THE 
 
 EGOTISTICAI 
 
 ELLEN WILKINS TOM 
 
Class 
 
 Cqpgitli?— / /'^— 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
$ $ 
 
 $5 $J $ $J t<^J $ $ 
 
 THE 
 
 EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 BY 
 
 ELLEN WILKINS TOMPKINS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 EP-DUTTON & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 $ $ 
 
 $ #1 
 
 
 
 ($1 
 
 fi$l $ #k $ $» #1 
 
753 
 
 Copyright, igi3, by 
 E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 
 
 ©C/.A357603 
 
TO 
 
 THE IMAGINARY LISTENER 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Commonplace and My Sec- 
 ond Self i 
 
 II. Hypocrites All 10 
 
 III. The Gentle Art of Conversa- 
 
 tion 21 
 
 IV. My Garden 31 
 
 V. Chickens ....... 43 
 
 VI. My Sick Spell ..... 53 
 
 VII. Visitors 65 
 
 VIII. My Birthday ..... 73 
 
 IX. My Summer Trip .... 86 
 
 X. The Chance Acquaintance . . 95 
 
 XI. Home Again 104 
 
 XII. Idle Thoughts 113 
 
 XIII. ^Mainly Perrins 122 
 
 XIV. "And Winter Came" . . . . 133 
 XV. The Spring 142 
 
 XVI. The Greater Understanding . 151 
 
 XVII. The Night ...... 165 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE COMMONPLACE AND MY SECOND SELF 
 
 IT always pleases the Imaginary Listener 
 for me to talk about myself. I think this 
 is largely due to the great affection he 
 feels for me, but he says not so, that I interest 
 him because I am different from the ordinary 
 run of humanity, a statement that, if it is true, 
 I most deeply deplore. I adore the ordinary 
 run of humanity and, barring an uncommon 
 weakness of one lung that has made an old 
 man of me at the youthful age of some sixty 
 years, I see no reason why I should not be- 
 come a member of the large and ever increas- 
 ing society of the commonplace. 
 
 I am admirably fitted by nature to join that 
 association. I am not the proud owner of a 
 commanding presence, a heavy lower jaw, a 
 square cut face of virile strength and manli- 
 ness, a scholarly look of aesthetic culture and 
 intellectual refinement, and, last but not least, 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 I am not redeemed from positive ugliness by 
 a pair of keen, penetrating eyes overshadowed 
 by bushy eyebrows. One must possess at least 
 one of these characteristics to rise above the 
 average, and it is one of my proud boasts that 
 I am a simple American gentleman, clean 
 shaven and endowed with a generous supply 
 of common sense. To me the abnormal in 
 anything is more or less terrifying and I am 
 firmly convinced that very clever people are 
 often passively unhappy. 
 
 This line of thought reminds me of the 
 Chance Acquaintance I met last summer. 
 When I arrived at the watering place where I 
 have vegetated for the last twelve years, I 
 found the hotel crowded with people, all mem- 
 bers of the Merchants' Retail Association. 
 My own table, overlooking the water, had be- 
 come the property of a merchant, his wife, and 
 two hoydenish, young misses, his daughters, to 
 judge from the family resemblance. The pro- 
 prietor was most apologetic. It was only a 
 matter of a few days, but he could not spare 
 me a table to myself. I left him the selection 
 of my table companions and the result was the 
 Chance Acquaintance, a young woman in the 
 early thirties, whose society proved so con- 
 genial that I stayed where I had been placed 
 the rest of the summer. We both liked a mod- 
 
THE COMMONPLACE 
 
 erately early breakfast, were cordial over our 
 fruit, confidential over our cereal, and regret- 
 tably intimate over our coffee and rolls. 
 
 "The Lord, Mr. Wilkes," she said to me 
 earnestly on one occasion with a glance of pity 
 around the dining room, "the Lord has been 
 more than kind to the commonplace. He has 
 provided so many of their own sort that they 
 can always find a talkative soul with whom to 
 gossip the time away. They need never feel 
 set apart from their fellow men." 
 
 "We can not all be geniuses," I objected 
 mildly. 
 
 "Of course not," she assented, "but it would 
 be nice if there had been only two types, the 
 genius and the commonplace. It is sometimes 
 very lonely for the poor beings who grow up 
 to find that they are neither fish, flesh, fowl, 
 nor good, red herring." 
 
 "Such people," I said firmly, "should form 
 a little circle of their own. I sometimes think 
 we are too reserved with our fellow men. It 
 would pay, I believe, to put forth a luminous 
 thought now and then, to dangle it as a bait 
 before these poor stupid clods in the hope that 
 one brighter than the rest might rise to the sur- 
 face and swallow both the bait and you at the 
 same time." 
 
 "You are talking nonsense, Mr. Wilkes," 
 3 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 she retorted, "you cannot put forth your real 
 self for fear of appearing ridiculous and you, 
 yourself, must have often felt that you had 
 rather be pitied than laughed at." 
 
 While I was gathering my forces for a 
 crushing answer to these last words, she rose 
 and went out of the dining room, leaving me in 
 a seething state of indignation and regret. In- 
 dignation that she had so coolly placed me in 
 the same category as herself outside the safe 
 haven of the commonplace and regret that I 
 had so frostily nipped in the bud the little ten- 
 der shoot thrust from the inner self of the 
 Chance Acquaintance. At supper I tried to re- 
 new the conversation, but she merely remarked 
 that "Life was a wale of tears" and adroitly 
 turned my thoughts to equally interesting if 
 more impersonal topics. 
 
 My conscience has always pricked me about 
 this matter. I did not play fair with my table 
 friend. Had I been honest, I would have 
 owned up not only to the lonely feeling, but to 
 the bete noire of my early life, the second self. 
 Whenever I talk about this weighty personage, 
 the Imaginary Listener looks exceedingly grave 
 and says that the whole affair is too complex 
 for him to understand. I always give him the 
 same lucid explanation, that I am conscious of 
 
 4 
 
THE COMMONPLACE 
 
 possessing two personalities, a physical and a 
 mental self. 
 
 My physical self is an eminently common- 
 place being who, left to his own devices, would 
 lead a happy, humdrum life and, at the blow 
 of the last trumpet, be more than content to 
 rise from a turfed grave surmounted with a 
 neat, initialed slab of granite. My mental self, 
 on the contrary, is a piquant individuality with 
 an old world cleverness that disheartens even 
 as it amuses. In his uncongenial surroundings 
 he finds no outlet for his nature, so turns and 
 harasses my physical self and then laughs 
 Quilpishly at the acts and words that he, him- 
 self, has inspired. This inner Dr. Jekyll and 
 Mr. Hyde arrangement has made me lead a 
 solitary life the more so as I was forced with- 
 out my own wish or volition, the better part of 
 my youth, to impersonate my mental or, as I 
 for convenience call him, my second self. 
 
 Mine has not been an enviable job. I love 
 my simple physical self. His pleasures are my 
 pleasures, his sorrows are my sorrows and, 
 much as a mother wraps a shawl around the 
 hunchback shoulders of her child, so I strive 
 to conceal his gaucheries from the quick eyes 
 of my second self. But, after all, my sym- 
 pathies are equally divided. If I love the one, 
 I yearn over the other. My second self is an 
 
 5 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 odd fellow, critical, always at variance with his 
 physical companion, high strung, sensitive and, 
 but for a saving sense of humor, morbid to 
 a fault. He does not except himself from the 
 keen shafts of his ridicule and the world is not 
 one wit wiser if his smile is a bit wry, his 
 laughter, a trifle hollow. He has moments of 
 unalloyed bliss, but these in no way make up 
 for his hours of black despair, his fits of bitter 
 self condemnation. I long to salve the wounds 
 he receives from his own caustic wit, but mine 
 is ever the role of an onlooker, moved to the 
 quick, but powerless to help this dual com- 
 panionship. 
 
 I could not talk like this to the Chance Ac- 
 quaintance, much as I valued her confidences. 
 I could not tell a woman that old age was the 
 only panacea for this evil, although with me 
 such has proved to be the case. The nearer I 
 draw to the things that will be, the less I care 
 for the things that have been. My outlook 
 that, in the past, was always introspective now 
 fastens itself upon higher and more intangible 
 hopes and fears and the years, the kindly years, 
 have rubbed off the sharp corners of my two 
 selves so that they dwell together in unity. If 
 my life is uneventful, it is full of peace, and I 
 am content to sit and marvel at the change 
 
 6 
 
THE COMMONPLACE 
 
 within myself. I am broader minded, fairer in 
 my judgments, less eager to avenge real or 
 fancied insults, and lastly, with the abeyance of 
 the second self, I am beginning to know and 
 love my fellow men. 
 
 After all we are not unlike so many prisms 
 of glass, dull, opaque perhaps at first sight, 
 but, if held to the right light, miracles of en- 
 trancing delicacy of color. We are far too apt 
 to take these prisms at their face value and 
 so pass by rare treasures of loveliness. I said 
 something of this sort to the Chance Acquaint- 
 ance when I went with her to the station the 
 day that she was leaving. 
 
 "Good-bye, Mr. Wilkes," she said, "I shall 
 always think of you as a sort of up-to-date 
 Diogenes going around with your little lantern 
 in search of an honest man." 
 
 "Well, why not?" I answered, and told her 
 my fancy about the prisms. 
 
 She listened very patiently and there was a 
 wonderfully kind smile on her face when she 
 asked, "Do you believe this, Mr. Wilkes?" 
 
 "Of course I do," I retorted. "How about 
 the red-nosed drummer who insists on giving 
 me the Washington Post? He has to get it 
 anyway, he says, and it's but decent to save me 
 a nickel. How about the old gentleman who 
 
 7 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 sits next to me at the writing desk every morn- 
 ing and always gives me the best of his excel- 
 lent stub pens and the choice of the over- 
 worked blotters? Everyone has a good side if 
 you can but find it." 
 
 The Chance Acquaintance was silent for a 
 few minutes, then looked rather sadly at me. 
 
 "What have you found in me?" she asked. 
 
 "You have listened most patiently to a bor- 
 ing old man," I said. 
 
 "You have been equally patient with a bor- 
 ing old maid," she returned. 
 
 We were both very quiet after this and our 
 parting would have been a somewhat melan- 
 choly performance, but for the unexpected ap- 
 pearance of the red-nosed drummer. He had 
 the Washington Post under his arm and said 
 as he handed it to me, "I have to get it any- 
 way and it may save you a nickel." We all 
 three laughed and the Chance Acquaintance 
 took advantage of the sunshiny moment to 
 board the waiting train. 
 
 "I am going to try your point of view," she 
 announced as the train moved off, "but we can't 
 all be alike you know." 
 
 I waved my hand to her and started home- 
 ward. One of Kipling's rhymes popped into 
 my head. 
 
 8 
 
THE COMMONPLACE 
 
 "You can work it out by Fractions or by sim- 
 ple Rule of Three, 
 
 But the way of Tweedledum is not the way of 
 Tweedledee. 
 
 You can twist it, you can turn it, you can plait 
 it till you drop, 
 
 But the way of Pilly-Winky's not the way of 
 Winky-Pop." 
 
 The unassailable truth of this rhyme is very 
 gratifying to me. How boring an endless line 
 of Tweedledums, how stupid a roomful of 
 Tweedledees. And what an upheaval in the 
 world of fashion. The opera glass, the super- 
 cilious lorgnette would become toys of the past. 
 No matter how devoted you may be to a Pilly- 
 Winky, it is useless to hunt for one if you know 
 for a certainty the checker board only holds 
 Winky-Pops. I am of the same mind as my 
 friend, Susan Nipper, "I may be fond of pen- 
 nywinkles, but it does not follow that I am to 
 have them for tea." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 HYPOCRITES ALL 
 
 I AM astonished to find out that so far I 
 have not mentioned the Youthful Pes- 
 simist. Next to the Imaginary Listener 
 she is my most devoted chum and our friend- 
 ship has lasted twenty-one years, eight months 
 and some days for I was introduced to her the 
 day that she was born. 
 
 Her mother was an old sweetheart of mine, 
 her father the friend of my school days, so 
 that, when for motives of economy, we simul- 
 taneously decided to move outside the city 
 limits, it was most natural that we built our 
 houses side by side and worked our little farms 
 together. By some unaccountable freak of for- 
 tune the city moved our way and, as prices 
 went up, we disposed of our superfluous prop- 
 erty to our great advantage and began to pat 
 ourselves upon the back for the foresight we 
 had shown in our investment of real estate. 
 We are now one of the most fashionable 
 suburbs of the city and my farm has dwindled 
 
 10 
 
HYPOCRITES ALL 
 
 to a fair sized garden wherein I raise with 
 equal success, chickens and flowers. 
 
 When I consider that I am a contemporary 
 of her parents, I can but marvel at my friend- 
 ship with the Youthful Pessimist for our inti- 
 macy has thriven apace until we have reached 
 that comfortable state that looks upon a pause 
 in the conversation as a proof of the most ab- 
 solute congeniality rather than a danger signal 
 to call forth a shower of vapid small talk. 
 The Youthful Pessimist has filled an empty 
 space in my heart and satisfied a real craving 
 for human affection. She is, as it were, the 
 earthly complement of the Imaginary Listener, 
 an actual tangible reality who never jars upon 
 my varying moods, but, if anything, likes me 
 the better for my aloofness from the world in 
 general. 
 
 In appearance she has strayed far from the 
 commonplace, her only insignificant feature a 
 small, snub nose, a direct inheritance from her 
 Aunt Caddy Caldwell and therefore much ad- 
 mired by that estimable lady. With this ex- 
 ception she has made a most skilful selection 
 from her parents and, if the result is a some- 
 what heterogeneous jumble of the blonde and 
 the brunette, the general effect is altogether de- 
 sirable and pleasing to the eye. She has her 
 father's rough, curly, black hair and long soft, 
 
 II 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 black eyelashes and her mother's blue eyes and 
 the dead white skin that rightly goes with red, 
 or by courtesy, auburn hair. Her slight near- 
 sightedness is a foible of her father's and her 
 freckles the gift of her red-headed mother. 
 This higgledy piggledy mixture of colors has 
 given her a highly artificial look, but, so far 
 from shunning publicity, the Youthful Pes- 
 simist has often gleefully called my attention 
 to the obvious fact that she was the observed 
 of all observers. She has the same effect on a 
 street car or crowded drawing room as a pe- 
 riod has at the end of a sentence, and she takes 
 an innocent pleasure in the sensation she in- 
 variably creates. 
 
 Her figure is admirably adapted to the 
 present styles. She is small, straight as a dart, 
 flat backed, and so exceeding slim that she 
 can change her waist line at will to suit the 
 shifting fashions. Altogether she is a twen- 
 tieth century product from the crown of her 
 head to the tip of her high-heeled pump, but 
 on that account none the less a woman. 
 
 I am ashamed to confess it, but it was really 
 my luncheon that reminded me so forcibly of 
 the Youthful Pessimist. I had creamed 
 chicken and fig pudding, two favorite dishes 
 with both of us. I am a great believer in 
 mental telepathy and, when I saw the treat I 
 
 12 
 
HYPOCRITES ALL 
 
 had in store for me, I closed my eyes and 
 longed for the Youthful Pessimist. On this 
 occasion the experiment was successful for, 
 when I opened them again, behold, she stood 
 in the doorway, clad in a blue frock of the 
 delft shade she affects so extensively and with 
 her hair stuck out to a degree that would have 
 scandalized a shop girl. Under one arm she 
 carried a bag of knitting, under the other, her 
 inane little French poodle, Tony, the gift I 
 surmise of a certain Anthony, a great visitor 
 of my neighbor. 
 
 "Good morning, Timothy," she said as she 
 kissed me, a very pleasant habit of hers, "I 
 have decided to lunch with you." 
 
 "Roger," I ordered, "put out the strawberry 
 jam." 
 
 "Aunt Caddy Caldwell is coming to spend 
 the day," she announced when she had settled 
 herself comfortably in the chair that is always 
 placed at the table for the stray dropper in. 
 
 "How could you leave?" I asked and, quite 
 unintentionally on my part, stared reflectively 
 at Aunt Caddy's nose. 
 
 She held a small freckled hand before her 
 face. 
 
 "Don't, Timothy, that look hurts," she said. 
 "Mother did want me to stay at home, but, 
 
 13 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 after I told her how badly you were feeling, 
 she consented to let me come here." 
 
 "But I am not feeling badly," I objected in- 
 dignantly. "I never felt better in my life and 
 shall say so to your mother." 
 
 "Now, Timothy, don't get me into trouble," 
 she pleaded, "it isn't as if I had laid you low 
 with anything special. Why you can take your 
 choice and have what you like, headache, gout, 
 rheumatism, lumbago, neuralgia " 
 
 "You are incorrigible, miss," I interrupted 
 sternly, "would you have me deceive your good 
 mother?" 
 
 Truth compels me to state that at this crush- 
 ing rebuke the Youthful Pessimist had the au- 
 dacity to laugh, so joyously and infectiously 
 that I perforce joined in with a faint smile. 
 
 "Don't you care," she said easily, "if you 
 bring it down to a fine point we are all hypo- 
 crites. I am one myself. Now take the case 
 of Aunt Caddy Caldwell. If I could only tell 
 her frankly how I loathe her to call me Annie 
 instead of Anne and how much it bores me to 
 hear the same story three times the same day, 
 we might get along nicely together. As it is 
 I have to 'Oh' and 'Ah' at the right places 
 and listen as attentively as if I had never " 
 
 "Inherited her nose," I put in. 
 
 "Exactly," she agreed and thoughtfully fed 
 14 
 
HYPOCRITES ALL 
 
 Tony small bits of bread soaked in chicken 
 gravy. 
 
 Our luncheon was a pleasant meal and, by 
 the time we arrived at the fig pudding, the 
 Youthful Pessimist had become fairly gar- 
 rulous. After all there is something very re- 
 freshing about her conversation. With her 
 white is white and black is black, while with 
 me white is white, but black, oftener than not 
 to my hopeful eye, looks of a grayish con- 
 sistency, a sort of over-worked white. She 
 would be eminently suited to separate the sheep 
 from the goat, even if she herself belonged to 
 the latter variety, and I should be extremely apt 
 to disregard individual characteristics but, un- 
 der the broad head of quadruped, usher them 
 all into the kingdom of heaven. She was in 
 a self-condemnatory mood and turned a search- 
 light, so to speak, on the glaring defects of her 
 character. 
 
 It transpired that she had been a pharasaical 
 child and had really never outgrown her child- 
 ish ways. She still rubbed the spilt tea into 
 the carpet, hid the bits of broken china, and 
 surreptitiously darned the snags in her frocks. 
 Added to these iniquities, she had acquired a 
 number of social deceptions, was always out to 
 the inconvenient caller, often politic to the 
 verge of hypocrisy and had developed, I quote 
 
 15 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 exactly here, a real genius for successfully 
 wiggling out of difficulties. Her manner was 
 so nonchalant, her appetite for jam, so unim- 
 paired that I should have thought her indif- 
 ferent to her lack of moral backbone had she 
 not assured me that she had given a great deal 
 of thought to the subject and intended in the 
 future to head a crusade against the growing 
 use of social frauds and hypocrisies. The nec- 
 essary fib that is told for politeness* sake, how- 
 ever, she would not discard. It was the only 
 string she attached to her noble resolve. I 
 think this last statement referred to Aunt 
 Caddy Caldwell, although it seems to me im- 
 possible to call any two hundred pound weight 
 a string, even when speaking in a most 
 metaphorical manner. 
 
