'every man's fortune is what he makes 
 it.' You took your old place in society, 
 were invited to parties and receptions; 
 were feted and honored because you 
 were entitled to it, honored before leav- 
 ing home." 
 
 "Perhaps," replied John. "These 
 
448 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 parties and receptions made life pleas- 
 ant for me in the little town. They 
 made me appreciate it and the people 
 who lived in it. I found that there was 
 as much pleasure and enjoyment in life 
 in a small town as in the great city; that 
 one could have all the comforts and con- 
 veniences of living with none of the 
 strife, competition and suffering that 
 must be met with in the larger place. 
 
 "A political campaign being then in 
 progress, after an invitation and some 
 persuasion on the part of the powers 
 that be, and much hesitancy and doubt 
 on my part, it was announced in the 
 daily paper, with something of a flour- 
 ish, that John Downey, an extensive 
 traveler, would speak on the political 
 issues of the day in various parts of the 
 county. This announcement raised me in 
 the estimation of the people, and I be- 
 gan to have some honor among them. I 
 prepared a little speech, and when the 
 time came was driven, with other speak- 
 ers, to different parts of the county. 
 Everywhere we were treated with great 
 respect and consideration, were made 
 much of by the people — all of which 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 449 
 
 began to make me have a better opinion 
 of myself. Other people began to think 
 me a little something, and I began to 
 think I was a little something myself." 
 
 "'He who thinks himself nothing is 
 something,' " said Just Sense. "When I 
 talked with you at the old college town, 
 you had come to the conclusion you 
 were nothing, hadn't you ?" 
 
 "I thought I was worse than noth- 
 ing," replied John. 
 
 "You had just reached the right point 
 to go ahead and do something, as you 
 have done. Humility is an excellent 
 thing to bring a man to his true self. 
 When a man comes down, he is in con- 
 dition to go ahead and do best the things 
 he can do. 'The boughs that bear boun- 
 tifully hang low.' But humility must 
 not be carried to that point where a man 
 debases and demeans himself ; where he 
 so underrates his powers that he has 
 no incentive to act. It must never be 
 carried to that point where a man 
 loses all faith and confidence in himself. 
 'Humility is to have a just idea of your- 
 self.' And while 'no man is the worse 
 for knowing the worst of himself,' yet 
 
 29 
 
450 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 he must not think himself worse than he 
 is. 'Be low in humility but high in 
 hope.' With humility one must have 
 sufficient hope, faith and confidence to 
 put forth his best efforts and endeavors. 
 A man should always think, enough of 
 himself for that. What you were badly 
 needing at that time was more self-re- 
 spect. It was well, then, that you began 
 to think, better of yourself." 
 
 "Well, I did," continued John. "At 
 least, I thought enough of myself, after 
 the campaign was over> to make an 
 effort to start in my profession. I just 
 went about it with no expectations of 
 any kind. It was more with a feeling 
 that I ought to have an occupation of 
 some kind or at least make a show of 
 having one. I tried to obtain office room 
 with some of my old friends, already 
 established, for I had no money with 
 which to start for myself. None gave 
 me any encouragement, but I kept right 
 on trying, when, one day, I stepped into 
 the office of a real estate firm — this 
 place — and made my wants known. 
 
 " 'Just what we have been wanting,' 
 said Mr. Jones, senior member of the 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 451 
 
 firm, a jovial fellow, of a kindly dispo- 
 sition, and a shrewd business man. 'We 
 have been looking around for a lawyer 
 in the office. We have been giving con- 
 siderable business to different firms, and 
 we thought it would be more conven- 
 ient to have a lawyer right in the office, 
 where he would always be handy for 
 consultation and advice. Just the right 
 man struck the right place.' 
 
 "It did not take long to arrange de- 
 tails. Jones had a wide acquaintance 
 over the county, and a large business. I 
 was introduced to everybody that came 
 into the office. At first it was as 'Mr. 
 Downey, best lawyer in the county,' 
 then 'Mr. Downey, best lawyer in the 
 state. He's practiced in Denver, Seat- 
 tle, New York City, and is away up.' 
 
 "When I protested, Jones would laugh 
 heartily, for he seemed to enjoy my em- 
 barrassment. But he would say, more 
 soberly, 'Just the thing you want, young 
 man ; just the thing you want. Make the 
 people think you are something if you 
 want their business. Make them think 
 you are competent if you want to be en^ 
 trusted with their affairs.' " 
 
452 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "And the way to make them believe 
 you are competent is by being so," inter- 
 jected Just Sense. 
 
 "True," replied John. " 'And mingle 
 and mix with the people,' Jones said. 
 'Get right down among them and be 
 their friends. You are a little too re- 
 served and backward. The people will 
 misunderstand and think you are on the 
 high horse, and cannot be approached. 
 Make yourself easy to be approached. 
 Encourage it by all possible means. 
 Come right out; make yourself one of 
 the people, a real friend, and they will 
 give you their business.' And when 
 business did not come of itself, he would 
 say, 'Get right out now and hustle some- 
 thing up. When business don't come, 
 go after it. That's the way ; go after it.' " 
 
 "Yes, the right man struck the right 
 place," said Just Sense. "You were too 
 modest for your own good. While I 
 have no admiration for the man who is 
 constantly blowing himself to the skies, 
 who succeeds by fooling the people, by 
 making them believe he is something 
 when he is not, yet every man must have 
 means of making his worth known. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 453 
 
 There are those quiet, tactful, dignified 
 methods most men of merit know and 
 practice, and which all should practice, 
 for be a man ever so meritorious and 
 worthy, he must not cower at home and 
 expect to be sought after. As the home- 
 ly phrase goes, 'Bashful dogs get little 
 meat, bravely take your proper seat.' " 
 
 "I did that," replied John, "thanks to 
 the assistance of Jones. And I found 
 that by going after business I could get 
 it, thanks to Jones again. I have just 
 been looking over my bank book. Here 
 it is, sir. How proud I felt when I 
 made my first deposit and received the 
 book with my name on the back! And 
 here are the deposits for the year, one 
 thousand dollars. What do you think 
 of that, sir — one thousand dollars come 
 into the hands of John Downey in one 
 year — John Downey, so often penni- 
 less, homeless, and foodless? What do 
 you think of that, sir? One thousand 
 dollars! Of course there is the debit 
 side, but still the nice little balance of 
 three hundred is left, after having made 
 a payment on the home mortgage, and 
 lived well during the year. What do 
 
454 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 you think of that, sir?" asked John 
 again, for he felt proud of his record. 
 
 "Good enough!" replied Just Sense, 
 glancing over the credit and debit side 
 of the bank book. "Your four years' 
 experience has taught you one thing, I 
 am sure, the value of money — a most 
 important thing to learn, too. One of 
 the first things for a young man to learn 
 in life is the value of money. Until he 
 has learned this, he cannot keep what he 
 has, if he has anything, or go ahead, 
 make, save and take care of what he 
 saves, if he starts with nothing. This is 
 often the most costly knowledge, too. 
 Some have to lose all they have before 
 they can appreciate what money is ; oth- 
 ers have to learn it through hard and 
 bitter experience, as you have done; 
 others can never learn it at all. But I 
 am satisfied that you are one that has 
 learned it. From this bank book I see 
 that you are just now getting your name 
 on the credit side of the ledger. The 
 world is divided into two great classes, 
 those who have and those who have not. 
 The haves are on the credit side of the 
 ledger ; the have-nots on the debit side. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 455 
 
 The one side must continually toil and 
 labor for the other, their time not their 
 own, their bodies not their own, some- 
 times their souls not their own. The 
 world will always be thus, for it has 
 been said, 'the poor ye shall have with 
 ye always.' But still every man has the 
 privilege, and should make the effort to 
 get on the credit side of the ledger, and 
 have his time and his body his own, at 
 least by the time he is worn out and no 
 longer fit for use. Keep your name on 
 the credit side of the ledger, my boy. 
 Keep your name on the credit side 1 It 
 means comforts in life ; your wants and 
 necessities supplied; independence and 
 ease when the hair grows gray." 
 