 "Shall you tell everyone about your slips in 
 the past?" I inquired. 
 
 "Best let sleeping dogs lie, Timothy," she 
 quoted oracularly with what sounded sus- 
 piciously to me like the twin sister of a giggle. 
 
 I had just said didactically that the necessary 
 fib was not essential and could be used to cover 
 a multitude of sins when Sellars appeared, and 
 we went out on the back veranda to cool our 
 heated argument. 
 
 Sellars is a young protege of mine, a doctor, 
 clever and attractive, but astonishingly dog- 
 
 16 
 
HYPOCRITES ALL 
 
 matic. As his attitude toward the Youthful 
 Pessimist is not only indifferent, but almost 
 antagonistic, I conclude he has a natural an- 
 tipathy to all women. He said at once that 
 women were the perpetrators of most of the 
 shams of the age, and I was so nettled with 
 him for pre-empting my opinion that I 
 promptly sided with the Youthful Pessimist 
 and spoke at some lengths in defence of the 
 necessary fib. To illustrate my remarks, I 
 asked my audience to accompany me on an 
 imaginary walk in order that I might prove to 
 them how even the smallest incidents of our 
 every day life tended to lure you from the nar- 
 row path of truthfulness. 
 
 I had hardly left my door, we will say, when 
 Smoot hailed me. Smoot lives across the street 
 from us and is mainly remarkable as the father 
 of the gargoyle, a boy baby some ten or eleven 
 months old. He was apparently innocently em- 
 ployed in inspecting his offspring, but my worst 
 fears were realized when I found I was called 
 upon to admire the gargoyle. As I am a con- 
 scientious man, I made an honest effort to pick 
 out one redeeming feature. I give you the in- 
 ventory as it stood or, to be more exact, as it 
 sat, two large, outstanding ears, one big head 
 without any hair, two red, pendulous cheeks, 
 one small nose of no particular description, 
 
 17 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 and a mouth that stretched from ear to ear 
 in a wholesome and mirth provoking grin. I 
 seized on the smile and said the baby was a 
 jolly, little fellow, but this fell far short of 
 the father's expectations and, before I had fin- 
 ished, I had endowed the gargoyle with all 
 the attractions of an Adonis. Smoot senior 
 was delighted and I experienced that warm 
 glow that always follows an artistic flight of 
 the imagination, especially one that comes un- 
 der the head of the necessary fib. 
 
 The next few blocks were uneventful and 
 then I met Thompson. Thompson is the as- 
 sistant of our church and an assiduous visitor. 
 He is a pale, pasty youth and has that under 
 done appearance that comes from having been 
 baked in too cool an oven. 
 
 Now I rarely or never go to church. My 
 lung requires unlimited fresh air and I have no 
 wish to annoy it by placing it in a congested 
 congregation. Thompson had that look that 
 all clergy wear when rounding up the erring 
 sheep and, as he shook hands with me, I felt it 
 wiser to enlist his sympathies with a small al- 
 most a baby cough. His face changed so 
 quickly that I thought it better to cough sev- 
 eral times during our conversation. He told 
 me he had been to see me and I urged him to 
 try again. My conscience pricked me because 
 
 18 
 
HYPOCRITES ALL 
 
 I hate to deceive a minister, also Thompson 
 bores me. 
 
 At this point Sellars thought to get the bet- 
 ter of me by saying that after all these were 
 only efforts of my fancy, but I had foreseen 
 this argument on his part and was able to as- 
 sure him that these two incidents had actually 
 occurred. I offered to give him some more 
 examples of the necessary fib, but it was get- 
 ting late and the Youthful Pessimist had an 
 engagement for the afternoon. Sellars had 
 the grace to see her home and, when they 
 went off together, he was still inveighing 
 against all women with a very big W. 
 
 After they left, the porch was very quiet. 
 I smoked my afternoon pipe and thought of 
 the Youthful Pessimist. When I shut my eyes, 
 I could almost fancy her opposite me in the 
 Gloucester hammock, the wind blowing her 
 hair, the dog in her lap. She is so tender as 
 she caresses her silly little beast, so absurdly 
 careful of her little toy animal that I seem 
 to catch a glimpse of the latent and, as yet 
 unknown, depths of motherhood within her 
 nature and I pray that I may live until I see 
 something equally helpless but infinitely dearer 
 cling to the blue cotton gown, be soothed by 
 the small, freckled hand and looked down upon 
 
 19 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 by the dear, near-sighted eyes of the Youthful 
 Pessimist. 
 
 Roger interrupted my day dream. There 
 was a lady at the door who would pay me a 
 little visit if I were not asleep or too unwell 
 to see her. I took the card. The lady was 
 Aunt Caddy Caldwell. I tiptoed softly across 
 to the Gloucester hammock. 
 
 "Roger," I said as I laid my head into what 
 had been the lap of the Youthful Pessimist but 
 was now a neat, cross-stitched pillow, "I am 
 feeling better than I was, a great deal better, 
 but I am asleep and you do not like to disturb 
 me, Roger." 
 
 Roger bowed respectfully and disappeared. 
 He belongs to the type of the soldier men- 
 tioned in the Charge of the Light Brigade, 
 "Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do 
 and die." 
 
 I closed my eyes. The hammock was com- 
 fortable. I might really go to sleep after all. 
 The Youthful Pessimist was responsible for my 
 conduct to Aunt Caddy, of course. Still she 
 was right and Sellars wrong. It is equally es- 
 sential to men and women, the necessary fib. 
 
 20 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE GENTLE ART OF CONVERSATION 
 
 THE Youthful Pessimist has joined a 
 class of French literature, accom- 
 panied by the usual amount of 
 English-French conversation. She is also pri- 
 vately reviewing French history in order 
 that she may shine among her fellow stu- 
 dents and, as she was never one to hide her 
 knowledge from the world at large, a French 
 fact or thought often proves the inspiration 
 for many of our discussions. The present 
 topic is the French salon, and so enthusiastic 
 are we that, did such institutions exist to-day, 
 I fear we should forsake our homes, step 
 across the water and, as quickly as possible, 
 swear allegiance to glorious France. 
 
 The Youthful Pessimist feels personally ag- 
 grieved that America can lay no claims to any 
 such intellectual gatherings. If France had her 
 salons, England had her inns and taverns made 
 famous by the notable men of that day, but 
 at no time in the history of our country have 
 21 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 our writers and thinkers evinced the slightest 
 desire to form a coterie of their own, a coterie 
 that could be handed down for posterity to 
 gape at and admire. We both agree that this 
 conviviality is now an impossibility, a thing of 
 the past, and the Youthful Pessimist goes so 
 far as to assert that, with the exception of 
 some few shining lights, the American mind, 
 as a whole, has deteriorated to meet the .ex- 
 igencies of American life. 
 
 "It's an age of high living and low thinking, 
 Timothy," quoth she disdainfully. 
 
 As I come under the heading of the Amer- 
 ican mind, I very promptly differed with her 
 and pointed out that, after all, we were mere 
 creatures of habit and too often but a melan- 
 choly photograph of our environments. Also 
 we were both a prosaic and a busy century and, 
 when the hands were over worked, the head 
 was apt to be under cultivated. Such is the 
 case of our working people and our leisure 
 class of free born Americans are equally oc- 
 cupied. The dilettante and dabbler in litera- 
 ture has given way to the tennis player and 
 golf enthusiast. The descendants of the 
 hysterical miss and the pale, pedantic student 
 of the last century shout "Fore" as lustily as 
 if their revered grandparents were not turning 
 in their graves at the indecent sight of such 
 
 22 
 
THE ART OF CONVERSATION 
 
 noisy and healthy employment. Also we were 
 a simple people, but it did not imply a lack of 
 brains on our part that we were pleased with 
 simple things. 
 
 I was delighted when the Youthful Pessimist 
 brought over Madame Maltese's new kittens 
 to show me, and we whiled away a pleasant 
 hour watching the gyrations of the little an- 
 imals. She had seemed overjoyed at the gift 
 of a new laid egg of Dame Leghorn's, a note- 
 worthy event, as the capricious little lady has 
 eschewed the laying of eggs for the last month 
 or six weeks. This is all very sweet, very 
 natural, but not salon talk. Well hardly! 
 Still one would scarcely say that the pair of 
 us were lacking in mind or intellect. 
 
 "What ails us then, Timothy?" the Youth- 
 ful Pessimist asked pertinently, "What ails us 
 then?" 
 
 I hesitated a little before I answered her 
 question. In my mind's eye I went over the 
 list of my acquaintances, examined the tongues 
 of each as a wise physician should and placed 
 a rough estimate on the real ability each one 
 possessed. I believe my diagnosis to be cor- 
 rect. Our malady is not a dearth of brains, 
 but a dearth of unselfishness, a dearth of in- 
 terest in what is biblically termed our neigh- 
 bor. We are so self centered that it becomes 
 
 2.3 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 an actual annoyance to simulate an interest that 
 we do not feel and so we continually stand out- 
 side the drab walls of conventionality simply 
 because we are too careless and inert to reach 
 for the key that opens the door of the temple 
 itself. 
 
 "Suppose,'* the Imaginary Listener suggests, 
 "suppose the interior turns out to be a weed 
 ridden, bramble choked space?" 
 
 A bitter disappointment my dear friend, but 
 an exception rather than a rule and, if once 
 you become a frequenter of the inner courts, 
 you learn to love the charming secluded cham- 
 bers and, as the eyes are sharpened by love or 
 friendship, you begin to discern in the pure 
 white light the shadow of the substance of the 
 man, fashioned like unto yourself and stamped 
 with the godhead of the creator. Why stand 
 in the ante chamber when the master himself 
 bids you sup with him? However, to enjoy 
 these privileges we must shake off the shackles 
 of the stereotype. 
 
 Mrs. A, who is very musical, wishes me to 
 go with her to see Mrs. B, who is very ar- 
 tistic. It is a happy coincidence that Mrs. B 
 is attempting to buy a sweet-toned piano and 
 that Mrs. A is longing for some one to advise 
 her how to hang her pictures. Now you would 
 naturally suppose that these two ladies, so 
 
 24 
 
THE ART OF CONVERSATION 
 
 plainly in need of each other, both gifted above 
 the average, would find some subject other than 
 the stereotyped small talk. 
 
 But such was not to be the case. They 
 spoke of the weather and their servants. Mr. 
 A it seemed liked rare done steak while Mr. B 
 required his burnt to a crisp. These details 
 took the better part of a visit and, after a 
 few pleasant words about the children, we de- 
 parted to call on Mrs. C, whose husband will 
 not eat steak under any circumstances. 
 
 Our grandmothers had the advantage of us 
 in the art of conversation. In some respects 
 the enforcing of the unwritten eleventh com- 
 mandment, wash not thy soiled linen in public, 
 stood them in good stead. By their words ye 
 shall know them, might well be said of the 
 gentlefolk of the old regime. The conversa- 
 tion of that era was divided into three classes, 
 the good, the bad, and the vulgar and, if you 
 had to make a selection other than the good, 
 you showed your social status when you chose 
 between the bad and the vulgar. Society, then 
 as now, was much more sympathetic with the 
 sinner than the vulgarian. 
 
 When such topics as the servant question, 
 your poverty or the lack of it as the case might 
 be, the cost of your winter hats or garments, 
 the unfortunate disposition of your husband, 
 
 25 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 brother, sister or mother-in-law were debarred 
 our grandmothers were thrown back upon the 
 resources within themselves and to successfully 
 draw out and entertain their guests became, not 
 only a matter of moment, but of plain neces- 
 sity. And so skilfully did they manage that 
 the little dribbling streams of small talk oftener 
 than not broadened into the smooth flowing 
 river of conversation. When you come to 
 think of it, it is very pleasant to journey into 
 the unexplored territory of your neighbor's 
 mind and, if we are thriftily inclined, we can 
 acquire quite a store of beneficial knowledge 
 provided we observe the "come off the grass" 
 signs and abstain from announcing too loudly, 
 "Here we are on Tom Tiddler's ground pick- 
 ing up gold and silver." 
 
 Sad to say, I was never a ready child and 
 have often heard my dear mother expound on 
 the attractions of what she called, "her wooden 
 baby." I deduced that, though I was a silent 
 and inscrutable infant, I was on the whole 
 more companionable than otherwise. My de- 
 fect amounted to a positive virtue. I consider 
 that I started life handicapped and will admit 
 that what little I know of the art of conversa- 
 tion has been gained by hard knocks and rather 
 dreary experiences. But I live and learn, and 
 
 26 
 
THE ART OF CONVERSATION 
 
 count over my string of friends as religiously 
 as a nun ever counted her beads. 
 
 I call to mind one occasion wherein I showed 
 almost Machiavellian depths of strategy. I 
 was made executor of a cousin's estate and, 
 for certain family reasons, I felt obliged to 
 accept the responsibility thrust upon me. My 
 wards live in a nearby town, and I am oc- 
 casionally forced to descend upon them to dis- 
 cuss business from their point of view. This 
 involves visiting the oldest girl, lately married, 
 when I should much prefer putting up at a 
 comfortable hotel. 
 
 The first visit was a ghastly affair, not, I 
 hasten to add, from lack of care on the part 
 of my host and hostess. My creature com- 
 forts were most carefully attended to. I was, 
 if anything, over fed, and as a natural con- 
 sequence unduly silent. We could not forever 
 discuss business, and frankly I failed to interest 
 these two well intentioned but common-place 
 young people. There were impossible gaps in 
 the conversation, much boring small talk and, 
 though we parted with many expressions of 
 good will, I could not but feel my pulse quicken 
 at the thought of my safe return to my solitary 
 house again. 
 
 You can imagine with what dismay I ap- 
 proached the time of my second visit. Never 
 27 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 was a man so beset. On one side lay my 
 Waterloo of the previous year, on the other, 
 my elusive dream of a paid for room and, be- 
 tween the two, a mountain of injured feelings, 
 cousinly feelings at that. My stay had given 
 them no pleasure, but a refusal of their hos- 
 pitable invitation would amount to a positive 
 slap in the face. I capitulated to the old 
 proverb that blood is thicker than water and 
 started off with the same cheerful thoughts that 
 I carry with me to the dentist's chair. 
 
 On the train two brilliant ideas struck me. 
 I could, by a little management, shorten my 
 stay by one day, and during that stay I re- 
 solved to talk on, we will say, four topics. I 
 gave much thought to the selection of these 
 topics. Number one was easy. They were 
 building a house. I would discuss architecture 
 of whatever design they fancied. Number two 
 was travel. They had spoken of a trip and 
 I had a dim recollection of a revolving book- 
 case filled with time tables. Number three 
 was clothes, for there is nothing a woman likes 
 better than a well turned compliment on her- 
 self or her wearing apparel and, after some 
 hesitation, I hit upon the church as number 
 four. There was no particular reason for 
 my last selection, but it is a safe and reliable 
 topic and always meets with a respectful if not 
 
 28 
 
THE ART OF CONVERSATION 
 
 enthusiastic reception. I felt a great deal 
 easier after I had made up my mind as to my 
 course of action and, when I found they had 
 come to meet me, I was ready with a cheerful 
 smile. 
 
 "How are you, Louise?" I kissed her in a 
 fatherly manner. "Upon my word, Ned, you 
 take good care of this little girl. No expense 
 spared, eh?" Here I laughed knowingly, 
 Louise blushed, Ned grinned like the far-famed 
 Cheshire cat, the ice was broken and my visit 
 began under clear and shining skies. 
 
 The Imaginary Listener always insists that 
 my opening words were rather crude, not to 
 say obvious, but they served their purpose and, 
 so to speak, stimulated me to further efforts. 
 
 It was a wonderful visit. I spoke of the 
 house. They expanded and, although not ar- 
 tistically inclined, showed a fair amount of 
 practical knowledge. In the end I was con- 
 ducted over the building and acquitted myself 
 well, despite the fact that I got a nasty blow 
 on my shin from a loose plank and almost 
 sprained my ankle on the unfinished steps. 
 
 We had some nice talks on travel and the 
 church for, of course, number three could only 
 be used in the light of an interjection. I quote 
 here an expression of the Youthful Pessimist, 
 a sort of sunshine spreader. Ned and Louise 
 29 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 did not actually travel, but were always con- 
 sidering a trip. Hence the time tables. Hence 
 Ned's accurate knowledge of trains and steam- 
 boats. He could make a fortune as ticket 
 agent or head secretary to a Travelers' Aid 
 Union. I told him this and he was unfeignedly 
 pleased. 
 
 I will dispose of number four by telling you 
 that Ned was a vestryman, treasurer of the 
 missionary society, librarian of the Sunday 
 school and vice-president of the United La- 
 borers' Association, an affair run in connection 
 with the church. I did not shorten my stay. 
 Such a course was not necessary for I was a 
 success, a howling success. I am looking for- 
 ward to next year and shall use the same topics, 
 a little padding here and there if needful. 
 
 Sellars has not been to see me lately, and I 
 said so to the Youthful Pessimist. 
 
 "Perhaps he does not like me?" she 
 hazarded. 
 
 I snorted at the suggestion, but I shall speak 
 to Sellars. He is an opinionated young ass, 
 but a favorite of mine. 
 
 If the rain holds up I shall garden to-mor- 
 row. 
 
 3° 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 MY GARDEN 
 
 MY garden is like myself, old fash- 
 ioned and somewhat discursive. It 
 is mine own invention, and I am 
 inordinately proud of it. In spring and sum- 
 mer I never look upon it without exhaling a 
 sigh of content and inhaling a breath of fra- 
 grant sweetness. 
 
 I finished my breakfast hastily and went to 
 the hen house to get Ratius. Ratius' mother 
 was my first cook and "a colored lady of 
 learning." She named her boy Horatius and 
 her girl Ophelia, using in each case a pro- 
 nounced accent on the first syllable. O-phelia 
 married a man from "North Caroliny," but I 
 have always had Ratius. 
 
 I called him lustily from a distance and Ip 
 came forth to greet me. Ip is a mongrel of 
 the lowest description and shows his lack of 
 breeding by grovelling on his stomach and 
 wagging his mongrel tail whenever I honor 
 him with my presence. "Stand up like a man," 
 3 1 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 I said sternly, but he only whined a servile 
 whine and kept up the grovelling and wagging. 
 I turned my eyes from this abject spectacle and 
 we trailed down the path with Ip in the rear. 
 He keeps me from acquiring a well bred dog 
 for I have not the heart to show the real ar- 
 ticle to a specimen that is so plainly aware of 
 its own inferiority. 
 
 My house faces the north and, that it will 
 be plain to the mind's eye, I had best describe 
 it geographically. It is bounded on the north 
 by a honeysuckle hedge, on the south, by a 
 trellis covered with flowering beans, morning 
 and evening glories and on the east and west 
 by roses of every variety. We always start 
 at the south and end with the west, after which 
 we inspect the shrubbery. 
 
 The trellis serves a double purpose. It is 
 not only beautiful to look at, but hides the 
 hen houses and servants' quarters. It is silly of 
 me not to plant a perennial here, ivy I should 
 say, or more honeysuckle; but there is some- 
 thing very delightful to me about the growth 
 of the young vines. Their shade of green re- 
 minds me frankly of the shell of a new green 
 pea, and they never seem to lose their first 
 spring freshness. I like to fancy that I train 
 these vines myself and moreover, by this plan, 
 I am enabled to give the trellis a coat of new 
 32 
 
MY GARDEN 
 
 paint whenever the idea strikes me. I twisted 
 some little tendrils about the lattice work. 
 