 "I will," replied John, "if it is possi- 
 ble through my own efforts, and within 
 the will of Providence. I have had my 
 fill of hardship and want. I have 
 learned the value of a dollar — I have 
 learned that, if nothing else in my four 
 years' experience. But I think I have 
 learned some other things, too. I real- 
 ize it now, though I could not see it 
 that way when we were passing that 
 night through the old college town." 
 
456 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "And your college education — what 
 do you say about that now?" asked Just 
 Sense. 
 
 "Well," acknowledged John, "the 
 difference between my situation now 
 and what it was while away from home 
 is due to my education. I have often 
 thought it was fortunate that I studied 
 law and fitted myself in this line before 
 leaving home, for if it had not been 
 for this I would to-day be a day laborer 
 with much poorer prospects in life." 
 
 "Yes, you were wise in that," said 
 Just Sense. "Every boy should learn a 
 trade, profession, or business of some 
 kind — the poor man's son to better his 
 position and condition in life, the rich 
 man's son for something to fall back on 
 when riches have fled ; for 'riches have 
 wings,' and they do fly." 
 
 "They do that," replied John. "I 
 have had a few cases of it right here in 
 the office. The very first case I had — 
 let's see," said John, as he reached on 
 the desk for his press book, in which he 
 kept a copy of the pleadings of all his 
 cases, "here it is," said he, reading from 
 a page in the book. " 'Case No. 16845 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 457 
 
 Champaign Circuit Court. John A. 
 Downey, Assignee of Gilbert Brooks. 
 Petition to sell Bankrupt's Property.' 
 And would you believe it, Gilbert 
 Brooks was the playmate of my school- 
 boy days, he rich and I poor — father 
 Judge of the Court, a good lawyer and 
 careful business man, accumulated 
 much property, but died when Gilbert 
 was ten years of age, leaving his son 
 and widow with plenty of this world's 
 goods. Gilbert, my old playmate, a 
 boy that never drank, smoked or 
 chewed, grew up a clean, chaste young 
 man without a bad habit, but his prop- 
 erty got away from him and his mother 
 — the assignment left them without a 
 penny, and now the young man is going 
 around in old clothes, hunting up odd 
 jobs to support a wife and baby — all for 
 the want of learning a trade, business or 
 profession when he had the time, the 
 means and the opportunity. And his 
 mother, who had lived so many years in 
 ease and comfort, is going about, an old 
 and broken-hearted woman, sewing for 
 fifty cents a day in families where she 
 can get work. That Gilbert Brooks and 
 
458 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 his mother should lose all their prop- 
 erty and come to want was the last 
 thing I would have dreamed of five 
 years ago." 
 
 "The kaleidoscope of fortune is turn- 
 ing round and round," said Just Sense. 
 "If a man himself does not change and 
 shift in the scene, it is his children, or 
 his children's children. This is only one 
 of thousands of cases, but I would be in- 
 terested to know how the property was 
 lost." 
 
 "From what I have learned, every- 
 thing went well until Gilbert became of 
 age and commenced to manage the es- 
 tate. Before that time the mother kept 
 everything as the father left it. But 
 Gilbert had not been in charge long 
 until it was discovered every property 
 had annoyances, perplexities, and vexa- 
 tions of some kind. One farm needed 
 ditching, another fencing. One renter 
 was continually annoying him to build 
 a new house ; a neighbor disputed a line 
 fence. The renter of the business block 
 in town was always nagging him to 
 make repairs and changes. Then there 
 were continual annoyances with the 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 459 
 
 houses that rented. One-renter wanted a 
 cistern, another papering. In another 
 house the plumbing was always out of 
 fix. It was always something, and every 
 time the rents were paid tenants would 
 take the opportunity to make life miser- 
 able on the subject of their grievances." 
 "Doubtless the case," interrupted 
 Just Sense. "Doubtless the easel That's 
 the usual thing and the natural condi- 
 tion. 'There is no corn without some 
 chaff;' 'there is no garden without 
 weeds ;' 'no land without stones, no meat 
 without bones.' 'The rough and smooth, 
 the soft and hard make up life, and it is 
 no use hoping to see it altered.' Yes, the 
 soft and hard. 'Life is made up of the 
 rose and thorn; what can't be enjoyed 
 must be patiently borne.' In truth, 
 'earth knows no joy without alloy.' 
 Every property has its annoyances and 
 vexations of some kind; so every busi- 
 ness and pursuit in life. Everything 
 has its drawbacks and setbacks, its dark 
 and disagreeable side. But 'he is a poor 
 smith who cannot bear smoke.' 'Who 
 would have honey must put up with 
 bees.' " 
 
460 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "If my friend Gilbert could have 
 realized that," replied John, "he might 
 have had something to-day; for these 
 annoyances and vexations made him 
 dissatisfied with the various properties. 
 Offers to sell and trade came, and think- 
 ing to rid himself of his grievances, he 
 was ready to both sell and trade, his ob- 
 ject being to change the estate into prop- 
 erties and investments that were free 
 from cares. But each time he worsted 
 his condition. Then he had a good 
 opinion of his ability to sell and trade, 
 generally thinking he had made a good 
 trade, a good sale, or a good purchase; 
 but each time he lost, though he could 
 not see it that way until it was too late. 
 Thefact is,hewas no trader or investor." 
 
 "Ever earn a thousand dollars of his 
 own money?" asked Just Sense. 
 
 "A thousand dollars? I should say 
 not! I doubt whether he ever earned a 
 hundred dollars of his own." 
 
 "Just as I thought. It is quite com- 
 mon for sons of rich, and of only mod- 
 erately well-to-do fathers to run 
 through with and lose the property left 
 them, all because they have had life 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 461 
 
 made too easy, and have never been 
 obliged to earn money of their own. If 
 I could have run across that young man 
 I would have said to him: "Young 
 man, what are you about? Let this 
 property alone. Learn a trade, a busi- 
 ness or profession of some kind. Earn 
 a thousand dollars of your own. You 
 will then know what a thousand dollars 
 are. It will then be time enough for 
 you think of trading, selling, and re- 
 investing the estate your good father 
 left you. Do not be dissatisfied ; annoy- 
 ances, perplexities, vexations and diffi- 
 culties are to be expected in all things, 
 and must be dealt with and overcome. 
 And do not think you can improve on 
 your good father's judgment, and better 
 the estate. The hand that made the 
 money is the one that knew best how to 
 invest it. Changing properties, selling 
 and reinvesting always involves risk of 
 worsting your condition, and while this 
 is a means by which some men make 
 fortunes, it requires shrewdness and 
 judgment few young men possess, and 
 scarcely any man until he has earned 
 money of his own." 
 
462 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "If you had so spoken," interjected 
 John, "he would not have listened, for 
 many of his friends and relatives gave 
 him this kind of advice, but he would 
 not listen — no, he would not iisten." 
 
 "Yes, 'every fool will give advice, but 
 few of them will take it.' This was the 
 case of the fool that would not, but 
 ought to have taken it. 'The man who 
 does not trust his own judgment is a 
 man of good judgment.' This was the 
 case of the man who should not have 
 trusted his own judgment. Until a 
 young man has judgment of his own, 
 and many have not, and never do have, 
 he should seek the advice of the best 
 and most successful men about him. 
 And what is this next case?" asked Just 
 Sense, pointing to the opposite page of 
 the book. 
 
 "This is case No. 16899; also one 
 of my old playmates. His father was a 
 well-to-do merchant; son had life easy, 
 and was never required to earn a dollar 
 of his own. He did, however, learn a 
 trade — went into business for himself, 
 and lost all." 
 
 "I see you have sifted out the cause," 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 463 
 
 said Just Sense, "tried to be proprietor 
 of the shop, when he was only a hired 
 hand." 
 
 "That's it," replied John. "And here 
 is another case, No. " 
 
 "That's enough," interrupted Just 
 Sense. "What I wanted to know was 
 whether you have had your eyes opened, 
 and had been studying and profiting 
 from the failures of others. We always 
 hear enough of the man who succeeds — 
 but the man who fails — you will have 
 to observe and study out that for your- 
 self. It is important that you should do 
 so, for as much, if not more, is to be 
 learned from the man who fails as from 
 the man who succeeds. If you are wise 
 enough to see the real cause of failure in 
 others — and I see that you have been — 
 you will avoid those causes yourself. 
 Keep right on as you have been, my boy, 
 studying out the causes of all the fail- 
 ures about you. JLearn wisdom from 
 the follies of otners.' 'Let another's 
 shipwreck be your beacon,' for 'one 
 man's fault should be another man's 
 lesson.' It is well in every failure that 
 as many learn therefrom as possible." 
 
464 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "I see that you have also had a num- 
 ber of foreclosure suits. You must have 
 been having hard times here, too." 
 
 "Yes," replied John, "it has been 
 much the same all over the country. I 
 don't blame one place more than an- 
 other for anything that has happened 
 to me." 
 
 "These foreclosures remind me that I 
 should caution you about debt, for this 
 is the cause of most failures in both 
 good times and bad. 'If you want to 
 know the value of a dollar try to bor- 
 row one,' is an old saying, and true — of 
 the man who has nothing. But in these 
 days nothing is easier for the man who 
 has something than to borrow. But be 
 it ever so easy to borrow, it is never as 
 easy to pay back. Debt is a burden that 
 breaks many a man's back, so be cau- 
 tious of the size of the load you put 
 upon your shoulders; for what is as- 
 sumed lightly often becomes a burden 
 that crushes to earth. It is better to 
 keep out of debt altogether, for 'loans 
 and debts make worries and frets,' and 
 'anything is better than being a debtor.' 
 And let those debts you do have be as 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 465 
 
 small as possible, and debts you can 
 master, or they will master you, and 
 hard, hard masters they are, too. What 
 you have is not your own if you are in 
 debt for it, and may be taken from you 
 when you least expect. Always under- 
 estimate your ability as to the amount of 
 debt you think you can master. Over- 
 estimation in this respect is what fills 
 the courts of bankruptcy. Ah! the 
 courts of bankruptcy — think of all they 
 mean, and 'with tooth and nail, 'gainst 
 debt prevail.' 
 
 "Yes, beware of debt, my boy ; beware 
 of debt; 'it only makes worry and fret.' 
 
 "And now good-day to you, my boy, 
 good-day! Your continued success is 
 the desire of my heart!" 
 
 Just Sense arose, walked to the door, 
 opened it, went out and closed it, the 
 same as any other man. John listened 
 and heard his footsteps on the stairs as 
 he descended into the street. 
 
 30 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 John continued to succeed. By faith- 
 fulness to the interests of his clients, 
 close attention and application to busi- 
 ness and trustworthiness he built up a. 
 practice that grew each year. The in- 
 struction he had received from Just 
 Sense and the others had woven itself 
 into his character ; indeed, these experi- 
 ences had been but the unconscious 
 formations of his character. In ad- 
 dition it might be said he adopt- 
 ed a principle to render value received 
 for every fee paid him. If he could not 
 do a man any good, he did not want his 
 business. His first care was to go over 
 every case offered him carefully, to as- 
 certain whether the proposed client was 
 in the right or wrong. If in the wrong 
 he advised a compromise or settlement; 
 if in the right to litigate to the bitter 
 end. After he had taken a case he did 
 all in his power to bring out and make 
 the best of everything in it. Just as it 
 was his principle to make the best of 
 every one of his talentSj so it was his 
 
 466 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 467 
 
 principle to make the best of every 
 point in his client's case, and he 
 generally won. Justice, he thought, was 
 often imposed upon and wrong pre- 
 vailed, simply because the most and best 
 was not made of right. The public 
 gradually learned to trust him. He 
 could neither be bought nor sold, and 
 those who gave him business once gave 
 it again. 
 
 At the end of three years he paid off 
 the mortgage on his mother's home and 
 had saved about one thousand dollars 
 for himself. The one thousand he had 
 invested in a property now worth fifteen 
 hundred. He took a great deal of pride 
 in being the owner of a neat and tasty 
 residence that brought him an income 
 of one hundred and fifty dollars a year. 
 But having had a taste, he soon became 
 possessed with a great desire for more. 
 He made a close study of the people 
 about him, as to how they acquired and 
 accumulated property. With the great 
 majority it was through industry and 
 economy. But these were slow and sim- 
 ple methods,, and those who got on fast- 
 er used other methods. What he himself 
 
468 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 had, he had acquired by industry and 
 economy. But he would have to make 
 better progress. If he continued at the 
 same rate it would take him ten years 
 to make five thousand, and twenty years 
 to make ten thousand. This would take 
 the best years of his life, and health, 
 upon which so much depended, was un- 
 certain. So far as material things were 
 concerned, his principal object in life 
 was to secure ease, comfort and inde- 
 pendence in old age — what Uncle Save 
 had advised. But he was afraid he 
 would have to have some speedier 
 methods than those of Uncle Save. He 
 gave much thought to the subject and 
 read the lives of poor men who had ac- 
 cumulated great riches, who had made 
 thousands and millions in a single year. 
 It was John's custom to take a walk 
 every morning into the country before 
 going to his office. When upon these 
 walks, passing through some woods, 
 some open field, or along some quiet 
 country road, he often expressed his 
 thought aloud. One morning, while 
 following a footpath which wound its 
 way beside a quiet stream, he expressed 
 
HIS BETTER SELF' 469 
 
 his thoughts in reference to the princi- 
 ples of Uncle Save and the others as 
 follows : 
 
 "These principles are all right — yes, 
 all right. What I am and what I have 
 I owe entirely to them. I feel truly 
 thankful and grateful. But to sum up 
 all, on the one point at least, it must be 
 said that I have only made a start. What 
 I have is a mere drop in the bucket as 
 riches go nowadays. Some men make 
 fifteen hundred dollars, all I am worth, 
 in a single month, in a single day — yes,' 
 in a single hour. How are thousands, 
 and even millions made in a single year? 
 It has been done, is being done, and can 
 be done. Not by industry and economy 
 alone. I don't want millions, and do 
 not expect it. But I must make money 
 faster; yes, I must do it, as a matter of 
 protection in old age and to guard 
 against a repetition of the hardships I 
 have already suffered. Yes, I must do 
 it. The fact is, I have learned really 
 nothing, so far, upon the real art of 
 making money, with all respect to Just 
 Sense, Dr. Work, and old Uncle Save. 
 Yes, old Uncle Save, you " 
 
470 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 "Yes, old Uncle Save! Here I am, 
 my boy. You had not intended to call 
 me forth, but merely to say 'you are a 
 good old soul, but not up to date.' But 
 I'm here, and let's talk it over." 
 
 And there he was walking at John's 
 side, the same huge body, large face, 
 double chin, three-cornered hat, frilled 
 shirt, dark broadcloth coat, dark velvet 
 knee pants, as real as the tall grass 
 through which he walked, the rippling 
 waters in the stream near by, the flying 
 birds, and the blue sky overhead. 
 