 "Well," I said enquiringly, "how do they 
 look, Ratius?" 
 
 "They're all right," said Ratius, who is not 
 a talkative person, and we moved on our leis- 
 urely way. 
 
 The Youthful Pessimist lives on my east, 
 and here I think I have shown commendable 
 ingenuity. I had some wire arches made some- 
 what the shape of gigantic croquet wickets, 
 only double and laced together with wire net- 
 ting. Over the arches I trained crimson ram- 
 blers and Dolly Perkins roses, and the result 
 has justified my wildest expectations. This 
 has been a wonderful spring, and I fairly 
 gasped as I looked upon my arches of living 
 pink and red blossoms. 
 
 "Well," I cried waving my stick at the ram- 
 blers with a pride I did not attempt to con- 
 ceal, "how do these look, Ratius?" 
 
 "They're all right," he answered laconically 
 and I passed on reluctantly to the honeysuckle 
 hedge. 
 
 The honeysuckle has not many blooms, but 
 in my opinion is not to be sniffed at. 
 
 "How does this look, Ratius?" I asked care- 
 lessly. 
 
 33 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 "Middling," he retorted with a contemptu- 
 ous glance at me. 
 
 "What's the matter with it?" said I indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 "Brats," he replied sneeringly and spat upon 
 the ground. 
 
 I glared at him. If Ratius' mother was a 
 "colored lady" Ratius himself has not the 
 habits and manners of a "colored gentleman." 
 Yet I did not reprove him as I should. His 
 unswerving devotion to me and love for the 
 Youthful Pessimist have made him immune 
 from reproofs such as I would bestow upon an 
 ordinary servant. It is true also that he can- 
 not bear children, and I confess I have encour- 
 aged the depredations made upon the hedge. 
 Sometimes I make a pretense of threatening 
 them with my cane, but the youngsters know 
 this is only a little game of mine and laugh- 
 ingly defy me. 
 
 I have a high mortared wall on my west 
 which calls out sternly to my neighbors, more 
 plainly than any sign board could, "No trespas- 
 sers allowed." The roses here bloom later in 
 the year and are both old and every day types. 
 I acquired them along with my house and farm 
 and have transplanted them a number of times, 
 always with unfailing success. There are some 
 microphyllas, some double but very ordinary 
 34 
 
MY GARDEN 
 
 red and pink roses and a delicate and alto- 
 gether charming bloom, pink tinted and not 
 unlike a refined and beautiful wild rose. This 
 is a variety unknown to me, but Ratius, seeing 
 my fancy for it, in this respect has proved him- 
 self a genius. He selected stout, young shoots, 
 drew them into the earth and pinned them 
 securely into place with, oh ye gods what sac- 
 rilege, a lady's hair pin. Incredible as it seems, 
 a number of shoots rooted, and to-day I pos- 
 sess a good score of hardy bushes. 
 
 I pursued the safe policy of ignoring Ratius 
 for his rudeness and I even pretended not to 
 hear him when, without any inquiry on my 
 part, he shouted in a loud voice, 'They're all 
 right." He fidgetted uneasily under my dis- 
 approval and now and then murmured, "Hi, 
 Ip. Hi, Ip," a process that caused that un- 
 fortunate animal to gambol wildly about me 
 in the uttermost bewilderment and apprehen- 
 sion. 
 
 I have a narrow flower bed and next to the 
 roses, partly hiding their bare stalks, an 
 eighteen-inch high wire netting covered with 
 nasturtiums and sweet pea vines. Next fol- 
 lows a spasmodic collection of small plants, 
 balsams, pinks, verbenas, citron aloes and such 
 like, and then a thick and solid border of 
 pansies. I pinched a sprig of citron aloes and 
 35 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 stuck it in my button hole. I remember when 
 the Youthful Pessimist was recovering from 
 some childish ailment how I sat by her bed- 
 side and asked her what I should bring her 
 for a present. 
 
 She put her small, thin hand in mine, "A 
 sprig of citron aloes, Timothy," she said with- 
 out hesitation. 
 
 "What will you do with it?" I asked in 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Pick a leaf off every day and mash it in 
 my hands," she answered wistfully. 
 
 I mashed a leaf and sat down to rest a 
 little while Ratius pretended to busy himself 
 about a fig tree. 
 
 For the daytime I like this part of my gar- 
 den best. It is more primitive and uncivilized 
 and the trees might have been transplanted 
 from Adam and Eve's original garden, so 
 gnarled and twisted and bent with age are they. 
 I concentrate my ideas in one word and call it 
 "woodsy," and you lift your well-bred eye- 
 brows, you inspector of my garden, and query 
 in amusement, "How so, Timothy?" If I 
 answered at all, I should briefly state that the 
 shrubbery is so thick, the foliage so heavy 
 that, barring some few fruit trees, two figs, 
 two cherries and an antiquated peach, this bit 
 of ground is to my mind not altogether unlike 
 
 36 
 
MY GARDEN 
 
 a jungle. If, I repeat, if I did say this, there 
 would be more queries, more glances of amuse- 
 ment leveled this time at the cherries, a fruit 
 not usually found in a jungle, but most pro- 
 ductive of pleasant thoughts that start with 
 cherry blossoms and end with a certain palat- 
 able cherry roll made by my cook who is Ra- 
 tius' wife. Then, too, here I am free of that 
 sharp disgust of self that comes over me when- 
 ever I gaze at the south and southeast part 
 of my garden. 
 
 My house, you will understand, except for 
 the saving grace of comfort, is absolutely un- 
 pretentious and unassertive. It has two stories 
 and a half attic and, front and back, long, 
 broad porches that run the length of the house. 
 I use the upper porches as bedrooms and the 
 lower ones as sitting rooms. A house is an 
 indispensable object, but I have endeavored to 
 make mine as inconspicuous as possible. It is 
 a dull green and melts into the landscape so 
 that you would never say, "What a wonderful 
 house and garden?" but rather, "What a won- 
 derful garden?" and, if anything, forget the 
 very existence of the house. It is this same 
 house that has given me the heart ache about 
 my garden, the house and my good-for-nothing 
 body that has to be handled as carefully as a 
 glued together ornament. I built with care and 
 37 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 an eye to my trees a small and unobtrusive 
 home, but I did not bargain for a weak lung 
 that clamored for air and sunshine. 
 
 There were seven lindens in my back and 
 side yard, I say it with a sort of heart sick 
 pride. I called them "The Seven Sisters," Ra- 
 tius, "Them Seven Trees" and the Youthful 
 Pessimist, "The Seven Ees." We named them 
 together, she and I, Estelle, Edna, Erma, 
 Emma, Ethel, Emily, and Eugenie, and in 
 spring time the fragrance of their blooms and 
 the rustling of their leaves made my sleeping 
 porch a nest in the tree tops. 
 
 I think the Youthful Pessimist was twelve 
 years old when I acquired the lung, and the 
 doctor who railed against my lindens. First he 
 advised me; next implored me; then com- 
 manded me, as I valued my life, to cut down 
 the trees and let in the glaring sunlight. I 
 resisted as long as I could, but finally com- 
 monsense had its way and I consented to do 
 away with two magnolias, a sop to Cerberus, 
 and Edna. He grumbled and demanded more. 
 I was firm and, at last, he agreed to over see 
 the job that I might get out of sight and 
 sound of a deed so distasteful to me. 
 
 I went to town that day, but I could not for- 
 get "The Seven Sisters," and finally I came 
 home resolved to know the worst at once. It 
 
 38 
 
MY GARDEN 
 
 was lucky that they had completed the job and 
 lucky that the doctor had fled, leaving only a 
 note behind him. For, besides the two mag- 
 nolias and Edna, they had cut down Eugenie, 
 the best loved of all the sisters, whose branches 
 at times almost swept across my face. The 
 stark, sawed-off trunks rose up to reproach me 
 and the Youthful Pessimist sat weeping among 
 the ruins. I confess that I cried myself and 
 could not be comforted even by the admirable 
 sentiments of the Youthful Pessimist's mother 
 who has always stoutly maintained that it was 
 really for the best. I had the trees chopped 
 up and gave them to the Wainwright girls. 
 One cannot burn one's own friends. Where 
 Edna stood, I put a crepe myrtle bush, but 
 that does not fill the empty space of Eugenie. 
 
 After Ratius had finished the fig tree, we 
 walked about until we came to the crepe myrtle 
 bush. Here I sat down to rest again, and 
 Ratius went off with the detestable Ip. I was 
 tired and leaned forward on my cane. I must 
 have taken forty winks for, when I opened my 
 eyes, Sellars sat beside me with his hat pushed 
 back upon his head and his hands stuck in his 
 pockets. 
 
 "Shove on your hat, Sellars," I said testily. 
 "You look almost common." 
 
 He laughingly obeyed me and said that, as 
 39 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 I was all alone, he had come in to see me. 
 That expression "all alone" reminded me of 
 the Youthful Pessimist. 
 
 "Why do you dislike Anne, Sellars?" I 
 asked almost sternly. 
 
 "Good Lord," he answered turning a little 
 pale, "I do not dislike Miss Anne. Did she 
 tell you that I did?" 
 
 "Not exactly," I replied trying not to im- 
 plicate the Youthful Pessimist, "but she said 
 perhaps that was why you did not come to see 
 me so often." 
 
 "Ah," said Sellars with a suspicion of a 
 smile, "I repeat I do not dislike Miss Anne." 
 
 "Could you be a little nicer to her then, for 
 my sake?" I said coaxingly. 
 
 "I will do my best," Sellars answered stiffly. 
 
 "You are so abrupt," I went on nervously 
 for Sellars' voice, to put it mildly, lacked en- 
 thusiasm. "You could alter that manner if you 
 made an effort." 
 
 I stopped for I was suddenly aware of the 
 fact that Sellars was not listening to me. He 
 was staring ahead of him, staring apparently 
 at my house and there was a tight, thin, 
 pinched look to his lips, an unhappy dazed ex- 
 pression in his eyes that gave me a qualm of 
 uneasiness. I like the fellow and think he has 
 taken a fancy to me. 
 
 40 
 
MY GARDEN 
 
 "Sellars," I said slowly, "have I vexed you? 
 Remember that I am an old man and, after all, 
 your manners are none of my affairs." 
 
 I am still surprised at the effect my words 
 had on Sellars. He flung his right arm about 
 my shoulders and with his left hand gripped 
 my hand that lay upon his knee. 
 
 "Vexed with you?" he returned with a voice 
 vibrant with feeling. "Impossible, that could 
 never be. You are the person who has made 
 me love this place. When I talk with you, 
 nothing seems improbable, no height too high 
 to scale. I take it you are my friend?" 
 
 "You will make an effort," I confess I liked 
 the grip of his hot hands. 
 
 "It will be no effort," he said, and I did not 
 doubt his sincerity. 
 
 Sellars is a man after my own soul in spite 
 of his moody, and at times overbearing ways, 
 the result I am inclined to believe of a stormy 
 and unhappy youth. Perhaps some idle, silly 
 chit has juggled with his heart and that ac- 
 counts for his stern determination to make 
 good outside his native state. I fume im- 
 potently at the very idea for, had I a son of 
 my own, I should like him to have Sellars' 
 sturdy manhood. That arm, against which I 
 leaned somewhat unnecessarily, seemed to me 
 41 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 the very embodiment of strength and kindly 
 protection. 
 
 As a mere matter of curiosity I asked, 
 "After all, Sellars, just what have I done for 
 you?" 
 
 "I was a stranger and you took me in," he 
 answered simply. 
 
 42 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 CHICKENS 
 
 IT is raining again to-day in the same de- 
 termined steady drip that has been 
 drenching my garden for the last three 
 days. I am a very contrary person. I want 
 it cold when it is hot, I'm always wanting what 
 is not, and the rain is fast becoming a nuis- 
 ance. 
 
 If for example we have hot, sunshiny days, 
 I become convinced that my garden is scorched 
 and yellowed and search the heavens for some- 
 thing that even remotely resembles a cloud. 
 At present I am in the opposite frame of mind 
 and am sure that the centers of my roses are 
 fast cankering for lack of a little sunshine and 
 really cannot understand why we do not have 
 more equable weather. 
 
 The Youthful Pessimist is away and, as I am 
 decidedly bored, I made up my mind to go to 
 the hen houses. I went to get my own galoshes, 
 but Roger circumvented me and interfered as 
 I knew he would. While I was firm with him 
 43 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 and showed him that I was the master of the 
 house, yet, as a concession to his faithfulness, 
 I permitted him to wrap me in a rain cape. I 
 also took an umbrella and happily splashed 
 down the garden walk. I did not look behind 
 me because I knew Roger stood on the porch 
 a mute but respectful protest against what I 
 have heard him privately term "my goings on." 
 
 There are several reasons why I should in- 
 spect the hen houses and one is the speckled 
 chicken that I have saved from either the broil- 
 ing or the frying pan. On account of its size, 
 I should say the former, on account of its 
 sagacity, I should say the latter. 
 
 I was idling on my front porch yesterday 
 watching a man from the produce cart. They 
 always halt beneath my trees to separate their 
 chickens into bunches of six. They then dis- 
 pose of them to my neighbors who have not 
 my inside information, namely, that the sixth 
 or center chicken is either not long for this 
 world or else too young to have slipped 'from 
 beneath the shelter of its mother's wing. 
 
 On this occasion just as the man was about 
 to complete his first half a dozen, a speckled 
 chicken, not much the worse for wear, escaped 
 from the coop and stepped nimbly to the mid- 
 dle of the muddy road. My sympathies are 
 always with the chicken and, with ill concealed 
 44 
 
CHICKENS 
 
 joy, I watched the man pursue it, hither and 
 thither, through the mud and the steady rain. 
 He ran it to earth, as I thought, against my 
 hedge, but the chicken gave a frightened 
 squawk, rose high in the air and landed on my 
 well kept lawn. Though it was a good jump, 
 I heard the man swear aloud, and saw him 
 place a sacrilegious hand on my hedge. 
 
 "What are you about?" I called sharply and 
 he came sullenly up the walkway. 
 
 "Well?" I said. 
 
 "It's my chicken," he rasped defiantly. 
 
 I glanced at the chicken and, if ever an 
 animal demanded sanctuary, that chicken did. 
 It stood stock still, panting a little from the 
 high jump. It would be a matter of a few 
 minutes to catch it, but sanctuary it demanded 
 and sanctuary it should have. I jingled some 
 loose change in my pocket. 
 
 "How much?" I queried. 
 
 He would have liked, I think, to double the 
 price. Doubtless there was something about 
 my expression that checked that desire, for I 
 finally paid for what is technically called "a 
 fryer." I think we were both satisfied with 
 our bargain. He had made an unexpected sale 
 and I not only possessed the speckled chicken, 
 but had saved my garden from the hobnailed 
 boots of the produce man. Later in the day, 
 45 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 when the rain held up, I sent Ratius after it 
 and gave him directions to put it in the hen 
 house. I wondered how it fancied its new 
 quarters. 
 
 I have a mixed collection of fowls and di- 
 vide them into three classes. Number one, the 
 aristocrats, consist of Wyandots, Leghorns, 
 some white and buff Orpingtons and a goodly 
 supply of bantams. These I keep for breeding 
 purposes and to exhibit at state fairs as a 
 sample of what an idle old gentleman can do 
 if he puts his mind to it. Number two is a 
 happy little settlement of mainly married 
 couples, and here I get my fresh eggs, the joy 
 of my life and the envy of my neighbors. 
 Number three are table chickens and these I 
 purchase from a spinster who, without any 
 proof, claims to be a distant connection of 
 mine, and comes to town once a week to sub- 
 stantiate her claim. The table chickens nat- 
 urally are brief sojourners in my land of plenty 
 but, now and then, I take a fancy to one and 
 transfer it to my settlement, usually with the 
 best results, namely eggs. 
 
 Moreover, I want to find out what has be- 
 come of my quartet. I gave Ratius special 
 orders concerning them and yet this morning 
 I missed their early call. I believe it is rather 
 remarkable for chickens to show any concerted 
 
 4 6 
 
CHICKENS 
 
 action, but lately, indeed, since my last batch 
 from the spinster maid, rising above the or- 
 dinary noises of the yard and at about the 
 same hour each morning, four of my table 
 chickens unite in a great and glorious cock a 
 doodle doo. Quaint as it may appear, the 
 pitch of their voices is not unlike the com- 
 bination of a baritone, a bass, a soprano and 
 a tenor. The latter always led the music, and 
 this morning his voice was silent. The tenor 
 was a black rooster, and I do not believe Ra- 
 tius would have killed it when I gave orders 
 to the contrary, still it makes me uneasy to 
 remember that yesterday we had an unusually 
 large dish of fried chickens for supper. 
 
 The Youthful Pessimist does not care for 
 chickens and asserts that her mother is re- 
 sponsible for the lack of interest on her part. 
 She tells a good story concerning this and, if 
 it is not true, it has been repeated so often 
 that it has gained for itself a certain nook in 
 the family history. 
 
 The Youthful Pessimist's godmother gave 
 her a small white chicken and this I know to 
 be a fact for it was often brought to see me 
 squawking and gulping from the tight grip of 
 the small fingers clutched around its throat. It 
 was a hardy little thing and, strange to say, 
 seemed attached to its mistress who lavished 
 47 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 upon it, I quote her here, her greatest love and 
 care. 
 
 Then godmother, so the story runs, sur- 
 prised the family by unexpectedly coming out 
 to spend the day. By an unhappy coincidence 
 the larder was short, and it does not take a 
 genius to guess what next happened. While 
 the Youthful Pessimist babbled of her pet, the 
 godmother ate the white chicken, now broiled 
 a delicate brown. It was well for the peace 
 of the family that the Youthful Pessimist had 
 not an enquiring nature for she was the sort 
 of impossible child who would have refused to 
 see the wisdom of such an arrangement. How- 
 ever, she never owned another chicken. 
 
 On the way to the hen house I stopped by 
 the kitchen to speak to Patsy, Ratius' wife. 
 She told me that O-Phelia was coming to visit 
 me, although, of course, she did not put it quite 
 so baldly. I am afraid that O-Phelia has fallen 
 on evil days. Two years ago her husband, a 
 gingerbread nigger, was "Odained" and, as a 
 natural result, climbed to high places in the 
 religious societies of his church. He was 
 caught in the act of absconding with the money 
 of the societies and is now serving his time in 
 the North Carolina penitentiary. O-Phelia has 
 decided to return to her native state, and most 
 naturally desires a shelter beneath her broth- 
 48 
 
CHICKENS 
 
 er's roof. Ratius never fancied his sister, and 
 this is my only hope and chance of escaping 
 from O-Phelia's obvious intention of becoming 
 a boarder who pays no board. 
 
 I can never understand why Patsy married 
 Ratius, and yet she has explained to me many 
 times that black men make better husbands. 
 In spite of her amplitude, Patsy is a fine-look- 
 ing woman with clear amber skin and really 
 wonderful eyes. Ratius worships her and is as 
 dough in her hands. She has never had any 
 children and, while not a young woman, has 
 almost a girlish freshness and vivacity. 
 