 "Not getting rich fast enough, hey, 
 my boy?" continued Uncle Save, lifting 
 his brows and wrinkling his forehead in 
 a questioning expression. "Want to 
 know some of the higher art of making 
 money, do you? Well, my methods are 
 simple and slow. Thank God for that, 
 for then the great mass of mankind can 
 learn them. What this world needs is 
 not more men who know the art and 
 have the ability to acquire great riches, 
 but more of those who have nothing to 
 learn and put in practice the simpler 
 arts of acquiring a moderate compe- 
 tence. My boy, do you remember the 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 471 
 
 time you were a homeless wanderer 
 upon this earth, often penniless, and 
 foodless, and shelterless? We came to 
 you then in your time of need, I and the 
 others, who have been so near to you. 
 We endeavored to give you every in- 
 struction, according to your particular 
 needs and circumstances, consistent with 
 honesty, right, and justice to yourself 
 and your fellowman. Do not forget 
 that time, my boy; do not forget it. If 
 we have not instructed you in the high- 
 er arts of making money, and if I would 
 now endeavor to persuade you not to 
 seek to learn and practice these yourself, 
 it is because there are so many who have 
 not the power, the ability, the strength 
 and opportunity to raise themselves 
 from lives of abject poverty, as you have 
 done. 
 
 "Not getting rich fast enough, my 
 boy? What are riches? It has been 
 said 'there is that maketh rich, yet hath 
 nothing ; there is that maketh poor, yet 
 hath great riches.' If this is true, what 
 are riches? And who is rich? Not he 
 who has the most dollars; no, not he. 
 I'll tell you. 'He has the most who 
 
472 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 wants the least.' 'You are rich if you 
 want no more.' But 'those are very poor 
 whom nothing will satisfy.' It is possi- 
 ble, then, for one with only fifteen hun- 
 dred dollars to be very rich, while one 
 with millions may be very poor. Not 
 getting rich fast enough, my boy? Hast- 
 en the pursuit as much as possible. Bend 
 every nerve, strain every muscle, put 
 forth all your strength and energy, and 
 the probabilities are the more you get, 
 the more you will want, so that the 
 richer you become, the poorer you will 
 be. 
 
 "Not getting rich fast enough, my 
 boy? What do you want with riches, 
 and how much ought you to have? You 
 can take none with you when you leave 
 this world, that's certain. While here 
 you need food, shelter, and clothing. 
 These riches buy ; but the best and high- 
 est things in life, money cannot buy, and 
 'a hammer of gold will not open the 
 gate of heaven.' Yes, you need food, 
 shelter, and clothing. These you are 
 now obtaining in abundant quantities, 
 and are laying by enough, each year, to 
 provide for the time when you shall 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 473 
 
 cease from the active duties of life. 
 When one is getting ample for present 
 use and making sufficient provision for 
 old age, what more does he want or 
 need to have? This much of riches we 
 have urged you to take; for every man 
 should endeavor, by every honorable 
 and honest means, to make himself in- 
 dependent and self-sustaining all 
 through life, especially in old age; and 
 should have sufficient for this purpose 
 for himself and those dependent upon 
 him. And we have instructed you in 
 enough of the arts of money making to 
 obtain this much, and you are now ob- 
 taining it. 
 
 "Yes, this much of riches you ought 
 to have; but any more than this you 
 should not take. To do so you commit 
 an injury and wrong to your fellow- 
 man. As long as there are people in 
 this world who cannot, through honest 
 endeavor, obtain sufficient food, cloth- 
 ing, and shelter to properly maintain 
 and sustain life, no man can take more 
 than his share of this world's wealth, 
 no matter what the process, nor how 
 much sanctioned by law, without com- 
 
474 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 mitting an injury and wrong to his fel- 
 lowman. 
 
 "Not getting rich fast enough, my 
 boy? Do not be so hasty as to forget 
 that, 'a single penny fairly got is worth 
 a thousand that is not;' that 'little and 
 often fills the purse, but haste for riches 
 brings a curse.' Do not be so hasty as 
 to forget that 'wealth and worth are dif- 
 ferent things,' that, 'one may buy gold 
 too dear,' and that 'money often un- 
 makes the man who makes it.' 'Adver- 
 sity has slain her thousands, but pros- 
 perity her tens of thousands.' Yes, my 
 son, be not too hasty for riches. 'He 
 that hasteth to be rich shall not be inno- 
 cent.' 'He that hasteth to be rich hath 
 an evil eye.' 
 
 "For these reasons, I would not want 
 you, or any man, poor; neither would 
 I want you rich, or hasty in acquiring 
 what you ought to have. As for me, I 
 can say as Solomon said, 'give me 
 neither poverty nor riches.' Give me 
 enough to save and protect me from 
 want and need ; but not enough, by tak- 
 ing from, to injure my fellowman. Yes, 
 as for me, 'give me neither poverty nor 
 riches.' " 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 475 
 
 Though the two had been walking 
 leisurely, Uncle Save had become short 
 of breath, and was breathing hard when 
 he finished. John heard twigs and dry 
 sticks snap under his feet, and in several 
 places saw footprints where he had 
 passed over soft ground. A log being 
 near, Uncle Save went over, sat down, 
 pulled out his handkerchief, and wiped 
 his brow which was slightly perspiring. 
 While he was doing this John an- 
 swered: 
 
 "A very good saying, sir, very good! 
 And I suppose the most of mankind 
 would be satisfied to say it for them- 
 selves. But if every man adopted it as 
 a principle to take no more than his 
 share of the world's wealth, just suffi- 
 cient for the needs of himself and those 
 dependent upon him, the incentive that 
 has caused men of ability and power 
 to go forth and accomplish so much in 
 the progress and advancement of the 
 world would be lost, and the world 
 would lose the benefit of their labors 
 and endeavors. If a man does take 
 more than his share, he can be charita- 
 ble and help the poor. Many of the 
 
476 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 poor are so from vicious and destructive 
 habits, and an easier world for them 
 would simply mean more opportunity 
 to indulge their vices; while in these 
 days, few of the worthy poor suffer 
 much. Then, it appears to me, it is pos- 
 sible for a man to become rich honestly. 
 Here a man plunges into a wilderness, 
 builds a great railroad, opens up a vast 
 and rich country, and while he makes 
 millions for himself, there are thou- 
 sands upon thousands that benefit from 
 his labors, find homes, prosperity, and 
 contentment, acquire the moderate com- 
 petence of which you speak. Does such 
 a man injure and wrong his fellowman, 
 or is he a benefit?" 
 
 "Such a man is a benefit, 'tis true; 
 but not as great a benefit as he should 
 be. When I said no man should take 
 more than his share of the world's 
 wealth, irrespective of the process, I 
 did not state the case as strongly as is 
 warranted by divine teaching. 'Go 
 and give what thou hast to the poor and 
 follow me,' said Christ to the rich 
 young man, and no questions were 
 asked as to how honestly he had ac- 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 477 
 
 quired his wealth, nor, in the acquire- 
 ment of it, how much he had benefited 
 his fellowman. 
 
 "As for riches and charity, true char- 
 ity consists in refraining from taking 
 more than one needs, and I am inclined 
 to believe that whoever takes more than 
 he needs and has to have, can never 
 make up for it by any kind of charity. 
 Whether the poor are so from vicious 
 and destructive habits, to whom are 
 they answerable — to God or to the 
 rich? Many things are done in these 
 days to relieve the sufferings of the wor- 
 thy poor, as you say; but that the wor- 
 thy are poor at all is because those who 
 have the ability and strength take more 
 than they ought to take. 
 
 "As for incentive, did the lack of an 
 incentive of this kind prevent Colum- 
 bus from going forth and discovering 
 and opening up, for the benefit of man- 
 kind, an entire new world, never 
 dreamed of before? Did the lack of an 
 incentive of this kind prevent Wash- 
 ington from serving his country without 
 pay, Milton from giving to the world 
 Paradise Regained after he had been 
 
478 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 so poorly rewarded for Paradise Lost? 
 Incentive, my boy? By far the best, the 
 noblest, highest, and greatest things 
 have been given this world without an 
 incentive of this kind. The history of 
 art, science, literature, liberty, and re- 
 ligion is full of such incidents. Man 
 does his work because it is in him to do 
 it; and whatever is in a man will out, 
 irrespective of incentive, and even in 
 the face of persecution and death. What 
 is in a man he will do, and must do, just 
 as the flower must bloom, the bird must 
 sing. This is the way God has made 
 and constituted man, as He has made 
 all other things, to give forth to the 
 world the things that are in them. And 
 because man is so made and constituted, 
 he owes his talents and abilities to the 
 world, and should give them to his fel- 
 lowman, just as the flower owes and 
 gives its bloom, the bird its song, the 
 tree its fruit. That man who prostitutes 
 the powers and abilities given him to 
 the selfish and sordid accumulation of 
 great riches for himself commits a 
 wrong against himself, his God, and his 
 fellowman. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 479 
 
 "What this world needs is not more 
 men of great fortunes, but men who 
 have the power and ability to accumu- 
 late riches, those who have the genius to 
 be masters of great industries, to have 
 also the greatness of charity to desist as 
 soon as they have taken their share of 
 the world's wealth, as soon as they have 
 enough for the needs of themselves and 
 those dependent upon them, to desist — 
 not from their labors and endeavors, 
 but from taking more wealth ; who then, 
 at the very latest, would exert the will 
 power to subdue selfishness, and, instead 
 of preying upon and oppressing their 
 fellowman, give their great powers and 
 abilities to the benefit and improvement 
 of mankind, as the men of art, science, 
 literature, liberty, and religion have 
 given and are now giving their abilities. 
 The world needs men of this kind. 
 
 "Ah! my boy, for the man who will 
 plunge into the wilderness, build a 
 great railroad, open up a new country, 
 and make happy homes for thousands 
 of his fellowmen, who will say: 'So 
 much will I take for myself, what I 
 
480 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 need and have to have, but nothing 
 more. This work I do, because it is in 
 me to do it; because I have the ability to 
 do it; because it is no more difficult for 
 me to do this great work than it is for 
 the man of small ability to do a small 
 work. My purpose is to help, benefit 
 and better the condition of mankind, 
 not to prey upon it and take as much as 
 possible for myself.' And all the in- 
 habitants of that country shall praise 
 his name and call him blessed; monu- 
 ments shall be erected in every city and 
 hamlet to his memory; and his name 
 shall be handed down from generation 
 unto generation, as long as the memory 
 of man shall live, honored and loved by 
 his fellowman. The sordid riches he 
 could have taken would be nothing 
 compared with the loving remembrance 
 of a grateful people. Oh ! my boy, for 
 such a man! There never has been in 
 the history of the world a better oppor- 
 tunity for the appearance of good and 
 great benefactors of mankind, because 
 the world is making such great prog- 
 ress. But how many have appeared and 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 481 
 
 been found wanting; how many have 
 prostituted their great powers and abili- 
 ties to selfishness, instead of giving to 
 their fellowman that they owe, and 
 ought to give ! 
 
 "And as for yourself, whether you 
 have small or great ability, let not 
 riches be the object and aim of your 
 life. Do the work that is in you, be it 
 little or great, not for money, not for 
 gain ; do it because you have the ability 
 to do it, and because that ability was 
 given you, and you owe it because it 
 was given. Let the pleasure of the work 
 be your chief reward. And if you give 
 to the world what you owe, I am sure 
 the world will give, and you can with a 
 clear conscience take what you ought to 
 have — sufficient for your wants and 
 needs as long as you are upon earth. 
 What more can you desire? What more 
 can you want?" 
 
 31 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 John had returned home the first day 
 of October, 1896. There was no neces- 
 sity for the great dread he had experi- 
 enced of having to confront Florence, 
 a failure and disgrace. After leaving 
 Florida the correspondence between 
 them had been desultory and John had 
 not written to her for several months 
 during his period of despondency in 
 New York. She had inquired of his 
 mother how he was getting along, but 
 she was able to give her little satisfac- 
 tion. Perhaps this had something to do 
 with her marriage with Bowen which 
 took place the last week in September, 
 while John was on his way home. This 
 did not affect him greatly. In fact, it 
 was an actual relief. He came to the 
 conclusion that she was not the woman 
 for him and her marriage to another the 
 best to happen. A woman willing to 
 marry him only on condition of his 
 achieving a certain success, and not wil- 
 ling to share the struggles for that suc- 
 cess, was not the woman to share his 
 
 482 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 483 
 
 future struggles or failure, should that 
 occur in later life. It would have been 
 far better if he had accepted her annul- 
 ment of the engagement as final. But 
 he could not see it then, as Patience told 
 him, that it was the best to happen. He 
 now found, too, as Patience had said, 
 that 'there are as good fish in the sea as 
 were ever taken out of it,' and plenty of 
 them. 
 
 The little city in which he lived con- 
 tained a set of young people who en- 
 joyed life as much as anywhere, and 
 they gathered for dances, parties, pic- 
 nics, tennis, golf, and in literary, musi- 
 cal and social clubs. John had numer- 
 ous engagements every week, sometimes 
 more than he wished. There were all 
 kinds of girls, many of whom he 
 thought might make him a good wife — 
 that was what he was thinking of now. 
 But to find the right girl was a difficult 
 problem. There were several he ad- 
 mired, but he had reached an age of 
 maturity and judgment, when he was 
 not to be swept off his feet by even the 
 most charming. 
 
 He thought of Helen Minnot, down 
 
484 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 in Texas, several times; but she was 
 only one among a number of nice girls 
 he knew. Besides, it had been five 
 years since he had stopped at her home, 
 and in all probability she was now mar- 
 ried. 
 
 His determination to marry reached 
 a climax on New Year's day, about 
 three months after Uncle Save had ap- 
 peared. In the afternoon he went to 
 his office to spend an hour or two, to 
 think the matter over. During the last 
 year he had studied the qualities and 
 characteristics of every available girl 
 in the town, but was as much at sea as ■ 
 ever. 
 
 "I am now thirty years of age," said 
 John to himself, as he stepped into the 
 consultation room, and took a seat at the 
 table. "If I'm ever going to get mar- 
 ried and have a home of my own, it is 
 time to do it now. But who is to be the 
 girl? That's the question. I'm farther 
 from a choice now than ever. I expect 
 I'm too cautious. There'-s one thing, 
 though, if I live, I'm going to marry 
 some one before this year is out. Yes, 
 I'm going to marry some one before this 
 year is out. This very year!" 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 485 
 
 John brought his fist down upon the 
 table to express his determination. The 
 table jarred, the ink-stand, ruler, books, 
 and papers upon it vibrated; so did a 
 familiar pair of gold glasses, that made 
 as much noise as any of the objects. 
 John looked up and saw the same old 
 real Just Sense, sitting in the chair op- 
 posite. 
 
 "So you have made up your mind to 
 marry, have you?" said he, with a broad 
 smile which wrinkled his face at the 
 corners of his eyes, and revealed his 
 white, glistening teeth. "Well, that's 
 right — 'he who has no wife is only half 
 a man.' You will find that out after 
 you have married, and I don't blame 
 you for wanting to be a whole man. 
 
 "So you don't know who she is yet? 
 You are just going to find her and then 
 marry her. This will necessitate some 
 looking about, and the making of a 
 choice. You should use wisdom and 
 common sense in this, as in anything 
 else, and more so; for it is one of the 
 most important steps in life. Your fu- 
 ture happiness or unhappiness is in- 
 volved in it; for 'a man's wife is either 
 his cross or his crown.' 
 