 As I was talking to her, I saw out of the 
 corner of my eye that so far the speckled 
 chicken was not happy. It stood against the 
 trellis, sheltered by the vines from the pelting 
 rains, with one foot tucked under its wing, and 
 there was a distrustful aloofness about its at- 
 titude. Leaving my dripping umbrella on 
 Patsy's porch, I took some scraps of corn pone 
 in my hand and tempted it with food. It ate 
 warily and with a careful eye to its surround- 
 ings. As soon as it becomes more sociable, I 
 shall place it in the settlement. 
 
 I can't remember when I have seen the aris- 
 tocrats in better condition. They fairly radi- 
 ated prosperity and high living. Ratius had a 
 setting of bantam eggs, and thirteen out of the 
 
 49 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 fifteen hatched. Ratius is very jubilant over 
 this. He says bantams have a great habit of 
 leaving their nests to scrap with their neigh- 
 bors, or friends perhaps, and then, with a 
 dawning sense of duty, wandering around and 
 setting on any old egg they happen to find. 
 Meanwhile the half-hatched eggs cool off and 
 it is simply a case of the survival of the fit- 
 test. The chicks are the dearest little things. 
 I longed for the Youthful Pessimist and found 
 it hard to leave them in spite of a growing 
 feeling of dampness. 
 
 I was on Ratius' porch again when I caught 
 sight of the black rooster and asked Ratius 
 why he supposed it had not crowed this morn- 
 ing? He mumbled something and looked at 
 Patsy and I saw that she had scorched the 
 front of the shirt she was ironing for him. 
 
 "Is it sick?" I asked. 
 
 "No," he managed to get out as if in a 
 trance and, all unreproved, Patsy proceeded to 
 scorch the sleeve of the shirt. 
 
 I lost patience then and there and demanded 
 again just why the rooster did not crow. For 
 a colored person Ratius turned almost white. 
 He jerked his finger toward Patsy. 
 
 "He crow too much. She cut his beak off," 
 he whispered. 
 
 For a minute I saw red and even now I do 
 
 50 
 
CHICKENS 
 
 not know just what I did say to the pair of 
 them; but I knew that they cowered beneath 
 the hail of my words. My collar band began 
 to grow too tight for me and I realized that I 
 was in a greater rage than I had ever been in 
 my boyhood days. I commanded them to kill 
 the chicken at once and dispose of it as they 
 liked for I would starve sooner than eat a piece 
 of it. Then I took my umbrella and went sav- 
 agely out into the garden. 
 
 I felt too hot and wrathy to go to the house, 
 but headed for a bench beneath the thick trees 
 where I would be hidden from view. "Cut his 
 beak off." I had only to repeat the words to 
 fall into a perfect ecstasy of temper. It 
 seemed to me that I could never like Patsy 
 again and, as for eating her food, faugh, the 
 thought sickened me. 
 
 I had been sitting there some little while 
 when I discovered that something or somebody 
 was pushing its way through the wet under- 
 growth, and I was astonished to see Ip ooze, 
 as it were, out of the muddy ground. He 
 stood looking at me as if in explanation, and 
 I said thickly out aloud, "Cut his beak off, Ip, 
 cut his beak off." 
 
 I have found out that Ip has a soul. No 
 human being could have shown his sympathy 
 more unobtrusively. He stretched out his long 
 
 5 1 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 uncouth body and licked my hand just once 
 as if in response to my words, and his eyes en- 
 treated that he might not be classed with the 
 perpetrators of such a deed. Then he 
 crouched down at my feet, his tail still, his 
 head between his paws and together we 
 mourned a while. 
 
 When I went to the house, it developed that 
 I was wet and somewhat hoarse. 
 
 52 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 MY SICK SPELL 
 
 I WAS ill some days before I finally did 
 go to bed. I wanted to give up sooner, 
 but could not bear to hear Roger's self 
 satisfied, "I told you so, sir." I knew he 
 was watching me like a hawk and I did the 
 best I could to preserve my self respect. 
 Surreptitiously I dosed myself with tablets 
 and powders, but all to no avail. I sickened 
 slowly under Roger's anxious eye and my 
 slight cold gave way to a cough with the happy 
 addition of a hot fever before I was even 
 aware of the fact that what I had was bron- 
 chitis with no complications. 
 
 I remember well my last breakfast. How I 
 strove to conceal my illness and suffered in so 
 doing. As usual the table was on the porch, 
 and it was with almost a sensation of positive 
 disgust that I approached my morning meal. 
 Patsy has done some masterly cooking since 
 the rooster episode, and my breakfast should 
 have tempted the most fastidious. I steered 
 S3 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 myself into a chair and attacked my melon. 
 It was deliciously cold and I was unnaturally 
 hot, so it was not the effort I expected it to 
 be. It was the day for waffles and syrup and, 
 when I saw a plate of four and my usual egg 
 placed beside me, I became almost panicky. I 
 took two, as is my custom, and made an elab- 
 orate pretense of buttering and syruping them. 
 Then I drank a glass of cold tea at one gulp 
 and glanced at Roger who was pretending not 
 to notice me. 
 
 "More tea," I said and nibbled at a small 
 piece of waffle. I must say that I am both 
 quick and ingenious for, even as Roger turned 
 his back, I grasped the tip end of my stick, slid 
 it over the table, caught the hooked handle in 
 the wires of the old-fashioned door bell and 
 jerked the whole toward me. The bell rang 
 noisily. It would appear we had an early 
 caller. 
 
 Roger is a great stickler for prompt atten- 
 tion to the bell and he left the porch at once. 
 Then I proceeded to make haste quickly. Tak- 
 ing the egg from the cup and two waffles from 
 the plate, I hurried to the side of the porch 
 where I dropped them neatly into the hy- 
 drangea bushes. Regaining my stick, I sat 
 down again and, conquering a decidedly dizzy 
 inclination to fall over the side of my chair, 
 
 54 
 
MY SICK SPELL 
 
 was able, when Roger returned, to enquire if 
 the postman had already come. Roger replied 
 that it was not the postman and I saw his 
 astonished gaze rove over my plate and rest 
 upon my empty egg cup. Of course I should 
 have left the shell. 
 
 He disappeared shortly on his own account, 
 but I stayed where I was and, when he came 
 back, he found me still staring at the break- 
 fast table. He leant over me and spoke very 
 distinctly and slowly. "Your bed is ready, 
 sir," he said, and I replied equally politely and 
 carefully, "Thank you, Roger, then I will go 
 up." 
 
 I took the arm Roger offered me, got out of 
 my chair with difficulty and up the steps with 
 even more difficulty. Once in my room Roger 
 deftly put me to bed and then hurried to the 
 phone and called up next door and Sellars. He 
 simply said that I was going to have a sick 
 spell and I thought it rather gentlemanly of 
 him not to mention that I had caught cold 
 playing about the hen houses. 
 
 The mother of the Youthful Pessimist ap- 
 peared almost immediately and seated herself 
 by the window. She gently chided me for get- 
 ting sick in much the same tone of voice that she 
 had chided me many years ago for my sweet 
 unreasonableness in desiring her to become my 
 55 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 wife. Looking at her now, with the calm eyes 
 of affection, I must confess that Anne senior 
 or "Old Anne," as her husband calls her, 
 showed her strong common sense when she so 
 carefully poured cold water upon my ardent 
 affections. Her literalness and my weed-like 
 imagination would no more have mixed than 
 the proverbial oil and water. It is, I believe, 
 the privilege of every single person to theorize 
 on the subject of married life and my pet and 
 well worn hobby is congeniality. With sim- 
 ilar interests I contend the two lives should be- 
 come as one and this, coupled with a little give 
 and take, ought to secure a fair amount of 
 earthly happiness. 
 
 "Old Anne" is generous and I am a niggard. 
 She would have given herself unreservedly, 
 and I should have hidden from her sight the 
 second self, partly because she would not have 
 understood and partly because I desire a pri- 
 vate plaything, a little rill of my own screened 
 from prying eyes by lacey vines and shrubbery. 
 Either we would have become a humdrum 
 couple or Anne would have developed a back- 
 water on her own account. I never try to spec- 
 ulate further than this, but it is obvious that I 
 was not intended for matrimony. 
 
 "Old Anne" in her present capacity suits me 
 admirably and she does not need protests from 
 
 56 
 
MY SICK SPELL 
 
 me to prove my warm affection. She is still 
 generous and has shared the Youthful Pes- 
 simist with me as kindly as if the three little 
 boys had lived. I thought of all this as I 
 watched her sitting there. They have been a 
 happy couple, my dear and near neighbors, 
 and the loss of their children has but drawn 
 them more closely together. I repeat, "Old 
 Anne" showed a wisdom beyond her years. 
 
 When Sellars did arrive, he proved himself 
 a tyrant and painstaking enough to satisfy the 
 critical eyes of Anne senior. She only knows 
 him slightly and prefers an older man, but my 
 old doctor of the lindens died a year ago, and 
 I have been clever enough not to get sick since 
 that time. Of course, Sellars said it would 
 have been better had I given up immediately. 
 I expected this. It goes with the stock phrase, 
 "The appendix burst the instant it was re- 
 moved." There are certain things that you 
 learn intuitively and one is that a young doc- 
 tor is a weighty individual and needs careful 
 handling. I say, with bated breath, there is 
 a deal both to learn and unlearn in medicine. 
 
 Sellars was tremendously in earnest and at- 
 tacked my case in words four syllables long. 
 After he had blown off his first steam, I said 
 to him witheringly, "I had no idea you were 
 57 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 such a bully." Whereupon he installed Miss 
 Perrin. 
 
 Here again I differ from most men. I do 
 not fancy a trained nurse. I do not like a 
 soothing manner and, above all, I will not have 
 my face washed by any woman. If I am un- 
 able to attend to this small detail myself there 
 is always Roger who likewise does not fancy 
 trained nurses. 
 
 Miss Perrin was useful. She was quick and 
 capable and added immensely to my comfort 
 for, though not dangerously ill, I was at times 
 slightly delirious and babbled of the Imaginary 
 Listener in a way that alarmed my careful 
 young doctor. While I did not mind this part 
 of my illness, I became bored as I began to im- 
 prove and, in the light of a comrade, Miss 
 Perrin was a lamentable failure. I have never 
 met a more unresponsive person nor one to 
 whom I gave as much and from whom ex- 
 tracted as little. She received my sallies with 
 cold, heavy dignity. Her yea was yea, her 
 nay, nay and yet she did not look as stupid as 
 she seemed. Roger relieved her during the 
 day and was secretly delighted that I had not 
 fallen a victim to her charms. I must have 
 been a most disagreeable patient for, as the 
 four walls grew on my nerves, I daily became 
 more peevish and faultfinding. I was planning 
 
 58 
 
MY SICK SPELL 
 
 how best to get rid of Miss Perrin when the 
 letter arrived. As Roger always insists on my 
 overlooking the mail, he handed the letter to 
 me, although it was plainly addressed to Miss 
 Adelaide Perrin. I gave it over to its rightful 
 owner and, watching her read it, was conscious 
 that after all my nurse was rather a fine look- 
 ing woman in a large, rawboned style. 
 
 I did not enjoy my morning paper. Miss 
 Perrin has an even if monotonous voice, but 
 that day she read in a jerky and uncertain 
 fashion as though she were groping for the 
 next word and, even when she found it, did 
 not understand its meaning. I fidgetted un- 
 easily under the strain of listening to her and 
 was glad when the job was over. As I half 
 closed my eyes, I fancied that her hands trem- 
 bled as she folded the newspaper neatly to- 
 gether but, as she seemed to be absolutely de- 
 void of nerves, I judged this was an optical 
 illusion on my part. I had just settled down 
 to sleep, my only means of killing time, when 
 Miss Perrin said, "Mr. Wilkes I wish to ask 
 a favor of you." I suppose I stiffened invol- 
 untarily for she hastened to add, "Do not hesi- 
 tate to refuse if it is not perfectly convenient 
 to you." 
 
 She began by assuring me that what she was 
 about to do was absolutely unprofessional and 
 59 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 that, if any one heard of it, it would greatly 
 work against her. Hence she begged of me not 
 to mention it to Sella rs. The truth was she 
 was in urgent need of money and wanted me to 
 pay her what she had already earned. This 
 seemed reasonable enough, but I should have 
 granted any request when I found that the 
 shaking hands were not an optical illusion on 
 my part, but an actual fact, to my mind, a de- 
 plorable fact. She brought my check book to 
 me and I had the indelicacy to try to over-pay 
 her, an offer that she courteously but firmly 
 refused. 
 
 Later on she deemed it advisable to explain 
 more fully about the money. Their farm was 
 mortgaged and a payment was due. She had 
 to help out. That was all. They lived in a 
 little hamlet, some thirty miles from the city, 
 and the same family had owned the farm and 
 homestead for over a hundred years. Lately 
 the ground had become so impoverished it 
 would hardly seem that farming paid. I 
 tried to show her that, with a little care and a 
 great deal of fertilizer, the ground could be 
 made fruitful again, and she became more ex- 
 pansive and casually introduced me to her fam- 
 ily, dad and Grandad Perrin, mother, Rosebud 
 and Zeb. She appeared somewhat indifferent 
 to dad and Grandad Perrin, but for the rest 
 
 60 
 
MY SICK SPELL 
 
 she exhibited a fierce tenderness of which she 
 was partly proud and partly ashamed. I was 
 surprised to find out that after all she was a 
 human being and not a well-drilled machine 
 as I had at first supposed. 
 
 I started the next day with a new interest, 
 namely Perrins. We discussed trained nursing 
 as a profession and I saw at once how impos- 
 sible it was to get ahead of the game. There 
 were your clothes, your room, your meals when 
 you were not working, and it was not always 
 possible to get a job, and lastly, the largest 
 of any, there were your kith and kin always 
 ready and waiting to pull your leg. As we 
 have stated before, Miss Perrin was not an 
 orphan. She gave grandad his chew, helped dad 
 with the mortgage, paid Rosebud a monthly 
 stipend to stay at home and partially clothed 
 mother and Zeb. I began to see something 
 fine about my nurse. She put up a brave front 
 against seemingly the most overwhelming odds 
 and did it as a matter of course and made no 
 parade of her virtues. 
 
 I was in favor of letting Rosebud study to 
 be a nurse if she so wished to do, but Miss 
 Perrin explained that, not only was the work 
 hard, but Rosebud was both young and pretty 
 and too inexperienced as yet to realize the dif- 
 ficulties of the position. Though women were 
 61 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 harder to nurse than men, it was exceedingly 
 pleasant not to be annoyed by cheap attentions 
 such as the men tossed to you. She, herself, 
 was always most careful, especially with elderly 
 men. All this was most humiliating to me for 
 I saw at once that, in the beginning, I had been 
 labeled dangerous, a wolf in sheep's clothing; 
 but I put a bold face upon the matter and 
 looked upon these speeches in the nature of 
 an apology. 
 
 I also recognized the advisability of Rose- 
 bud marrying her farmer beau who, though 
 somewhat cumbersome, was well to do and 
 quite the man of the neighborhood. I wished 
 I had a motor that I might drive out and in- 
 spect these people with my own eyes and I 
 added them to my Xmas list as it was plainly 
 impossible to give Miss Perrin anything at any 
 other time of the year. I would get the Youth- 
 ful Pessimist to help me and we would make 
 up a box with clothes and food for every one, 
 a Christmas dinner with trimmings. I proved 
 to Miss Perrin that it was better and cheaper 
 to buy wearing apparel after the Xmas sales 
 and then I mentally planned a complete outfit 
 for Zeb and spent the rest of the time finding 
 out the exact height and width of my soon to 
 be proteges. 
 
 Ratius brought Patsy to see me and, after 
 62 
 
MY SICK SPELL 
 
 a few abrupt inquiries as to my health, van- 
 ished leaving behind him his weeping and ter- 
 rified wife. Patsy believed that I was still 
 angry with her about the black rooster and she 
 implored me to forgive her and for my own 
 sake to try to eat more. I had hard work per- 
 suading her that my lack of appetite was illness 
 not anger. I must have said a great deal to 
 Patsy that day for she assured me that never 
 again would she hurt any living animal, with a 
 great stress upon the living, and now she even 
 permitted Ip to track up her kitchen floor. I 
 promised to forgive her absolutely whereupon 
 she threw her apron over her head and wept 
 for joy she said. 
 
 Sellars has taken good care of me and is 
 much pleased with my steady improvement. 
 He showed me a letter to-day from the Youth- 
 ful Pessimist who, I am afraid, does not always 
 trust her very best friends. She was uneasy 
 lest I might be iller than they said and wanted 
 to come home if I were lonesome or needed 
 her. She knew that Sellars would tell her the 
 exact truth and she would abide by his de- 
 cision. 
 
 I think that Sellars was gratified at the con- 
 fidence she placed in him for I saw him put 
 the^ letter in his pocket again, although it was 
 plainly marked "answered" on the envelope. 
 63 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 The dear little Youthful Pessimist. I can feel 
 the warm tears gush to my eyes at the thought 
 of her simple letter. She would come if I 
 were lonesome or needed her. I do not doubt 
 that. Verily I believe, and I so wished it, she 
 would hold my hand while I struggled with 
 King Death himself. Bone of my bone, flesh 
 of my flesh, could do no more. 
 
 Although I do not need her, I shall keep 
 Miss Perrin an extra week. She is a woman 
 and therefore needs a helping hand. 
 
 6 4 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 VISITORS 
 
 AT last clothed and in my right mind 
 I am down on my lower porch again. 
 As I look about me, I can hardly be- 
 lieve my good fortune and undoubtedly it is 
 a fair day: nature's most critical judge would 
 admit that. When I gazed at the waving 
 branches of the trees, a great contentment 
 came over me and I felt myself grow stronger 
 with each breath of warm, sun-kissed air. 
 Roger bustled about me anxiously, stuck a pil- 
 low here, put a footstool there, and I knew it 
 was good to be up and doing once more. 
 
 For some days past the visitors have been 
 knocking at my front door demanding admit- 
 tance and, when my neighbors on my west saw 
 that I was taking a sun bath, they immediately 
 sent a delegation to call on me. George, the 
 older delegate, is nine, and a good-looking pre- 
 cocious child of the womanish type that I can- 
 not bear. He brought with him Mike, a silent, 
 square five-year-old, who is content with his 
 
 65 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 role of patient listener to his brother's flow 
 of brilliant conversation. George took posses- 
 sion of the hammock and Mike sat on the 
 steps with his hands folded in his lap and a 
 far away look on his chubby face. I wondered 
 what his thoughts were, while George talked 
 smoothly of my health, the weather, my 
 chickens and, last but not least, of his own 
 prowess and achievements. 
 
 "Mike," I somewhat rudely interrupted 
 George, "I hear Mary Jane is dead?" 
 
 "How did you hear that?" George asked 
 wiggling in his seat while Mike nodded and 
 took up the conversation thusly: 
 
 "Mary Jane was alive last week and now 
 she's dead and Mary Jane would not drink 
 any water, and George said she must. He put 
 the bowl in her cage and she wouldn't drink 
 and George took her by the head and he held 
 her down and he held her down and he held 
 her down " 
 
 "She ought to drink sometimes," George 
 said sullenly, but I waved him to be silent, and 
 Mike went on with his tale. 
 