486 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 'Of all earthly good, the best is a good 
 
 wife. 
 A bad — the bitterest curse of human 
 life.' 
 
 "Ah! good wives! I cannot speak too 
 highly of them — 'he who marries a 
 good wife hath prospered in life.' " 
 
 "That's what I'm after, and that's 
 what I want — a good wife," said John. 
 
 "Well then, if you do, 'the knot you 
 knit, think well on it.' 'Before you run 
 in double harness look well to the other 
 horse.' You know 'ill matched horses 
 draw badly.' Remember the scriptural 
 injunction, 'be ye not unequally 
 yoked.'" 
 
 "I don't think you can accuse me of 
 not thinking well on it," replied John. 
 "That's the trouble; I have done too 
 much thinking and not enough acting." 
 
 "The proper way, and I hope you 
 will so continue," answered Just Sense. 
 "Keep on thinking. 'Think twice before 
 you marry once.' Love alone is not to 
 be depended upon, for 'love is blind.' 
 Be guided also by reason and common 
 sense. 'Choose your wife and then love 
 your choice.' Choose her with reason, 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 487 
 
 judgment, prudence, caution — in fact, 
 every faculty of the mind is needed. 
 Choose her with these and then love 
 your choice. You need not be afraid 
 of the love part; 'as you love you will 
 have love ;' 'if thou wilt love, thou shalt 
 be loved.' 
 
 "I'll choose her and then love her, 
 and then she'll love me. That's easy; 
 go ahead." 
 
 "Not so easy as you think. In choos- 
 ing a wife, several things are to be borne 
 in mind. In the first place, 'a fair face 
 may be a foul bargain,' and 'a fine bon- 
 net may cover an empty head.' Remem- 
 ber, too, that 'beauty is a fair but fading 
 flower,' and is but skin deep. Hence, 
 'don't be fooled by a pretty face, look 
 for character and grace.' Choose 
 grace in preference to beauty; for 'noth- 
 ing so graceful in woman as grace,' and 
 'grace will last when beauty is past.' 
 Then it would be well to remember that 
 'dutiful daughters make suitable 
 wives ;' and 'when you select a wife, do 
 not call on Sunday; if you would know 
 her as she is, better seek on Monday.' 
 
 "Now you want to find out both what 
 
488 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 she is and what she is likely to be. Then 
 do not forget that 'as the mother, such 
 the daughter; look to this before you 
 court her.' Still, 'an ill mare may have 
 a good colt,' but it is the exception and 
 not the rule. Better 'choose a kit from 
 a good cat.' " 
 
 "I'll choose a kit from a good cat," 
 laughed John, much amused at the turn 
 the conversation had taken. "What 
 next?" 
 
 " 'Choose not alone a proper mate, 
 but proper time to marry.' 'Before you 
 marry have a house wherein to tarry.' 
 But you need not have a mansion — 'a 
 small house is big enough for love.' No, 
 you need not have a mansion — 'love 
 lives in cottages oftener than in 
 courts.' " 
 
 "I have the cottage all right. What 
 next?" 
 
 "The motive of choice. First choose, 
 then love. By all means 'marry not 
 without love, but love not without rea- 
 son.' Yes, marry not without love ; for 
 'love rules without a sword and binds 
 without a cord.' Furthermore, 'love 
 lightens labor and sweetens sorrow.' 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 489 
 
 "Marry for love and not for money. 
 'He that marries for money sells him- 
 self.' You may sell yourself, but you 
 cannot sell love, for 'love is neither 
 bought nor sold.' 'It should be, not 
 "what has she?" but "what is she?" ' It 
 is possible, though, to have both. Every 
 woman was intended to be some one's 
 wife, the rich as well as the poor. But 
 let not money be the motive of your 
 choice. And be she rich or poor, 'let 
 him never have a wife who will not love 
 as his life.' " 
 
 "I'll love her, if I ever get her," 
 laughed John again. "Yes, I'll love 
 her. Some sweet creature is in danger 
 of being loved to death." 
 
 "You will get her," replied Just 
 Sense. "But this is a serious question. 
 If you select a sensible girl, and I feel 
 confident that you will, she will judge 
 you by the same rules and precepts. 
 Most of them can be modified and made 
 to apply with as much truth to man as 
 to woman. It would be well, then, for 
 you to look over yourself, and ask 
 whether you are a suitable person to 
 take unto yourself a better half. Mar- 
 
490 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 riage involves grave responsibilities. 
 The happiness of a tender being will be 
 entrusted to your hands, and perhaps 
 the lives of little innocent ones. Do not 
 assume the responsibility of bringing 
 innocent lives into the world unless you 
 are in a position to properly take care 
 of and provide for them." 
 
 "I sometimes think of that," replied 
 John, "and when I do I have fears." 
 
 "Well, you should not," answered 
 Just Sense. "You are now established 
 both in character and in a means of 
 making a livelihood. Any girl can now 
 see what you are, and likely to be, and 
 what she can reasonably expect ; and no 
 girl should entrust her happiness and 
 welfare into any hands until she can see 
 into what kind of hands she is entrust- 
 ing them. So have no fear on that score. 
 Another thing — do not take this step 
 lightly with the idea that you can with- 
 draw if you find you have made a mis- 
 take. It may be hard to get loose when 
 you make the attempt, and no man can 
 tear himself from the bonds of holy 
 matrimony without sore and bleeding 
 wounds. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 491 
 
 "After you have made your choice, 
 and led the young lady to the altar, you 
 are in need of more common sense than 
 ever. Two lives are now to be blended 
 into one, and this cannot be done with- 
 out some yielding somewhere. That 
 makes the happiest union in which the 
 difference of temperament and nature 
 are adjusted upon an equal basis. The 
 husband should yield in some things; 
 the wife should yield in some things. In 
 adjusting your differences, and in all 
 things, remember that 'a good husband 
 makes a good wife,' and that 'he is kind 
 to himself who is kind to his wife.' Fur- 
 thermore, 'the wise man keeps on good 
 terms with his wife, his conscience and 
 his stomach.' " 
 
 "So! I'm married now," said John. 
 "Mighty glad I've got her at last. You 
 can depend upon it, I'll keep on good 
 terms with her." 
 
 "The proper course," continued Just 
 Sense seriously; "for 'small differences 
 make great discords,' and 'when peace 
 goes to pieces it is hard to piece it 
 again.' It may not be as easy to keep on 
 good terms with your wife all the time 
 
492 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 as you think. It requires much care 
 and watching. In this connection there 
 is something your wife should remem- 
 ber as well as you, and I request you to 
 tell her of it, and that is, 'it takes two to 
 make a quarrel.' 'Two cannot quarrel 
 if one won't.' Hence it would be wise 
 to have an agreement that when one is 
 out of temper, the other is to be com- 
 posed ; that only one is to be angry at a 
 time. But be not angry at all — the bet- 
 ter plan, for 'good temper oils the 
 wheels of life,' and 'a little oil saves a 
 deal of friction.' And tell her that 
 'gentle answers kill growling speeches;' 
 that 'gentle words are hard to answer ;' 
 that 'gentle words fall lightly, but have 
 great weight.' Ask her to keep these 
 in mjnd, if you should not; but you 
 should as well. And tell her that 'obe- 
 dient wives command their husbands.' " 
 "Do you think I would tell her that?" 
 'There you are — so soon forgotten 
 my admonition that both must yield. 
 But it is a kind of command you will 
 enjoy. But to continue, there are some 
 more things for both of you to bear in 
 mind. Always recollect that 'one hard 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 493 
 
 word brings on another;' that 'a clear 
 understanding saves much quarreling;' 
 and that 'face to face clears many a 
 case.' If you will observe these simple 
 precepts you will avoid many a quar- 
 rel. But should you quarrel despite 
 your efforts, remember that 'a little ex- 
 plained, a little endured, a little for- 
 given, the quarrel is cured.' 
 