 "And George took her by the head and he 
 held her down and he held her down and he 
 held her down " 
 
 "What happened then?" I inquired gently. 
 
 "And George took her by the head," Mike 
 66 
 
VISITORS 
 
 answered firmly, "and he held her down and 
 he held her down and he held her down and 
 she was drowned." 
 
 "We have a stuffed rabbit now," George 
 put in while I stared at him with unmitigated 
 disgust. 
 
 Just at this juncture Mrs. Catchings ap- 
 peared and George slid nimbly to his feet, said 
 they must go and vanished even as I should 
 have liked to do. Although I do not care for 
 George, he is a clever child, and I should have 
 liked to have him as an ally in my encounter 
 with Mrs. Catchings. 
 
 This lady makes no secret of her devotion 
 to me. She talks of it from door to door and 
 in the market place and, had I died, she would 
 have been chief mourner at my funeral with 
 a sob in her throat and a tear in her eye. I 
 squirm uneasily under this open affection and 
 sometimes wonder if it is possible for an adult 
 to be married without his own free will and 
 consent. She is an endless gossip and con- 
 stantly tells me small items about my friends, 
 little disagreeable things that prick like a pine 
 point. There is always a bitter pill within her 
 sugar-coated pellets of scandal. 
 
 While she inquired effusively after my bron- 
 chitis, she absent mindedly held my hand quite 
 a while after she had shaken it. She kept her 
 6 7 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 eyes fixed on my face as she recounted the lat- 
 est chit chat of the day and I knew all the time 
 she was mentally repeating, "Poor old man, 
 he's breaking fast, he's breaking fast." Yet 
 I was not prepared for the pin prick when it 
 came. 
 
 "I am glad Anne is having a little trip," she 
 smiled sweetly at me. I assented and she 
 went on. "She was looking so-o-o badly I 
 thought." 
 
 "I do not think she looks badly," said I 
 combatively whereupon she shook her head 
 sadly and trickled in her syrupy fashion, "Dear 
 Mr. Wilkes, between ourselves, I do not con- 
 sider Anthony is worth a good night's sleep, 
 do you?" 
 
 I did not reply and she launched into an 
 account of Anthony's career with a chorus girl 
 and inferred that, in consequence, Anne was 
 losing flesh daily. I kept quiet with difficulty 
 and was glad to welcome the Wainwright girls 
 and, though Mrs. Catchings did her best, she 
 found herself unable to outsit them. 
 
 I admire the Wainwright girls immensely 
 and always give them the cherries off my trees. 
 They put up and sell preserves and fruit cake 
 and will take an order on the shortest pos- 
 sible notice. They talked of their prospects for 
 the coming winter and I, then and there, be- 
 
 68 
 
VISITORS 
 
 spoke a large-sized fruit cake for an Xmas 
 present for the Chance Acquaintance. They 
 are down on my Xmas list for substantial gifts, 
 and it is due to their industry that I possess so 
 large a collection of cross-stitched pillows. 
 When the Wainwrights talk of their blessings 
 in so thankful a spirit, I know myself to be an 
 ingrate, and a visit from them always puts me 
 in a chastened and an humble frame of mind. 
 Priscilla, the eldest and plainest of the girls, 
 has a beau by the name of Thomas Corner, 
 who, by the irony of chance, is as poor and as 
 worthy as she is. It distresses me that these 
 two young people cannot afford to marry and, 
 seeing that fate intends to have no finger in 
 the pie, I have taken it upon myself to bring 
 about this match. No knight in quest of the 
 Holy Grail ever labored more conscientiously 
 than I have in search of a job for Thomas Cor- 
 ner. Though not clever, he is a steady young 
 man, honest and kind hearted, but I have yet 
 to discover the position that is exactly suited 
 to his capacity. Father Wainwright also ap- 
 proves of Corner and surrounded, though not 
 submerged, by his five strapping daughters and 
 chirpy little wife has the appearance of a soli- 
 tary, but enthusiastic bather who calls out lustily 
 to the passer by, "Come on in, the water's 
 fine." 
 
 69 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 When the Wainwrights left, I was depressed 
 as I knew I should be and was glad to see 
 Molly Brighton. She is a great chum of the 
 Youthful Pessimist's and her exact opposite in 
 every respect. She wears rubber heels, stiff 
 collars, mannish shirts and, I have even heard 
 rumored, pajamas at night, though it does not 
 behoove a bachelor to allude to such things. 
 If she sews, and she is never idle, she places 
 glasses upon her fine roman nose and these, 
 combined with a tolerant manner, give her a 
 decidedly motherly outlook upon the world at 
 large. 
 
 It is this manner I think that appeals to the 
 Youthful Pessimist for, when I question her 
 as to this friendship, she says that in time of 
 trouble, literally and figuratively, Molly is a 
 good prop upon which to lean. Probed fur- 
 ther to define the word trouble, she says 
 vaguely, u Oh, the dentist and such like." I 
 begged Molly to stay to luncheon and she 
 agreed and made herself most pleasant and 
 companionable. I spoke of Anthony and she 
 said thoughtfully that she was inclined to be- 
 lieve the story about the chorus girl was true 
 and then, as we were not gossips, we let the 
 matter drop. 
 
 Sellars came in to pay me a professional 
 visit and stayed quite a time, though Molly 
 70 
 
VISITORS 
 
 had the lack of tact to talk entirely about the 
 Youthful Pessimist. As I do not wish her 
 shoved down Sellar's throat, I tried to stop 
 Molly, but all to no avail. At my comical look 
 of despair he burst into laughter, much to 
 Molly's surprise, and, out of the spirit of mis- 
 chief, encouraged her in her talk. He shook 
 hands heartily with her at her departure and 
 confided to me that she was a downright, sen- 
 sible girl and he was glad to know her. 
 
 I had Roger pack up a half a dozen jars 
 of jam for him to give to his poor worthy pa- 
 tients. It is only by methods like these that I 
 am able to empty my storeroom shelves and 
 give fresh orders to the Wainwright girls. I 
 have the reputation of possessing the sweetest 
 tooth in town. 
 
 I cannot get Mrs. Catchings' conversation 
 out of my mind. The pinprick is still there. 
 Anthony has been hanging about the Youthful 
 Pessimist some four years. If she wanted him, 
 why has she not taken him seriously in his 
 many proposals? I never fancied Anthony, 
 but I cannot bear the town to say that he has 
 discarded the Youthful Pessimist for a chorus 
 girl. Mrs. Catchings' face rose before me, I 
 mean the face she wore when the Wainwright 
 girls blocked her little game of making a gen- 
 uine pincushion of me. Mike's story might be 
 
 71 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 applicable to her. "And he held her down 
 and he held her down and he held her down 
 and she was drowned." Only unfortunately 
 she was not drowned, but would be around 
 again to bait me further. After all she had 
 extracted nothing from me. I chuckled at the 
 comforting thought, and Roger asked me what 
 was the matter. 
 
 "Nothing, Roger," I answered, "but always 
 remember he held her down, he held her down, 
 he held her down," and, leaving him much 
 mystified, I got into bed. 
 
 72 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MY BIRTHDAY 
 
 I AM sixty-one years old to-day and I can- 
 not forget it if I would for Roger ap- 
 peared bright and early in the morning 
 to wish me many happy returns of the day and 
 to present his usual gift, a pot of ferns for my 
 breakfast table. He goes out in the country to 
 dig up these ferns, plants them himself, brings 
 them home carefully under his arm and smug- 
 gles them into the house beneath my unsus- 
 picious nose. He usually does this the Sunday 
 afternoon before my birthday, but if it rains or 
 anything happens to prevent, later on in the 
 week he respectfully asks for a day off on a 
 matter of important business. 
 
 At breakfast Ratius placed before me a 
 dozen eggs secured by him this morning and 
 all plainly dated July the twenty-sixth. He 
 bid me feel that they were still warm, but pri- 
 vately I do not consider this is unnatural when 
 you think of the weather and how difficult it 
 is, outside of a refrigerator, to keep even rea- 
 
 73 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 sonably comfortable. Happenings like this 
 make me realize that the age of miracles has 
 not passed, for this is the one and only time in 
 the year when Ratius finds a dozen fresh eggs 
 before I have had my morning meal. I am di- 
 vided between admiration for my settlement 
 hens who are undoubtedly sagacious fowls and 
 admiration for Ratius who, by the aid of a sim- 
 ple lead pencil, has done away with the lack of 
 a few insignificant eggs. Though I have not 
 yet seen Patsy, I can hear her singing in the 
 kitchen as she beats the batter for my birthday 
 cake and the smell of "Old Anne's" ham gives 
 me an anticipatory thrill of the gastronomic 
 feats I must accomplish before night falls. 
 
 Patsy and I never agree about the cake. She 
 is in favor of one of those white frosted affairs, 
 so prevalent at christenings and weddings, and 
 I insist on a chocolate layer cake as a delicious 
 and suitable accompaniment to my home-made 
 peach ice cream. To silence Patsy's protests 
 I permit her to make herself a yearly birthday 
 cake and, though she varies the month of her 
 birth, she never varies her cake. I do not think 
 Patsy really knows her age or else she is older 
 than she looks and likes to forget that dis- 
 agreeable fact. 
 
 She always calls upon me to deal with the 
 census man and, though singular it is true that 
 
 74 
 
MY BIRTHDAY 
 
 this year neither my maid nor my men servants 
 could give their correct ages, but each one knew 
 almost to a nicety the exact hour of my birth. 
 Patsy explained to her own satisfaction that 
 her sister up north attended to all that and was 
 vastly outraged when Ratius would have put 
 her down as forty years of age. To preserve 
 peace I settled in favor of thirty-five where- 
 upon Ratius, who was in a truculent mood, 
 went off muttering that, "Patsy warn't nobody's 
 spring chicken." I am trying to persuade 
 Patsy to take September as her birth month. 
 Eggs are not so valuable then and Patsy will 
 not, under any circumstances, make a small 
 cake. 
 
 I have not always celebrated my birthday, 
 though, until my mother's death, the twenty- 
 sixth of July and I were on the most intimate 
 terms. Then, with the glorious arrogance of 
 youth, I made him many promises of wondrous 
 deeds I would perform before he saw fit next 
 to visit me. Needless to say, I did not live up 
 to my words yet, despite this fact, curiously 
 enough, continued to pile Ossa upon Pelion 
 until there dawned a dark and dreary day when 
 I realized that my youth was gone and I was 
 a braggart and a middle-aged man. It was 
 then I began to shun the twenty-sixth and, after 
 a fashion, contrived partially to forget him. 
 75 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 Occasionally, for very shame, I looked about 
 me to sec what might be done to placate my 
 one time friend, but the years hurried by so 
 
 swiftly that I found it impossible to even sit 
 upon the coat tails of the days and so, in de- 
 spair, I gave up my futile efforts. 
 
 It was the Youthful Pessimist who wrought 
 the change in me. When scarcely more than 
 a child, she became conscience struck at her 
 selfishness in monopolizing all the birthdays, 
 and we planned an informal supper, my only 
 guests, my next door neighbors. I am often 
 amused at the chameleon-like nature of the 
 Youthful Pessimist. In her own home she is 
 the child of the house, spoiled, but not spoilt, 
 and is looked upon as a happy hearted irre- 
 sponsible being. She lias only to step beneath 
 the rose arches to change into a competent ad- 
 viser upon the most intricate questions, an ex- 
 pounder of wisdom, worldly or otherwise, and 
 an altogether lit and delightful companion for 
 that aged gentleman, Timothy Wilkes. It is 
 she who has made me look forward to my 
 birthday and has enabled me to stand upright 
 before the twenty-sixth of July and, for that 
 matter, keep on my hat if I so wish to do. 
 
 The Youthful Pessimist is away this year 
 and that is why I feel so little enthusiasm about 
 the planting of my tree. It also accounts for 
 
 76 
 
MY BIRTHDAY 
 
 my frequent trips to the letter box and, if it 
 were not so foreign to his nature, lately I would 
 swear Roger has watched me with a malicious 
 grin when I returned to my seat disappointed 
 and empty handed. For the last five years she 
 has written me a birthday letter because she 
 asserts she is a poor shy creature and cannot 
 be as demonstrative as she feels and, should the 
 day pass without my having heard from her, 
 I should indeed be certain that a great calamity 
 had befallen me. 
 
 I planted the tree as she had suggested, not 
 very far from the crepe myrtle bush. Al- 
 though it has two seasons' growth, it will be 
 many years before it will keep any sun from 
 either of my porches. It is so new and young, 
 it has rather a forlorn and lonely look among 
 my sedate and well grown trees, and I trust 
 one of my motherly lindens will take it under 
 her protection. Just as the last earth had been 
 well pressed down, Sellars came for me and 
 we both said it was not as hot as we expected 
 it to be. 
 
 Sellars is helping me out of quite a singular 
 quandary. I think I have mentioned before 
 how dearly my mother loved her wooden baby, 
 and I will now tell you that, as the years rolled 
 by and no more children, wooden or otherwise, 
 came to oust me from my stronghold, she con- 
 
 77 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 ceived the idea of expressing her gratitude for 
 this her only son by substantially aiding some 
 poor being less fortunate than herself. Being 
 pious by nature she named it a thank offering, 
 but I, a doubting Thomas, strongly suspect it 
 was a simon pure burnt offering. Call it as 
 you will, the result was the same, a donation 
 of fifty dollars to some poor but worthy child 
 who was lucky or unlucky enough to be born 
 on my birthday. She very sensibly stipulated 
 that the child was not to be named after me 
 else I fear there would have been a Timothy 
 Wilkes in every quarter of the town. She 
 managed to get a great deal of pleasure from 
 this simple gift, and, to her death, more or 
 less followed up her young proteges. 
 
 I have kept up the donation, not from any 
 religious motives I am sorry to say, but partly 
 as a memorial to my dear mother and partly 
 as an act of commiseration for some little girl 
 or boy who has yet to battle with a life long of 
 twenty-sixth of Julys. 
 
 Up to this year I have been besieged with 
 applications for the money. Now it would ap- 
 pear there is a dearth of babies or perhaps the 
 twenty-sixth of July has been discarded in fa- 
 vor of some more desirable day. Sellars has 
 been very eager for me to help one of his pa- 
 tients and phoned me last night that by morn- 
 
 78 
 
MY BIRTHDAY 
 
 ing he would have ready for me my birthday 
 baby. To-day he insists I must see the child, 
 some few hours old, and wants me to know 
 the mother, a seamstress whose husband died 
 a few months ago. 
 
 I have never seen two cleaner rooms than 
 those into which we were ushered nor yet a 
 sweeter faced girl, for indeed she was little 
 more, than this poor seamstress mother. She 
 thanked me most gratefully for the money and 
 would have said more had she not noticed my 
 obvious embarrassment. Sellars was restlessly 
 anxious for me to see the baby, and it was a 
 nice daintily shaped little creature. 
 
 "It happens to be named Anne," he volun- 
 teered and, since I saw he was plainly bent on 
 amusing me, I began to compare it to the 
 Youthful Pessimist. However, it made me 
 restless and eager to get back to see if my let- 
 ter had come and I am afraid I was rather a 
 distrait companion on the homeward drive. 
 
 The letter was not in the box, but was on 
 my table at lunch time, an express package was 
 in my chair. As they have been here three 
 days, Roger did wear a malicious grin after all 
 and, since the diabolical cunning he has shown 
 in bringing this into my house, without my 
 knowledge, I shall always know that he wishes 
 me to see the fern dish that he fills for my 
 
 79 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 birthday present. The Youthful Pessimist had 
 sent the things to him and directed him not to 
 let me see them before lunch time. 
 
 Before I had untied the string, I knew the 
 contents of the express package. It repre- 
 sented three years work on the part of the 
 Youthful Pessimist and even then I shrewdly 
 judged that Molly Brighton, who taught her 
 the stitch, did the lion's share. It was a knitted 
 slumber robe for my bed with a blue center 
 and a wonderful border of gray and varying 
 shades of blue woven together. The note 
 turned out to be a poem and was, as she said, 
 suitable for the occasion. It was headed, 
 "Lines Written On the Birthday of Timothy 
 Wilkes," and read as follows: 
 
 Dear Tim, I have expressed to you, 
 
 A simple little gift; 
 And, if you do not like it, I 
 
 Intend to get quite miffed. 
 
 The blue, perhaps, is not as fresh 
 As once it might have been, 
 
 But kindly note the border, sir: 
 You'll find that neat and clean. 
 80 
 
MY BIRTHDAY 
 
 And now, to tell to you the truth, 
 Though 'tis a crying sin, 
 
 I do not like to visit here, 
 Among my kith and kin. 
 
 4 
 
 It is not that they are not kind, 
 
 I find no fault in that. 
 It's only that I'm getting bored, 
 
 And also getting fat. 
 
 5 
 
 At first I borrowed Cousin's books, 
 And sat me down to read; 
 
 But now a sty adorns the eye 
 Of which I stood in need. 
 
 And so I take a rocking-chair, 
 And rock and rock and rock, 
 
 Until I think the neighbors must 
 Hear me around the block. 
 
 7 
 
 I wish I were at home to-night, 
 
 To cut the birthday cake. 
 The thought of all you cunning dears 
 
 Gives me a homesick ache. 
 
 8i 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 8 
 
 But, Tim, there's one thing you must know, 
 
 In all this big, wide land, 
 There's no one loves you half so well 
 
 As your poor, foolish Anne. 
 
 I do not know of anything that has pleased 
 me as much as the doggerel of the Youthful 
 Pessimist and I should like to show it to her 
 mother if it were not her relatives that Anne 
 is visiting. It was a great temptation yet I 
 resisted manfully and at supper that night only 
 quoted such parts as were suited to a mother's 
 ears. 
 
 A triangle is not always a desirable arrange- 
 ment. It may have been the absence of the 
 Youthful Pessimist but, for the first time, I 
 felt a little bit out of the center of things. 
 Save for the loving effusion within my coat 
 pocket, I might even have felt a thought chilly 
 and lonesome. The arrival of the birthday 
 cake, resplendent with the familiar twenty-one 
 candles, only served to remind me that later I 
 should undoubtedly suffer some pangs of dis- 
 comfort from having, as my mother old-fash- 
 ionedly put it, "Over eaten, my son, of too 
 many indigestible sweeties.' , 
 
 I think sometimes, most unconsciously, mar- 
 ried couples have a real knack of making you 
 
 82 
 
MY BIRTHDAY 
 
 feel awkward and out of place in the conversa- 
 tion. It is a natural and not altogether un- 
 avoidable mistake on their part. With com- 
 mon aims and desires it is hard for them to 
 realize the whole world is not at one with their 
 point of view, and so it was with my two dear 
 birthday guests. If they reminisced, they re- 
 newed the love affair of their youth in which, 
 as you know, I cut but a sorry figure. If they 
 spoke of the present, they banded more closely 
 together against the encroachments of Father 
 Time, while I, a bachelor, stood defenseless 
 and alone. If they dallied with the future, 
 here again I was at a disadvantage, for was I 
 not childless and had they not the Youthful 
 Pessimist? Beside their full and even life mine 
 appeared but a starved and pinchbeck exist- 
 ence. Like any gambler I had chanced every- 
 thing on a single throw of the dice. I had 
 builded my all on the Youthful Pessimist. For 
 me she had been sister, wife, daughter and 
 friend. Without her, I should, indeed, be 
 desolate as I groped my way through the pain- 
 ful valley of old age and yet, sooner or later, 
 most young things find a mate and I should not 
 wish it otherwise with the Youthful Pessimist. 
 I had in my mind a very cunning plan to 
 bind Anne's husband to me with a golden mesh. 
 The house and garden was the price I would 
 
 83 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 pay for his respect if not his liking and, at my 
 death, they would pass unreservedly into the 
 hand of the Youthful Pessimist. But supposing 
 he had no fancy for my golden bait, as would 
 be true in the case of Anthony who will inherit 
 a home of his own, a mammoth and moneyed 
 pile of bricks and mortar. I have not forgot- 
 ten Mrs. Catchings' words. Aye, the pin 
 pricks, is pricking still. I know now that I 
 have always planned for the Youthful Pes- 
 simist to have my garden just as "Old Anne" 
 and her husband have planned that eventually 
 their home will become hers. I claim first con- 
 sideration should be shown me. Since she has 
 been old enough to express a wish, no tree nor 
 shrub has been planted upon my grounds with- 
 out due consultation with her. Her ghost 
 haunts my winding pathways, the tap of her 
 high-heeled boots is ever in my ears and the 
 tossing treetops waft her light laughter to me 
 a thousand times a day. 
 