 ."But quarrel not at all. 'Those who 
 are in the same boat should row to- 
 gether.' Then 'an inch of love is better 
 than a mile of strife.' 'As for thy wife, 
 love her as thy life ; as thou lovest life, 
 cease thou from strife.' If you love 
 your wife, you will not quarrel with her 
 much. But 'faults are thick where love 
 is thin,' and 'cold love grows colder.' 
 For these reasons 'let every husband stay 
 a lover true, and every wife remain a 
 sweetheart, too.' " 
 
 "Good!" said John. "Good! Is that 
 all?" 
 
 "I am not through with your side yet. 
 I want to advise you, 'be not honey 
 abroad and wormwood at home.' 'A lit- 
 tle gall spoils a great deal of honey.' 
 So, too, 'a spoonful of vinegar will sour 
 
494 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 much sweet milk.' And 'do not growl 
 lest you be taken for a dog,' by your 
 wife and others. It's no use anyhow. 
 'Growling will not make the kettle 
 boil.' 'Grumbling makes the loaf no 
 larger.' And 'leave grunting to hogs, 
 and snarling to dogs.' Remember, too, 
 that 'a jealous man puts nettles in his 
 own bed,' and that 'a bad husband can- 
 not be a good man.' Finally, 'make 
 home happy and you will be happy at 
 home.' 
 
 "I am now through. This is not the- 
 ory, but the experience of mankind. It 
 has all been tried and tested. If you use 
 it with sense and judgment, I am sure 
 you will be successful in making a right 
 choice and in establishing a happy 
 home. 
 
 "And so good-day to you, my son, 
 good-day," concluded Just Sense, push- 
 ing his chair back with a scrape on the 
 floor, arising and walking to the door. 
 "I shall expect an invitation to the wed- 
 ding, and the first boy?" 
 
 "Shall be named after you I" 
 
 John saw him pass out, close the door, 
 and, as before, heard his footsteps on 
 the stairs as he descended into the street. 
 
CHAPTER XLI 
 
 After Just Sense disappeared, John 
 concluded he would write a letter to 
 Helen Minnot. If living, he would at 
 least find out what had become of her. 
 If living and married, though, she 
 might not take the trouble to reply at 
 all. Anyhow, he would write — a friend- 
 ly, pleasant letter, informing her of his 
 whereabouts, and what he was doing. 
 
 There was another matter to which 
 John had been giving considerable at- 
 tention. The slight depression on the 
 top of his head, which he thought had 
 much to do with his visions, at times 
 pained him considerably, and he was 
 of the opinion it affected his memory. 
 Only a few days ago, two brothers 
 called at the office, and spent several 
 hours with him, going over a case. Upon 
 their calling the next day, John was not 
 able to recognize them, thereby nearly 
 losing their business. His difficulty in 
 recollecting names and faces was detri- 
 mental to his business, and he would 
 often forget incidents. A month ago 
 
 495 
 
496 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 he had ordered a year's supply of letter- 
 heads and envelopes. Th'ey were deliv- 
 ered, paid for, and placed in his desk. 
 The next day John went to the same 
 printer, gave a second order, having 
 completely forgotten the supply on 
 hand. The loss of memory was similar, 
 in some respects, to that which often 
 accompanies old age — difficulty in re- 
 membering new names and faces and 
 recent incidents, sometimes those that 
 had occurred within an hour; but his 
 memory was good as to past events, and 
 his other faculties, so far as he could 
 judge, normal. But so bad had his 
 memory become that something had to 
 be done. He was of the opinion that the 
 operation performed by his home physi- 
 cian was not correct; that there had 
 been a blunder, or mistake; and while 
 he thought a correction of this mistake 
 would restore his memory, at the same 
 time he felt it would end his visions. 
 
 He hesitated a long time, very reluc- 
 tant to end the existence of Patience and 
 all the others who were very near and 
 dear to him. But he was obliged to do 
 this, or become wholly incapacitated 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 497 
 
 for business. When he finally made up 
 his mind, it was with a heavy heart that 
 he wrote Dr. X , a well-known sur- 
 geon of Indianapolis, explaining his 
 case — except the visions — and asking an 
 opinion. 
 
 In reply, he was informed that in- 
 jury to the head often caused loss of 
 speech, often insanity, sometimes loss of 
 the faculty to distinguish between right 
 and wrong, but loss of memory was un- 
 usual. "But," said the letter, "there is 
 always something new. It is never wise 
 to say how any man may, or may not be 
 affected. At present we are restoring 
 loss of moral faculties by operation on 
 the skull, or giving them in the first in- 
 stance. If you were never troubled with 
 loss of memory before the injury was 
 received, the probabilities are that an 
 operation will restore you to your nor- 
 mal condition. The depression in the 
 skull is something that needs attention, 
 and if an operation is necessary I would 
 advise it as speedily as possible." 
 
 John was of the same opinion, and in 
 a few days went to Indianapolis, where 
 he took a room in one of the well-known 
 
 32 
 
498 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 hospitals. The surgeon to whom he 
 had written called to see him the first 
 morning, examined his head and closely 
 questioned him, almost eliciting infor- 
 mation concerning his visions. But John 
 had determined not to make these 
 known, for he was afraid the story 
 would get into the newspapers and he 
 did not wish to have the notoriety it 
 might give. 
 
 "We will have everything in readi- 
 ness, ten o'clock to-morrow," said the 
 doctor, leaving. "Until that time re- 
 main in your room, keep quiet, and obey 
 the nurse's orders." 
 
 After the doctor's departure, John 
 began to be filled with sadness. His 
 thoughts were occupied with tender 
 memories of those who had been very 
 near and very dear to him, and he lived 
 over again the past life. All the sting 
 was now taken out; only the best re- 
 mained. He thought again "and again of 
 Patience, Just Sense, Hope, Dr. Work, 
 Uncle Save, Himself in Old Age, Love, 
 Fortune, Content, and Little Willit, and 
 recalled to mind how they looked, 
 when they had appeared, and what they. 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 499 
 
 had said. There was Patience with a 
 grace and beauty almost divine ; Uncle 
 Save, huge in form, kindly in face ; Dr. 
 Work, strong and sinewy, the essence of 
 energy and life; Content, careless in 
 person, with broad, smiling face; Him- 
 self in Old Age, decrepit in form, staff 
 in hand; Little Willit, frail in body, 
 mighty in spirit; and Love, upon whom 
 he dared not look. He thought of the 
 many times these had appeared when he 
 was overwhelmed with trials, difficul- 
 ties, and despair, to help, cheer, com- 
 fort and encourage him when he needed 
 it most. He thought of all they had 
 said. It was all very precious to him, 
 but now it was to be ended. He himself 
 had passed the sentence ; the hour of ex- 
 ecution had been fixed. It was ending 
 the existence of his best and closest 
 friends. 
 
 As the hours sped by, the sadness that 
 filled him increased. When he stepped 
 into the operating room and lay down 
 upon the table, surrounded by the sur- 
 geon and his assistants, he had difficulty 
 in controlling his emotion. As the an- 
 aesthetic was being administered, his 
 
500 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 sadness increased still more; for he was 
 not thinking of what was going on 
 about him, but of those whose existence 
 would be ended, and whom he would 
 never see or hear again. 
 
 In a few moments he became oblivi- 
 ous of his surroundings. Then, no lon- 
 ger able to control his emotion, he gave 
 way to grief, and a hot tear wet his 
 cheek. As he did so, Patience appeared 
 for the last time, more beautiful than 
 she had ever been before, her form and 
 face transfigured with a peace of soul 
 that shone with a bright radiance from 
 within. As she extended her hand to 
 calm him, she said: 
 
 "Weep not, afflicted one; weep not. 
 'Affliction is the shadow of God's wing.' 
 Though the surgeon's knife may destroy 
 our visible form, and end our existence 
 on earth, yet we shall still live on as that 
 still, small voice of conscience that 
 speaks of better things, and lives in 
 every man. Listen to it! Listen to it! 
 And still strive to be a better man. And 
 now farewell ! Farewell ! If we have not 
 been better, nobler, more unselfish, and 
 more Godlike, it is because we have 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 501 
 
 been the best God has made you. Once 
 more, farewell, farewell." 
 
 Patience disappeared. But instead 
 of having comforted him, John wept 
 more than ever. After that he knew 
 nothing. 
 
 When the surgeon visited him the 
 next day in his room, John asked wheth- 
 er he had not cried while the operation 
 was taking place. 
 
 "Not any more than is usual," replied 
 the doctor. "Ether has that effect." 
 
 "And what did you find?" asked 
 John. 
 
 "There was a peculiar obstruction. 
 It is difficult for me to explain it with- 
 out the use of technical terms, except 
 in this general way: there was a pres- 
 sure on the brain in such a manner as to 
 supply at times one part with an undue 
 flow of blood, at the same time impover- 
 ishing another. But I think the normal 
 condition has been restored." 
 
 "When can I leave here?" 
 
 "In a few days. The operation is a 
 success, and you are getting along nice- 
 ly." 
 
 While at the hospital, John thought 
 
502 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 several times of Helen Minnot. It had 
 been over three weeks since he had writ- 
 ten her and he began to have doubts as 
 to whether he would hear from her. 
 When he returned home, however, a 
 letter was awaiting him. He was much 
 pleased with it, especially with several 
 questions asked, not of importance in 
 themselves, but opening the way for a 
 correspondence between them. Mrs. 
 Minnot had died, Helen was living 
 with a relative, and was now a high 
 school teacher in her home town. 
 
 Jshn thought he would wait until 
 next day before mailing a reply. He 
 did not wish to appear too hasty. But 
 the next day, instead of writing, he sim- 
 ply went down to the railroad station, 
 purchased a ticket for Texas, and 
 boarded the train. When he returned, 
 in four weeks, he was accompanied by 
 as pretty and as happy a bride as ever 
 came to the town. John, too, was hap- 
 py, and very proud of his new posses- 
 sion. Helen brought with her a fair 
 proportion of this world's goods in the 
 form of a New York draft for five 
 thousand. This was something John 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 503 
 
 had not been expecting, and indeed, 
 Helen little dreamed of it when he 
 first came to see her. John had ob- 
 tained the money for Helen through a 
 good business stroke, at the same time 
 making a good turn for the Episcopal- 
 ians, enabling them to begin the erec- 
 tion of a new church for which they 
 had not been able to raise sufficient 
 money. The old church stood on 
 ground now valuable, which had 
 been donated by Helen's grandfather. 
 In examining the deed, John found that 
 the ground was to belong to the church 
 "as long as used for church purposes, 
 and when no longer so used, to revert 
 to my heirs." John proposed that the 
 church abandon the ground, let it re- 
 vert to Helen, the only heir, that she sell 
 it and give the church half the proceeds 
 with which it could buy a new site and 
 have enough left to make up the de^ 
 ficiency for the building. It was 
 thought a good proposition, and so sim- 
 ple all wondered that no one had pro- 
 posed it before. It was put into execu- 
 tion at once, the old site selling for ten 
 thousand, the church taking five, with; 
 
504 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 one thousand of which a new site was 
 purchased, leaving it four thousand, 
 which made up the amount lacking. 
 
 "Now," said Helen to John, "I will 
 depend upon you to take care of this 
 money. You did it so well, that I con- 
 sider it yours anyway." 
 
 "Not at all; I couldn't think of it 
 that way. But I'll take care of it." 
 
 And take care of it he did, and of his 
 own also. He continued to succeed in 
 his profession, an ordinary and common 
 success, but each year he generally man- 
 aged to add a little to his worldly pos- 
 sessions. He and his wife joined lives 
 and fortunes, and by the time John was 
 forty their possessions brought them a 
 joint income of one thousand a year, in 
 addition to a comfortable and cosy 
 home in which to live. While this is 
 not much as riches go nowadays, while 
 many would sneer at it, look down upon 
 it as a mere pittance, yet it is by far 
 more than the vast majority of the peo- 
 ple of this world possess, and they both 
 considered it enough — their share — 
 enough to live on plainly and simply, 
 and that was the best way to live. There 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 505 
 
 were better and higher things in life 
 than the pursuit of money, and John's 
 principal aim now became the giving of 
 his talents and abilities to his fellow- 
 man. He made no attempt to achieve 
 fame and no longer entertained the 
 dreams. he once had in this direction. 
 He had reached a higher plane, a far 
 nobler ambition, and that was to be his 
 best, do his best, and give his best, with- 
 out the least thought of fame, of great- 
 ness, or earthly reward. Every man has 
 a talent for something and that man 
 who strives to do his best to produce a 
 perfect work, whether it be sawing 
 wood, writing a poem, or any other 
 work that contributes to the general 
 good, is living out the destiny intended 
 for him by Heaven. That life can only 
 be the satisfactory one in the end which 
 works out the destiny intended for it, 
 that which lives according to the will 
 of God. 
 
 John thought that his principal talent 
 was along literary lines and that his 
 work was to be of mis nature. His pre- 
 vious efforts had been but the irrepressi- 
 ble attempts of this talent to assert it- 
 
506 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 self. He failed then, but now, by dint 
 of the principles and spirit of Little 
 Willit, he did become a well-known and 
 successful writer. He had not been 
 able to find his line before; he found it 
 now ; it was the law. In addition to his 
 regular practice he made a special study 
 of two or three particular branches. The 
 books he produced upon these subjects 
 met with the approval of both the bar 
 and the bench, and to-day he is an au- 
 thority frequently quoted in the best 
 courts of the land. Were it permitted 
 to give his real name it would be a fa- 
 miliar one to the legal profession. Of 
 other books he wrote, "Legal Ethics" is 
 said to have done the profession much 
 good, and "Uniform Divorce Laws," 
 for the general reader, is said to have 
 advanced that movement considerably. 
 
 Here might be repeated the statement 
 of Uncle Save: "If you give to the 
 world what you owe, I am sure the 
 world will give, and that you can with 
 a good conscience, take what you ought 
 to have — sufficient for your wants and 
 needs as long as you are on earth." 
 
 The difficulty now was that the world 
 
HIS BETTER SELF 507 
 
 gave him much more than this. How 
 much to keep and what to do with it, be- 
 came the question. He returned the 
 larger part to the world again where he 
 thought it would do the most good. 
 And of what he kept, he considered 
 himself a mere trustee, every cent above 
 a simple and economical living to go 
 to his fellowman, and bound to give 
 an account of his stewardship upon the 
 great last day. 
 
 His home life was happy, for he and 
 his wife were devoted to each other. 
 They had their share of difficulties to 
 adjust, but this did not take long. They 
 also had their share of trials, troubles, 
 and sickness, for on this earth, no road 
 is always smooth; no lives always 
 happy. 
 
 Two children brought their share of 
 joy and care — the older a boy, the image 
 of his mother; the younger a girl, the 
 image of the father. Thus the predic- 
 tions that had been so strangely made 
 at the mountain lake in Washington 
 were fulfilled, and John went through 
 the experiences there foretold, except 
 that the little girl is still alive, has 
 
508 HIS BETTER SELF 
 
 passed the age from which she was to 
 have been taken from him, and he now 
 believes this part of the prediction will 
 not be fulfilled. 
 
 THE END. 
 
: 1'1