 Like a subterranean stream, these thoughts 
 flowed swiftly through my mind while I man- 
 fully played my part as host of my birthday 
 supper. I do not think my guests noticed my 
 abstraction, and it was the father of the Youth- 
 ful Pessimist who broke in upon my lethargy. 
 At leaving he held me forcibly in my chair and 
 said humorously, "Come, Old Anne, there's 
 
 8 4 
 
MY BIRTHDAY 
 
 one thing you've overlooked, Timothy's birth- 
 day kiss." 
 
 I am sure the Youthful Pessimist inherits 
 her sweetness from her mother, for, much to 
 her husband's surprise, "Old Anne" kissed me 
 on my forehead as kindly as my own mother 
 might have done and whispered, "Dear Tim, 
 every night I thank the good God for having 
 given us so true and kind a friend." 
 
 I ought never to feel lonely again. "Old 
 Anne" it seems has two sides, one for her hus- 
 band and one for her friend. I shall walk 
 with my neighbors through the valley of old 
 age. 
 
 I had indigestion that night as I knew I 
 should. In my nightmare I dreamed that the 
 Youthful Pessimist was married and that the 
 pair of them were wandering hand in hand 
 about my garden. I could not see the man's 
 face, but he had a fine physique, and I knew 
 it was not Anthony after all and was partly 
 comforted. I have decided to bequeath my 
 estate to the Youthful Pessimist, provided she 
 consents to live in my house [with alterations 
 if she so wishes], and, if possible, keeps up my 
 garden. No sane man could refuse so reason- 
 able an offer. 
 
 85 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 MY SUMMER TRIP 
 
 I AM going to the seashore again this year 
 and the very thought of the ocean makes 
 the old blood stir in my veins much as 
 though I were a real flesh and blood individual 
 and not a sawdust imitation of a man. That 
 I might not lose any of the pleasures of antici- 
 pation I have been packing my trunk for the 
 last week and have taken out and replaced my 
 things some half a dozen times. When I am 
 not doing this, I am mooning on my porch with 
 a pipe between my lips and a bit of imaginary 
 salt spray dimming my eye glasses. 
 
 The Youthful Pessimist has come home and 
 has helped me in my selection of a new sum- 
 mer suit. I always get a blue serge, but this 
 year it has a faint white line through it that 
 gives me a jaunty and not unpleasantly youthful 
 appearance. The Youthful Pessimist is going 
 to the mountains with her parents, so neither 
 of us will feel the slight sadness of a summer's 
 86 
 
MY SUMMER TRIP 
 
 parting and we shall have many confidences to 
 exchange in the Fall. 
 
 I have another pleasure to look forward to 
 in my this year's outing. For two weeks the 
 Chance Acquaintance will be at my hotel and 
 we shall sit side by side again and discuss the 
 wisdom of the ages. I wonder if either of 
 us has changed greatly in the last twelve months 
 and if, as before, she is still outside the haven 
 of the commonplace. We have carried on a 
 somewhat desultory correspondence but it has 
 served its purpose. Our lives will touch again 
 this summer and I shall be the gainer by this 
 happy arrangement. 
 
 I know that I had a hot and disagreeable 
 railroad trip yet so keenly alive was I with 
 pleasurable excitement I hardly noticed the dis- 
 comforts of my journey. What's all this fuss 
 about the seashore, you query, and I with- 
 draw into my shell somewhat out of conceit 
 with you and your question and fall back upon 
 the ever ready Imaginary Listener. It was 
 he who suggested driving to my hotel by the 
 ocean front instead of through the village and 
 so I breathed my first draught of salt air 
 through the windows of a ramshackle bus 
 and, on my first arrival, feasted my eyes on 
 the beauteous ocean itself. 
 
 Every year when I am attacked by rheuma- 
 
 87 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 tism and lumbagoish pains I say to myself like 
 this, "Make the most of your ocean trips, you 
 cannot enjoy them many more seasons," and 
 every year finds me again at the same old spot 
 with all the zest of a schoolboy on a frolic. 
 And yet I have no grudge against the moun- 
 tains and almost feel a real affection for the 
 misty far-off peaks. I have been somewhat 
 disconcerted to find that my fancy for them is 
 entirely because they remind me of distant 
 bodies of water. Again, however, I repeat, 
 I have no grudge against the mountains. 
 
 I think Thompson, of our church, would be 
 greatly shocked if he could hear the advice 
 given me by the Imaginary Listener. He con- 
 siders that nature is the best of preachers and 
 as this fits in nicely with my own tastes and de- 
 sires, I, naturally, am often swayed by his 
 judgment. It is undoubtedly true that by 
 steadily staring at the shifting waves I have 
 acquired a quaint moral benefit. To my mind 
 the ocean so neatly illustrates the scheme of 
 life and so efficaciously silences the whys and 
 wherefors of our existence upon this sphere. 
 The countless waves and wavelets are but the 
 millions and billions of human beings all rolling 
 shoreward to apparently aimlessly break and 
 rebreak upon the shoals and sands of an every- 
 day life. At the turn of the tide, the Lord 
 
MY SUMMER TRIP 
 
 and Master of all gathers them together again 
 in his large and capable hand only to repeat the 
 performance with, to the naked eye, scarcely 
 a hairbreadth of difference. These waves but 
 small splashes of water by themselves have con- 
 trived to beat the shifting sand into firm, well- 
 packed beaches; have ground and reground the 
 unsightly stones beneath their depths until they 
 are presented to the world tinted and polished 
 pebbles and, in many cases, have even changed 
 the hard, rocky face of old Mother Nature 
 herself. I take it that our attempts in this life 
 may lead to like results. Individually we may 
 have failed but collectively we may not only 
 have justified our existence upon this sphere 
 but have proved a glorification to our creator. 
 In my imaginary conversations with Thomp- 
 son I talk very freely of my occasional mo- 
 ments of exaltation and literally lay bare my 
 soul before his critical eye. I only do this, 
 however, in my imagination, for, if I spoke 
 thus to his face, he would turn so pale that, 
 for fear he would revert again into an ordinary 
 dough ball, I should be sadly tempted to pop 
 him into Patsy's oven and bake him until he 
 was as brown as the skin of a sweet potato. 
 So like the heathen that I am, I glory in my 
 shame and book fashion turn over the days of 
 my month tasting the exquisite delight of each 
 
 8 9 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 hour and yet, strange to say, only half sorry 
 when I come to "Finis" at the bottom of the 
 last page. 
 
 At the seashore I make a practice of drift- 
 ing through the days and only confess to one 
 habit that is more unalterable than the laws 
 of the Medes and Persians. I take a dip be- 
 fore breakfast and, though strongly attached 
 to my cozy naps, nothing but sickness could 
 prevent me from getting this glimpse of the 
 morning sun as it rises majestically from be- 
 neath the ocean's rim. I put on a heavy coat 
 over my bathing suit and watch the darting 
 rays shoot up into the somber grayness of the 
 sky and I shiver with delighted appreciation 
 and also, I confess it, with cold. When the sun 
 is high enough to make a pathway across the 
 water, I step into a fairy ocean and gold and 
 silver drops from my fingers as I dive and 
 splash about in the bright light that falls upon 
 my head like a benediction. 
 
 There is another old gentleman here who is 
 an early riser and always watches me take my 
 morning bath. He is a scrap of a man, but of 
 a peppery temperament. In the spirit of 
 friendliness I accosted him and urged him to 
 join me in my dip. He waved at me a cane, 
 of which apparently he has no need, and went 
 off like a newly lit popcracker. "Thanks, sir," 
 90 
 
MY SUMMER TRIP 
 
 he said, "but I am not a big enough fool to 
 take my old bones into the ocean before it 
 has been warmed by the midday sun." I ap- 
 preciated the thrust and went meekly about my 
 business, making a fool of myself. 
 
 He must be a sufferer from insomnia, for 
 plainly he does not care for the sunrise. If 
 possible he walks with his face from it and 
 glances persistently inland as if the brightness 
 annoyed rather than pleased him. One morn- 
 ing, when it was unusually splendid, I called his 
 attention to it and all he condescended to say 
 was, "Very fair, I suppose, very fair." "Very 
 fair," indeed! I wonder what the fellow ex- 
 pected, a conflagration or a Vesuvian eruption? 
 To give the devil his due (I am speaking meta- 
 phorically, of course), I believed even Thomp- 
 son would have been more impressed. 
 
 My hotel keeper has just come to tell me 
 that to-night the Chance Acquaintance will ar- 
 rive. I knew this before, but did not dampen 
 his pleasure by loudly announcing that fact. I 
 am making a practice of showing greater con- 
 sideration to the world at large and am sur- 
 prised at the number of small opportunities I 
 have at stepping nimbly Heavenward. My 
 hotel keeper made our friendship and, to the 
 best of his poor ability, has watered the growth. 
 
 He fidgetted about uneasily and said irrele- 
 91 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 vantly, "This hotel's a fine place for a honey- 
 moon, Mr. Wilkes." 
 
 I agreed with him heartily, though it would 
 never be my fancy for a bridal trip. There is 
 something very secretive about me for I know 
 that if I were going honeymooning, I should 
 never spend a second at a summer resort. No, 
 I should hide my dear one in the heart of a 
 green, green wood with a silver lake and a 
 birchbark canoe for her companions. I should 
 take a guide, Roger, perhaps, for our creature 
 comforts. On me alone should her glances fall 
 and for my ears only should she sing her sweet 
 songs, and so the long days would melt into 
 the longer evenings and, like little children 
 afraid of the dark, we would huddle about our 
 camp fire and, hand in hand, plan our future 
 home. This is a strange fancy on my part, 
 for the only woman I have ever loved, Old 
 Anne, has never in her life been in any boat 
 smaller than an ocean steamer and would be 
 as out of place on a camping expedition as I 
 am now at a social function. I was recalled 
 from these ideas of mine by the hotel keeper's 
 insistent voice, "Then you will come here, Mr. 
 Wilkes?" 
 
 "When?" I asked in bewilderment. 
 
 "On your honeymoon, sir, of course." 
 
 I confess I laughed aloud. Upon my word, 
 92 
 
MY SUMMER TRIP 
 
 while I was day-dreaming, he had already mar- 
 ried me to the Chance Acquaintance. Poor girl. 
 The idea struck me as so exquisitely ridiculous 
 that I smote my thigh in an ecstasy of merri- 
 ment. I stopped short at the sight of his hurt 
 face. 
 
 "Outside of my little money, why should 
 any woman want to marry me?" I asked. 
 
 "Money or no money, there's many a woman 
 would be glad to get a fine looking gentleman 
 like you, Mr. Wilkes," and he retired with 
 dignity into his office and shut the door in my 
 face. I had never thought before that I was 
 fine looking, but I tingled with pride at his 
 compliment. Undoubtedly the blue suit with 
 the white lines was a success after all. 
 
 Preening myself like the fatuous idiot I 
 know myself to be, I sauntered to the bathing 
 beach in search of fresh worlds to conquer. 
 There I met my short-tempered friend who 
 suffers with insomnia. He was strolling about 
 the beach and grimly inspecting the antics of 
 the crowd of bathers. He is a solitary person, 
 but, like pepper, has more or less a stimulat- 
 ing effect upon me. My appetite is whetted for 
 more and still more and yet, so far, I do not 
 know his name or upon what country he be- 
 stows the dignity of his birth. 
 
 The Chance Acquaintance came to supper 
 93 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 that night and as usual I sat at her table. We 
 met as if we had parted but yesterday, and 
 she opened her fan to show me that she still 
 had with her "her deadly weapon of defense 
 against the mosquitoes." She was the same 
 and yet she was different, not in her manner or 
 voice, but in her appearance. I studied her fur- 
 tively, in between bites and, to save my life, I 
 could not put my finger upon the alteration. 
 Though her hair was arranged as before and 
 she still wore black, she was vastly different 
 and it worried me that I could not say wherein 
 the change lay. I said good-night to her dis- 
 satisfied and took my perplexity to bed with 
 me. Suddenly, as sometimes happens to me, 
 I had a flash of illumination. Formerly she 
 wore her dresses buttoned down the front; 
 to-night, although as neatly and securely put 
 together as before, she was unmistakably but- 
 toned down the back. Why, I wondered, had 
 she made the change. 
 
 94 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 I HAVE spoken to the Chance Acquaint- 
 ance about the buttons and she actually 
 blushed as she laid the change to the 
 door of that stern ruler, Dame Fashion. 
 
 "You were indifferent to her before," I ob- 
 jected. 
 
 "Do I not look as well?" she asked with a 
 pretence of anxiety. 
 
 "You look as well," I answered picking my 
 words carefully, "but you look more of a 
 woman." 
 
 "You surprise me," she laughed and let it 
 rest at that. 
 
 She has told me something of her early life. 
 They were of French extraction and for many 
 years lived in Louisiana. Pere, as she called 
 her father, owned a plantation and she was his 
 eldest and favorite daughter. 
 
 "I was a pretty child," said she with com- 
 mendable frankness, "but, as you see, I did not 
 fulfill the promise of my youth. My real name 
 95 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 is Helene though Pere always called me 
 'Kitten' and it did seem that the nickname had 
 come to stay. Luckily for me, I went to 
 boarding school and there the girls took up 
 the chant of Kitten or for short Kitty. I felt 
 the name was out of place and one day climbed 
 upon a chair in Madame's room and looked into 
 the mirror that hung high upon her wall. I 
 had begun to sprout, you see, and was changing 
 rapidly. I had a high color of bright red, the 
 promising beginning of a hooked nose and my 
 bones felt and looked larger than usual. What 
 a fallacy, I thought, anything more unlike a 
 kitten could not be found, so I promptly put a 
 stop to that foolishness. Yet Pere, until his 
 death, always insisted upon using that old nick- 
 name." 
 
 "What are the main characteristics of a kit- 
 ten?" I inquired. 
 
 "Oh, a soft fair creature that will purr when 
 you stroke it. Now I bristle when caressed 
 and am more likely to be mistaken for a 
 hedgehog." 
 
 I should never have likened the Chance Ac- 
 quaintance to a hedgehog. Rather she resem- 
 bles some woodland animal that has once been 
 caught in a trap and now, with bright distrust- 
 ful eyes, holds at bay the rest of mankind. It 
 may be true that since I have known her 
 
 9 6 
 
THE CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 better, I look at her with eyes of affection, but 
 I could swear that the harsh redness of her 
 cheeks had softened into a remarkably vivid 
 color and that what had been a tight, hard 
 bud, was at last beginning to bloom into a per- 
 fect rose. She talks to me most freely of her 
 life and yet always I have the feeling that she 
 is keeping something from me, just what I can- 
 not conceive. 
 
 There is a very pathetic side to our summer 
 friendships. Like Jack's beanstalk they attain 
 their growth in a single night and are as apt 
 to perish as suddenly and as absolutely. They 
 resemble babies insomuch as the crucial test 
 is the second season. Should they safely 
 weather this period, you can begin to delude 
 yourself into thinking that you have gained a 
 friend. 
 
 Unlike most people, I do not come to this 
 resort for the sole purpose of making acquaint- 
 ances. When the warm weather begins, I have 
 a craving for the ocean that I must either grati- 
 fy or run the risk of facing the winter with 
 parched lips and an unslaked thirst. At such 
 times the sight of even a toy steamboat will 
 bring about the feeling and after that it is 
 simply a question of whether I take a satchel 
 or a dress suitcase. The latter packs better 
 97 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 but the former is undeniably the easier to 
 carry. 
 
 Having made it very clear to you that I am 
 not a pushing person but find my hands quite 
 busy with the second self and the Imaginary 
 Listener; I will now say, without any embar- 
 rassment, that, during my many years' stay at 
 this resort, I have made absolutely scores of 
 so-called friends. With all of them my meth- 
 ods have been the same. At Christmas I send 
 the older women the newest novel; the girls, 
 a box of candy, and at Easter I scribble some 
 postal cards with the season's greetings and 
 scatter them broadcast through the land. The 
 candy and the books are simple gifts and arouse 
 no suspicion of romantic and unseemly passion 
 in an aged and infirm old bachelor. The post- 
 card is the great brain-saving invention of the 
 age and is more useful than your own latch-key. 
 It is an open and above board affair and no 
 jealous husband or sweetheart can take objec- 
 tion to its airy persiflage. For the presents 
 I receive letters; for the postcards notes, and 
 I keep up the same line of treatment until one 
 day no letter appears and thus I consider my- 
 self at liberty to mentally add that name to 
 the monument I have raised in my mind over 
 those who have departed from my life forever 
 and aye. 
 
 9 8 
 
THE CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 Now and then, in later years, I have hap- 
 pened upon some of those early acquaintances 
 and I have been shocked at the unblushing 
 egotism of my thoughts which run something 
 like this: "What a waste of books or, as the 
 case may be, what a waste of candy." 
 
 With the Chance Acquaintance I have pur- 
 sued a somewhat different course of action and 
 therefore I think she has come to stay. At 
 Christmas I sent her some nice Bernard Shaws 
 and marked my favorite passages; at Easter 
 I mailed her a Maeterlinck that I wanted my- 
 self and, if you remember, I have already or- 
 dered her a fruit cake from the Wainwright 
 girls. This last gift is not exactly to my taste, 
 as I fancy the Chance Acquaintance would 
 rather gratify her mind than her appetite; still 
 the Wainwright girls must have orders, and of 
 late they have developed the praiseworthy but 
 annoying habit of making me state offhand the 
 person for whom my gift is intended. I shall 
 supplement this gift by a Walter Pater, for 
 I am convinced the Chance Acquaintance has 
 both a quick and well trained brain and I shall 
 continue to feed her with books of such depths 
 that either she will cry out, "Too deep, too 
 deep," or, like the brave lass that she is, strike 
 out herself for fresh worlds to conquer. 
 
 I think she likes my small attentions and in 
 
 99 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 return she has taken me to her favorite spot 
 on the coast. We took the car to the point 
 and from there picked our way among the 
 piles that evidently had once been the supports 
 of a disused car line. When we had appar- 
 ently reached the end of everywhere and were 
 about to step into the sea, we rounded the 
 curve of the high embankment by our side and 
 there it lay, a snug nook hollowed out of the 
 sandy hill with a rest for our backs and a 
 single sparse but kindly tree to throw its 
 shadow athwart our hollow. Before us 
 stretched the calm rippling waters, above us 
 hung the blue limitless sky, and within us was 
 that perfect peace that only accompanies true 
 congeniality. I have named this place the 
 Shelter and, if the Chance Acquaintance does 
 not return next year, I shall take it as my own 
 ewe lamb. 
 
 She was hugely tickled at the hotel keeper's 
 plan for our honeymoon and instantly asked 
 me what sort of wife she would make. 
 
 "It is hard for me to say," I replied thought- 
 fully, "last year, in that capacity. I should have 
 considered you an impossibility, but since you 
 
 have become more of a woman " I stopped 
 
 for lack of further words. 
 
 "You think I might do?" she insinuated 
 gently. 
 
 ioo 
 
THE CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 "You would always be attractive to me even 
 as an impossibility," I murmured vaguely. 
 
 "I am sure I should do exceedingly well," 
 she answered with spirit. 
 
 "You surprise me," I mimicked and then 
 rather a remarkable thing occurred. She 
 opened her mouth to speak, I saw but could 
 not distinguish the words upon her lips and 
 yet no sounds came forth. Decidedly she is 
 hiding something from me and, although it is 
 probably a trifle, she has, with a woman's 
 knack, fanned my curiosity into a real blaze 
 of interest. 
 
 That night, while I slept, my lumbago 
 swooped down upon me and the next morning, 
 after some futile attempts to rise, I rang for 
 the bellboy to bring me the hotel keeper. I 
 bullied the latter into lending me the former 
 and, having crossed his itching palm with silver, 
 I felt at liberty to order him about as I pleased. 
 I moved my bed nearer the window so the view 
 could not escape me if it would. As this was 
 also nearer the bell-rope, I killed two birds 
 with one stone and, in this manner, prepared 
 myself for several lonely days of discomfort. 
 Should this slight touch develop into a real 
 attack of lumbago, I shall telegraph for Miss 
 Perrin in spite of public opinion which is al- 
 ways down on an old man and a trained nurse. 
 
 IOI 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 Cheered by the doctor, a beach friend, who 
 assured me I should be up and about in a day 
 or so, the morning passed away and I was 
 just planning how to dispose of the afternoon 
 when someone knocked upon my door and, on 
 my cordial invitation to "come in," a short, 
 fair man, a stranger so far as I was concerned, 
 slid into the room. I can best describe him as 
 youngish, with a decent pair of gray eyes, a 
 small blonde mustache and a well-bred voice. 
 
 "How are you?" he inquired. 
 
 "I'm a little stiff, thanks, that's all," I re- 
 plied primly. 
 
 "Helene sent me," he volunteered. 
 
 If the Chance Acquaintance sent him, un- 
 doubtedly he must be her brother and the 
 French blood came from her mother's side of 
 the family. Her father must have been a 
 plain every-day American. 
 
 "You are her brother?" I said politely. 
 
 "No," he answered nervously, "I am her 
 fiance." 
 
 I transfixed the intruder with my steady 
 glance or I should better say my steady glare. 
 So this was what the Chance Acquaintance had 
 been hiding from me, had started to tell me 
 in the shelter and then thought better of it. 
 Moreover, I had sense enough to see that this 
 also accounted for the change of buttons from 
 102 
 
THE CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 the front to the back, though why this should 
 affect the situation, I failed to understand. If 
 I were married, I should prefer my wife to 
 attend to the buttons herself, not from a spirit 
 of unwillingness, you understand, but because 
 there are some undertakings I should not dare 
 to attempt. The unreliable and diaphanous 
 garments of women were never intended to be 
 handled by the bungling fingers of a mere man. 
 
 Another insistent thought crowded its way 
 to the front of my mind. A triangle, as I have 
 said before, leaves some one in the lurch. I 
 saw plainly my summer would not be as pleas- 
 ant as I expected it to be. 
 
 When I did speak, I growled like a dog that 
 had just had a juicy bone jerked from between 
 its paws. "I hope you are good enough for 
 her," I said. 
 
 "I shall do my best, sir," he replied politely 
 and bowed himself hastily out of the room. 
 
 I shall be forced to add the name of the 
 Chance Acquaintance to the monument of those 
 shades of memory, my summer friends. 
 
 103 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 HOME AGAIN 
 
 AFTER all matters turned out better than 
 I had foreseen. The Chance Acquaint- 
 ance passed safely through her second 
 season and disqualified herself for a name space 
 on my monument. 
 
 I was in my room several days with the 
 lumbago and she came with her fiance to sit 
 with me. She was apparently entirely indif- 
 ferent to the scandal that might follow such a 
 proceeding and I felt obliged to remind her 
 that people would talk. 
 
 "Are you referring to the cats in the foyer?" 
 she asked contemptuously. 
 
 I was referring to the cats who are the usual 
 run of idle women that help to fill a summer 
 hotel and I said so to the Chance Acquaintance. 
 
 "Fiddlesticks," retorted she even more con- 
 temptuously and went on serenely with her 
 sewing while her fiance laughed aloud at my 
 surprised but pleased face. They came twice 
 a day, and thrown with them so intimately, I 
 104 
 
HOME AGAIN 
 
 grew to know them much better than I do many 
 of the people on my block. 
 
 I discovered that the fiance had a fine mind, 
 all neatly lined with shelves like a bookcase 
 might have and each shelf was labeled and 
 stored with indisputable facts. He was not, 
 in any sense of the word, a bold thinker, still 
 the Chance Acquaintance was intrepid enough 
 for the pair of them and, while he admired her 
 for her clever intuitions, she respected him for 
 the accuracy of his knowledge. He had known 
 her for many years and was the son of one of 
 her tutors on the plantation. He called her 
 "Kitten" and to him she was still the spirited 
 child who was kind to a shy, overgrown boy. 
 The Chance Acquaintance had told him that 
 he owed his happiness to me. Did I not tell 
 her to know and love her fellow men, and was 
 she not literally and absolutely obeying me to 
 the letter? In the future I must be more care- 
 ful how I sprinkle about my advice. 
 
 I did not mind my lumbago while I tilted 
 with the Chance Acquaintance. Generally she 
 put me to flight but, occasionally here and there, 
 I flatter myself I scored a neat point much to 
 the amusement of the fiance who, good fellow 
 that he was, applauded each of us impartially. 
 She was determined to be my friend and, after 
 I was well, made me accompany them on many 
 105 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 an expedition. I never went with them to the 
 shelter. It is really suitable to one person 
 but can be stretched to accommodate a couple. 
 
 And yet, in spite of the ocean and the Chance 
 Acquaintance, I went home earlier than I had 
 intended to do. It happened in this wise. We 
 had a spell of damp, foggy weather and, though 
 personally I do not object to these gray days, 
 out of consideration for the lumbago I find 
 it safer to survey the fog with a slumber robe 
 wrapped about my spoiled shoulders. 
 
 The thin spirals of mist twisted themselves 
 into fantastic shapes. They were like the curl- 
 ing tendrils of a fern, no, they were like the 
 branches of a tree with that larger and more 
 solid bit for a trunk. It was an old tree, wider 
 than its height, and distorted out of all grace 
 of form. At this point of my reverie the win- 
 dow and the fog faded away before my very 
 eyes and were supplanted by my linden trees 
 magnificent in their sturdy strength and splen- 
 did greenness. This trick of my imagination 
 brought me around to the Youthful Pessimist. 
 I had a letter from her in my pocket. She was 
 going home in a day or two she wrote and 
 would be glad to get back again. On such sim- 
 ple coincidences do our actions hang. In three 
 days my week would be up. To go or not to 
 go, that was the question? 
 106 
 
HOME AGAIN 
 
 Obeying a foolish impulse I took down from 
 the shelf my suitcase and dusted it carefully. 
 That night I put all superfluous clothing into 
 my trunk and paid my hotel bill. I had left 
 two free days to say good-bye to the ocean 
 and check my baggage. Addlepated as I am, 
 I hardly thought I could forget that small 
 detail. 
 
 I think the Chance Acquaintance was sorry 
 to see me go. I half agreed to come to her 
 wedding and I promised myself to send her an 
 unusually nice present. How I wish the Wain- 
 wright girls kept a little shop and I could buy 
 it from them. 
 
 I was lucky enough to have the train an hour 
 and a half late, so after all it was dark when 
 I reached my house. I much preferred this. 
 The night is such a kindly friend; it effaces all 
 wrinkles in suit or face and even works magic 
 with car dirt. As I drove up the Youthful 
 Pessimist was standing at her gate. 
 
 "You are late, Timothy, give an account of 
 yourself, sir," she ordered sternly. 
 
 I meekly obeyed her and so satisfactorily did 
 I fulfill her behest that she kissed me, car dirt 
 and all, and left me with the comforting assur- 
 ance that my servants were impatiently await- 
 ing me and that she would be over in a short 
 space of time. 
 
 107 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 It was a breezy September night and the 
 swaying of the heavy rocking chairs upon the 
 porch drowned the crunch of the gravel be- 
 neath my feet. And I took care to step as 
 quietly as possible. I liked to think that, while 
 my little house seemed so silent and empty, I 
 had but to lift the knocker to have three black 
 Jacks-in-the-boxes pop out at me. Doubtless 
 they were preparing for me just as busily as if 
 I had, at the last minute, notified them of my 
 arrival. If Patsy had settled on popovers for 
 supper, she was considering the making of a 
 second batch, the first having fallen until they 
 were as cold and heavy as the pastry of a 
 store pie. 
 
 As I stood upon the porch and looked about 
 me, my heart swelled with pride at the sight 
 of my home. I tried to tell myself that it was 
 a mere box of a place but secretly I did not 
 see how mortal man could desire anything 
 better. Though a landscape gardener might 
 have utilized the ground space to more advan- 
 tage, I should then have lost the exquisite 
 pleasure of selecting my own plants and have 
 had literally a laid-out garden, and I question 
 if the whole would have been as quaint and har- 
 monious as my bit of forest and my arches of 
 roses. Also I am fully aware that an interior 
 decorator could have worked marvels within 
 10S 
 
HOME AGAIN 
 
 my house yet I doubt if he could duplicate my 
 old-fashioned mahogany that belonged to my 
 grandfather and shines with a luster only pro- 
 duced by black elbow grease. 
 
 At one and the same time, I lifted the 
 knocker and pulled my door bell and, at the 
 sound of the unholy clamor, my servants opened 
 the door and fell upon me. Ratius took my 
 suitcase, Roger my hat and cane, while Patsy 
 sauntered to the kitchen in a care-free manner 
 that told me she had prepared for my delecta- 
 tion not popovers but the safe and reliable 
 muffin that can, with a little skill, be heated 
 until practically it is as good as new. 
 
 In half an hour I was comforted without 
 and within and went to the living-room to look 
 about me. I do not suppose that everyone is 
 as fond of inanimate objects as I am and I 
 remained so long in contemplation of my and- 
 irons that Roger hurried in to tell me that a 
 storm the day before had slightly dimmed their 
 luster for he had carefully polished them with 
 an eye to my home-coming. I hastened to re- 
 assure him and, throwing a coat about me, 
 went into the back porch where I met the 
 Youthful Pessimist, who was just about to 
 enter the door. 
 
 "I am going to walk in the garden," I an- 
 nounced. 
 
 109 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 "I have been waiting for twenty-four hours 
 to do that same thing," she answered and 
 slipped her arm through mine. 
 
 Upon my word my lindens were making an 
 outrageous noise. Their leaves rustled as 
 stormily as though giants' hands were clutching 
 their trunks and violently shaking the trees. 
 
 "They are talking to you, Timothy," cried 
 the Youthful Pessimist. "They are saying 'We 
 are glad, we are glad, you are home, home/ 
 Can't you hear them?" 
 
 "I thought that was the breeze," I replied 
 teasingly. 
 
 "Hush," she said, "it was the grass that told 
 the good news of your coming. The wind 
 helped it and bent over the tiny blades until 
 they touched each other. The trees heard of 
 it last of all and ever since have been tossing 
 their boughs and whispering among themselves. 
 It is good to be loved, Timothy." 
 
 Good to be loved, ah indeed, who should 
 know that better than I and who but the Youth- 
 ful Pessimist would try to persuade me that 
 my garden had missed me and was shouting a 
 welcome to me as vehemently as my servants 
 had done. 
 
 It was a bright night with not quite a full 
 moon and we paced the graveled walks se- 
 dately. Now and then we called attention to 
 no 
 
HOME AGAIN 
 
 some flower or shrub and, when the fancy 
 struck us, we talked, though for that matter I 
 was quite content with the near presence of the 
 Youthful Pessimist and the swish of her light 
 drapery against my coat. She has a bee-like 
 habit of flitting from subject to subject and I 
 always congratulate myself when I am able to 
 follow her trend of thought. We had been 
 considering the advisability of raising mush- 
 rooms in my cellar when she began to question 
 me. 
 
 "And was she good-looking, Timothy?" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Your Chance Acquaintance." 
 
 "Not especially." 
 
 "Was she attractive?" 
 
 "Most attractive." 
 
 "Was she clever?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly." 
 
 "Timothy, do you like her better than you 
 like me?" 
 
 The moon was bright enough for me to 
 see the eyes of my little friend. They are full 
 of laughter, but underneath lies a well of wist- 
 fulness that in moments of sorrow drowns the 
 dancing of those blue eyes. Sometimes I shud- 
 der to think that somebody might kill the 
 laughter and leave only the well of wistfulness. 
 Without looking I knew that just now the eyes 
 in 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 implored. O jealous Youthful Pessimist, have 
 I not nailed my flag to your mast? A whole 
 army of Chance Acquaintances could not come 
 between us. 
 
 When the Youthful Pessimist gets in this 
 frame of mind, I do not hesitate but tell her 
 of my devotion in unmistakable language. I 
 literally drench her with my love and, like the 
 ferns in my swinging baskets, she absorbs the 
 storm and rises but the fresher from my down- 
 pour of compliments. At these periods, as a 
 child, she kissed my hands, as a woman, she 
 squeezes my arm and says little. When I had 
 finished, she only murmured, "You are so thor- 
 ough, Timothy," but the laughter shone again 
 in her eyes as she bid me stop and listen. 
 There were other footsteps on the gravel walk. 
 Sellars had come to welcome me home. 
 
 112 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 IDLE THOUGHTS 
 
 MY two guests did not tarry with me 
 long that night. They left before 
 "Old Anne's'' megaphone call, an 
 event that takes place promptly at ten-thirty 
 o'clock. "Old Anne" is old-fashioned enough 
 to believe in beauty sleep and the megaphone 
 is always in such excellent repair that I cannot 
 pretend not to hear. I am scrupulously careful 
 not to encourage the Youthful Pessimist to dis- 
 regard these summons [I use the plural here 
 for, instigated by "Old Anne," the father of 
 the Youthful Pessimist shouts lustily for his 
 daughter at ten-minute intervals], yet I am 
 amused at the change of attitude the increas- 
 ing years have wrought in my little friend. 
 Whereas, she was once deeply mortified not 
 to outstrip that second call, she now only mur- 
 murs, "Good old dad," and goes the even tenor 
 of her way. Sometimes I fancy she jerks a 
 little impatiently at the strings that bind her to 
 113 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 her mother's apron and, had I a child, I should 
 allow her more latitude here and there. What- 
 ever she may be to us, we cannot blink at the 
 fact that the Youthful Pessimist is at last a 
 woman, fitted to bear a woman's part upon this 
 earth and, as such, demanding a woman's recog- 
 nition. 
 
 I suppose that no child has been born into 
 this world whose parents have not had a clear 
 and well-defined ideal of what the embryo man 
 or woman might become. Equally, I suppose 
 there are no parents who have not had to re- 
 adjust their point of view. "Old Anne" could 
 hardly have been an exception to this rule and 
 she must have stood aghast at the many-sided- 
 ness of the Youthful Pessimist. Shake the 
 kaleidoscope as you would, no two combina- 
 tions were exactly alike and all were attractive 
 and of infinite variety. 
 
 The Youthful Pessimist is a very human in- 
 dividual and far from perfect. Obsessed as I 
 am, I love her very faults that sit upon her 
 as awkwardly as a scareface does on a pretty 
 child. She has always enjoyed frightening the 
 grown-ups and, unlike "Old Anne," I revel in 
 her air of worldly superiority and enjoy her 
 cynical comments upon life and its opportuni- 
 ties. It was I who nicknamed her the Youthful 
 Pessimist and donated the absurd gold lorg- 
 114 
 
IDLE THOUGHTS 
 
 nettes that she brings forth, on the slightest 
 pretext, with so great a flourish. 
 
 The Imaginary Listener inserts crisply here 
 that there is nothing more insipid than pie with- 
 out the pastry and, while I agree with the 
 sound sense of his remarks, I wish to state 
 flatly that the Youthful Pessimist is not crusty. 
 Far from it. Neither, however, is she one of 
 those soothing creatures from whom I flee as 
 if pursued by a thousand plagues. Both Sellars 
 and the Youthful Pessimist were in a most pro- 
 tective humor, that kind of mood that impels 
 you to make a little fuss over something or 
 somebody. I suppose a woman can always 
 borrow a neighbor's baby to fill this emergency 
 gap. As, unfortunately, I am not able to do 
 anything of this sort, I fall back upon my 
 garden and my flowers. I twine up the dis- 
 couraged vines and put a prop under the droop- 
 ing plants. I work until my back aches and 
 the perspiration stands out thickly upon my 
 brow. By severe treatment like this, I manage 
 to stave off a second attack. After all work 
 is the panacea for all evils. 
 
 For once Sellars and the Youthful Pessimist 
 were in sweet accord. Simultaneously they for- 
 bade me to come further than the rose arches 
 and told me that I must be a total wreck 
 after my day's journey. Anne's manner was 
 115 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 motherly; Sellars', medical. Anne urged me 
 to go straight to bed and Sellars commenced 
 what was to have been a pithy discourse on 
 our nervous systems. 
 
 "My dear fellow," he said assuming an atti- 
 tude as if he were addressing not a sceptical 
 old man but an attentive and thunder-struck 
 audience, "although you do not know it, you 
 are physically exhausted. You may not feel 
 it in your limbs just yet (note the caution here) , 
 but even a few hours of train travel tells on 
 the nervous system. You are more or less 
 under a nervous strain. Your muscles are tense 
 and should be relaxed at the earliest possible 
 
 opportunity. You " I stopped him here 
 
 by gently and firmly grasping his arm. To em- 
 phasize his remarks, he had been slashing at 
 the rose arches with his cane and I do not 
 believe in the massacre of the innocents. He 
 broke off in midair. 
 
 "I forgot myself," he said deprecatingly. 
 
 "One is apt to forget oneself in the interest 
 of science," I said warmly. 
 
 However, I let them have their way, said 
 good-night and turned my face homeward. 
 Not to go to bed as they supposed, nothing was 
 further from my thoughts. Sellars was right. 
 When one gets old, to put it baldly, one is often 
 physically tired. I had my brain to cater to 
 116 
 
IDLE THOUGHTS 
 
 as well as my body. I had never been more 
 widely awake, more vividly conscious of my 
 own mental alertness. I had had attacks of in- 
 somnia before and I knew the symptoms. The 
 fresh air of the garden was surely preferable 
 to a sleepless pillow. 
 
 I tramped along the walks with a light heart 
 if a heavy boot. I was glad to be home again, 
 glad to feel the familiar ground beneath my 
 feet, glad to listen to the rustling trees over- 
 head. No one could hope to sleep in such a 
 hullabaloo of noises. 
 
 Satan, needless to say, found some mischief 
 for my idle hands. Whenever a belated frog, 
 hurrying homeward, crossed my pathway, I 
 turned him gently (with my cane) on his back 
 and left him gazing up at the starlit sky. I 
 can imagine his return home and the harrowing 
 account he gave his irate spouse who probably 
 had a curtain lecture already prepared for him. 
 
 U M' dear," he would croak, "such a horrible 
 adventure. I was lucky to escape with my 
 life." And then would follow details of how 
 he was suddenly transferred from his front 
 to his back and a description of his wonderful 
 agility in regaining his natural position. 
 
 And his wife, slightly conscience-struck at 
 the injustice she had done her husband, would 
 croak solemnly back, "Umph, umph, m' dear, 
 117 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 m' dear," tuck her liege lord into bed and 
 place upon his fevered brow a cool, green leaf 
 wet with dew. 
 
 Then in the morning what a surprise to find 
 that more than one had had the same experi- 
 ence and how hard on the young bucks who, 
 for reasons of their own, thought it wiser to 
 keep out of the limelight. With such fancies 
 I beguiled my walk and had just sat down on 
 the bench beneath the crepe myrtle bush when 
 "Old Anne's" megaphone called out "Anne," 
 then longer and more drawn out, "Anne." 
 For a minute I was frightened and then, as 
 the calls ceased, I realized how unnecessarily 
 nervous I was. The Youthful Pessimist had 
 gone straight to her room and her mother 
 thought her still with me. My only excuse 
 was that some little time had elapsed since I 
 left her at the rose arches. 
 
 I have said before that it was a noisy night, 
 yet, underneath the rough blow of the wind, it 
 seemed to me I could hear an undistinguishable 
 murmur of sounds. Often I wonder if the 
 garden is mine only in the daytime and if, at 
 night, it reverts to its original owner. The 
 house is different, of course, and I have sold 
 the orchard and the farm lands; still I built 
 where the homestead stood and the lindens and 
 the woods are the same. 
 118 
 
IDLE THOUGHTS 
 
 When I think of this, I go back a great many 
 years, back in fact to the time when I legally 
 took possession of my property. I had had 
 my eye on the place for some time but the old 
 man and woman who lived there refused to 
 sell and, though I scoured the country for miles 
 around, I could find nothing else to strike my 
 fancy. The piece of ground had crept into my 
 heart to stay and so, when quite suddenly the 
 old woman died, and a son appeared from the 
 West and advertised the sale of the property, 
 I could not close the deal quickly enough. For 
 that time, I paid a fair price and the father of 
 the Youthful Pessimist bought the land adjoin- 
 ing mine at a much lower rate. 
 
 Though it seems a natural arrangement for 
 a father to live with his son, I have always 
 imagined a great deal of force was brought to 
 bear upon the old man before he could be made 
 to see the advisability of such a plan. I might 
 add that the son had a western wife whom I 
 met the day they formally left the old house. 
 I was shocked at the old man's altered appear- 
 ance and said so frankly to the woman. His 
 shabby old clothes bagged upon him much as 
 an empty shell hangs about a solitary dried-up 
 pea, his faded, yellow blue eyes were red and 
 watery and his mouth alternately dropped and 
 twisted as he stared vacantly around him. 
 119 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 "He does look badly for a fact," the woman 
 agreed not unkindly, "but father's getting old. 
 He's drooling all the time now." 
 
 I felt faintly indignant then, now I am hor- 
 ror-struck that I bought the roof above the old 
 man's head. Since I have aged myself, I know 
 that he was not drooling but grieving at part- 
 ing with his sole remaining friends, the trees 
 about my yard. I put myself in his place and 
 realize that, if I were to be dug up and trans- 
 planted to the West, I would begin to wither 
 as rapidly as he did. 
 
 On summer nights when I see the grass 
 flattened by an invisible wind and hear the faint 
 sighing sounds about me, I wonder if they re- 
 moved only his worn-out body and left here 
 his strong, vigorous soul. And that brings up 
 the question, do I belong to the garden or does 
 the garden belong to me? At my death, will 
 I come back to the garden and pace these 
 walks just as I have done this night, just as 
 the old man and woman are doing now and, if 
 I do, will I be able to give a pitying smile to 
 the ignorant people of this world who do not 
 understand that you never part with what you 
 truly love and that there are some things that 
 you can take with you to Paradise. 
 
 As they drove off, the old man looked back 
 and back again, and I, half hidden by a hedge* 
 120 
 
IDLE THOUGHTS 
 
 turned away from those watery eyes that I 
 might not tread upon holy ground. There is 
 plenty of room for every one in the garden 
 but it makes a faint, cold chill run down my 
 spine to think about such subjects. 
 
 It grew later and Roger commenced to clat- 
 ter the chairs upon my porch. I knew what 
 this meant and went to the house and told him 
 not to sit up for me. 
 
 "That's all right," said he, "I am just begin- 
 ning to shut up for the night." 
 
 Roger exasperates me and yet what can I 
 do about it? Unless I consented to go to bed, 
 he would sit up indefinitely and, in the morn- 
 ing, be distinctly aggrieved at so doing. 
 
 When a boy, I often asked my mother's 
 permission to go swimming. She would refuse 
 and, on further persuasion, say haughtily, "Do 
 as you like." And if I did as I liked, I always 
 paid the penalty. 
 
 Roger's attitude is the same and I have 
 learned not to kick against the pricks. We 
 closed up the house and went upstairs together. 
 
 121 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MAINLY PERRINS 
 
 TEN days after I came home I bought an 
 automobile, not a large touring car but 
 one of those cozy five-seated affairs that 
 would allow me to have two invited guests be- 
 sides the chauffeur, the Youthful Pessimist and 
 myself. I also engaged McWhirter, a taciturn 
 Scotchman, to run my car and I hope in this 
 way to avoid any broils among my servants. 
 McWhirter' s chief attraction was that he did 
 not desire to live on the lot and while I am 
 not in any way under hack to Roger, Patsy 
 and Ratius, it is always wise to keep an eye to 
 windward. Patsy has unusual charm, Ratius 
 a jealous temperament, and mine shall not be 
 the hand that tosses the golden apple in their 
 midst. So I passed over some excellent col- 
 ored men that applied for the position and 
 finally secured McWhirter. I have seen no 
 reason to regret my choice. 
 
 That I might not be stranded on a lonely 
 road, I have carefully studied the interior work- 
 122 
 
MAINLY PERRINS 
 
 Ings of my machine and I can replace a punc- 
 tured tire with no damage whatever to the 
 motor and with nothing more than a bruised 
 finger to my own credit. I find no difficulty in 
 actually steering my car and McWhirter has 
 been good enough to tell me that I have proved 
 an apt pupil. 
 
 I am sorry to say that my good neighbors 
 have not a great deal of confidence in my ability 
 as a chauffeur. The father of the Youthful 
 Pessimist does not care for motoring. "Old 
 Anne" frankly admits that she is not willing to 
 go with me and the Youthful Pessimist has 
 the same air of indifference to all risks that 
 she assumes when she is about to drive off 
 behind Anthony's prancing bays. 
 
 "Are you afraid?" said I in a vain attempt 
 to read her thoughts. 
 
 "Not at all," quoth she. 
 
 "Why not?" I pressed her to the wall. 
 
 "You know why," she answered and smiled 
 into my eyes. 
 
 Old as I am, I find myself occasionally over- 
 come with shyness and this little speech left 
 me tongue-tied before the Youthful Pessimist. 
 To save my life, I could not ask her to explain 
 those simple words, "You know why." I 
 should believe that she intended to tell me that 
 her absolute confidence in me overcame her 
 123 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 fears, did I not know that she considers herself 
 practically invulnerable and is firmly convinced 
 that, no matter what may befall, she will in- 
 evitably escape scot free. Buoyed up by this 
 comforting thought, she has learned to swim 
 passably well, rides excellently, and is probably 
 planning now to eventually run my automobile. 
 
 Unintentionally my purchase has been quite 
 a little expense to her as she has seen fit to 
 buy herself an automobilist's complete outfit. 
 She has a heavy rough coat, thick, furry gloves 
 and a head arrangement that is a cross between 
 the bonnet of a Salvation Army lassie and a 
 Seventh Day Adventist. As yet it has not been 
 cold enough for her to don this toggery and, 
 when she tried it on for my benefit, I gasped 
 with astonishment. Bonnets, as well as women, 
 are wonderful things and this one had trans- 
 formed the Youthful Pessimist into a demure, 
 meek-faced saint. 
 
 "Why don't you admire me?" she asked. 
 
 "It would not be proper. You look too 
 holy," I answered. 
 
 "The change is undoubtedly refreshing," 
 said she and fled before my laughing eyes. 
 
 The neighborhood will be greatly edified by 
 
 this costume of the Youthful Pessimist as, just 
 
 at present, while the weather is still balmy, she 
 
 is wearing a rather shabby gray sweater and 
 
 124 
 
MAINLY PERRINS 
 
 an odd-looking panama with a dull blue band 
 about it that she bought simply because it bore 
 this inscription, "I go a-fishing." 
 
 Sellars too, it appears, has designs upon my 
 motor, not that he has said so in so many 
 words, no, he is not as crude as that. He is, 
 however, planning to get a winter overcoat, a 
 garment I have not seen him wear during the 
 two years of our friendship. Of course I can 
 take a hint. Besides, the more seats I fill, the 
 less room will be left for persons of Mrs. 
 Catchings' caliber. 
 
 These extravagances of my two friends had 
 a most peculiar effect upon me. I became dis- 
 satisfied with my wearing apparel and found 
 myself constantly gazing in the windows of 
 clothing stores. One day, out of curiosity, I 
 slipped into one and carefully inspected those 
 articles that seemed most necessary to the com- 
 fort of an owner of an automobile. A trying 
 on followed next and, when I surveyed myself 
 in the glass, with my fur collar pulled up, my 
 fur cap pulled down, my goggles adjusted com- 
 fortably to my eyes, I could have cried out like 
 the little woman in the Mother Goose book: 
 
 "If this be I, and I suppose it be, 
 Fol de rol dol diddle, diddle dee, 
 I've a little dog at home, he knows me, 
 Fol de rol dol diddle, diddle dee." 
 125 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 If you must know the truth, what I really 
 did was to pay the bill and order the things to 
 be sent to my house immediately. So brand 
 new and complete are we that the automobile 
 and its occupants will have very much the ap- 
 pearance of Mrs. Catchings' drawing-room that 
 was turned out by a northern furniture dealer 
 and decorator. Not even the smallest detail 
 is lacking there and yet that clever woman 
 seems at times to positively hanker after my 
 little home. It may be that she has a mania 
 for refurnishing and that my furniture as well 
 as my ways appeal to her as things that stand 
 in need of a woman's touch. It may be, for I 
 am always slow to understand Mrs. Catchings' 
 motives. 
 
 I am so used to rambling on to the Imagin- 
 ary Listener that I am apt to become a bit 
 discursive, yet I find that one thought suggests 
 the other in the most remarkable way. For 
 example, Mrs. Catchings reminds me of my 
 sick spell; my sick spell of Miss Perrin; and 
 here I reach the astonishing conclusion that it 
 was really the desire to see her home that first 
 made me wish to own an automobile. Under- 
 neath my calm statement that it would be good 
 for health ran the subjective thought of the 
 Perrins' farm and so, when we had become 
 fairly accustomed to swooping through the air, 
 126 
 
MAINLY PERRINS 
 
 I planned an expedition, the object of which 
 was to get acquainted with the members of 
 the Perrin household. 
 
 When I phoned Miss Perrin to ascertain the 
 exact location of the farm, I found, by a happy 
 coincidence, she was going to spend the week 
 with her family and she herself picked out the 
 day for the trip. I had intended to take only 
 the Youthful Pessimist, but Sellars insisted on 
 accompanying me and, as straws are well known 
 to show the shift of the wind, I began to won- 
 der if Sellars was not a trifle over-interested 
 in my nurse. I shall discourage this as I have 
 picked out Molly Brighton for Sellars and I 
 shall ask the Youthful Pessimist to help me 
 throw the two together. 
 
 I decided to take a hamper with me to the 
 farm to pave the way for the Christmas gifts 
 that were to follow and Sellars and Anne 
 picked out the contents of the box. I rejected 
 all unsuitable proposals. Anne's first idea was 
 brilliant. 
 
 "A chew for granddad," she announced. 
 
 "A box of apples/' said Sellars. 
 
 "Ridiculous," I answered, "they have two 
 trees in the corner of the farm just where it 
 runs into the McCumber's estate. Try again, 
 Sellars." 
 
 127 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 "A jug of molasses," Sellars obeyed me will- 
 ingly enough. 
 
 "Well," I pursed up my lips, "molasses is 
 good at any time." The molasses passed 
 muster. 
 
 "A box of Patsy's tea cakes," put in the 
 Youthful Pessimist while Sellars said almost 
 as quickly, "Some of Miss Anne's fudge." 
 
 I nodded to the last two suggestions but 
 told them I must have some stout substantial 
 articles in the hamper. 
 
 "Something sensible, children," I urged. 
 
 "A ham," said the Youthful Pessimist. 
 
 I shook my head. "They have pork on the 
 place," I sighed. 
 
 "I know," Sellars shouted, "a turkey." 
 
 It was a good idea that turkey. I could 
 hear Miss Perrin's clear, incisive voice, "We 
 cannot afford to eat turkey, Mr. Wilkes. We 
 only raise them to sell." 
 
 We settled on a turkey and I bought a fine 
 large one that, as we packed it, made our 
 mouths water. 
 
 I spoke to Sellars again about wasting so 
 much valuable time, but he said with a cheer- 
 ful face and a lugubrious voice that his prac- 
 tice was poor, extremely poor and I saw that, 
 if he had taken the bit between his teeth in 
 regard to Miss Perrin, anything I might hap- 
 128 
 
MAINLY PERRINS 
 
 pen to say would have very little weight with 
 him. As this was an unwelcome thought, I 
 put it behind me and we started off merrily 
 enough upon our little jaunt. 
 
 The Perrin farm turned out to be the actual 
 reality of the sketch we had made of it in our 
 minds' eye. The ground was hard and un- 
 promising, the fence railing broken down and 
 patched with odd timber (we expected that) 
 and the sad looking, whitewashed frame dwell- 
 ing would have given the lie to even the bravest 
 attempts at prosperity. The Youthful Pessi- 
 mist has the greatest respect for upright poverty 
 and, though Miss Perrin is no match for Sel- 
 lars, I knew more than ever that she was clean 
 grit through and through. 
 
 The Perrins welcomed us stiffly, but here 
 again we were not disappointed. They were 
 just as we had thought they would be, Rosebud, 
 a trifle prettier and Zeb, a shade more attrac- 
 tive, thanks to a chipped-off tooth that gave 
 his lean, sandy little face a comically alert ex- 
 pression. As the hamper disgorged its con- 
 tents upon the center of the table, he whistled 
 appreciatively and I knew this was a good sign 
 that the spring thaw, so to speak, had set in. 
 Granddad cackled cheerfully over his tobacco, 
 dad and mother surveyed the turkey with 
 appraisers' eyes, the young folks nibbled hap- 
 129 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL 1 
 
 pily at the cakes and candy and only my nurse 
 stood off aloof and on her dignity. She drew 
 me aside. 
 
 "Mr. Wilkes," she said, "you should not 
 have done this. You put me under too great 
 an obligation. Of course, I am grateful to you, 
 but " 
 
 "You need not be," I interrupted calmly, 
 "there's nothing for you in the hamper." 
 
 For a few seconds Miss Perrin digested my 
 answer in silence and, greatly to my relief, 
 ended by laughing heartily. Sellars came up 
 then and proposed that we should take a look 
 at Zeb's chickens and I was astonished to hear 
 Miss Perrin make some trifling excuse and to 
 find myself paired off with Zeb while the Youth- 
 ful Pessimist and Sellars walked ahead of us. 
 Zeb talked a little and whistled at all odd in- 
 tervals and, though it made my hair stand on 
 end, I discovered there was a certain, gay lilt 
 to the air that aroused some dead or it may 
 have been only forgotten memories. 
 
 "What's the tune?" said I feeling as if I 
 could shake him. 
 
 "Yankee Doodle with variations," Zeb 
 answered promptly. 
 
 It is horrible to think how people will mur- 
 der music. I have always liked Yankee Doodle 
 and I found it in my heart to call down the 
 130 
 
MAINLY PERRINS 
 
 wrath of heaven upon the person who could 
 so twist it out of all resemblance to its gay 
 inconsequent self. I engaged Zeb in conversa- 
 tion that I might avoid an overdose of the 
 variations and he gave forth the astonishing 
 information that Sis was hardly ever out of a 
 job and that Sellars gave her all his work. 
 
 We were looking at Sellars as we chatted 
 when Zeb, who had puckered his lips to whistle, 
 changed his mind, jerked his fingers toward 
 the innocent backs of my two young friends 
 and said inquiringly, "Sweet on her, ain't he?" 
 
 "Certainly not," I retorted hotly and watched 
 Zeb narrowly to see if his remark was simply 
 the outcome of his country raising that sees 
 in every stroll a prospective march to the altar, 
 or the deep-laid plans of an older sister who 
 probably thought that anybody could pump an 
 old man. 
 
 Zeb, I must say, took his rebuff calmly. He 
 whistled and continued to whistle as he brought 
 forth his chickens. They were a wretched and 
 dejected lot and I promised him a setting of 
 bantam eggs the following year and the gift 
 of two stout hens the next time he came to 
 town. I was afraid he would whistle his 
 thanks, but some divine intuition prevented 
 this catastrophe and I was able to leave the 
 farm with some kindly thoughts of the Perrins. 
 131 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 When we got home, Sellars sat on the porch 
 with me for a while and it was on the tip of 
 my tongue to tell him of Zeb's speech. Sellars, 
 however, cannot bear a joke on himself and so, 
 on graver consideration, I changed it into a 
 compliment from none other than Timothy 
 Wilkes. 
 
 As I gave him one of my best cigars, I said: 
 "Do you know, Sellars, this afternoon I thought 
 you were becoming positively Chesterfieldian in 
 your manners?" 
 
 "Have I your gracious approval?" he asked. 
 
 "Of a surety," I said this heartily as I be- 
 lieve in encouraging good behavior. 
 
 He commenced to whistle jubilantly. I felt 
 my hair rise on end. It was Zeb's tune. 
 
 "Stop that," I shouted. 
 
 "What is it anyway?" he asked. 
 
 "Yankee Doodle with variations," I snapped. 
 
 There was nothing particularly funny in that 
 yet Sellars laughed hilariously. He was in 
 such high spirits that I am afraid he already 
 has a secret understanding with Miss Perrin. 
 
 132 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 "and winter came" 
 
 I HAVE never known the days to slip by 
 as quickly as they did this fall. Before I 
 could take it in, the old year was out, the 
 new year in and the cold weather laid its icy 
 hands upon us. Though from an artistic stand- 
 point, I love the winter, even as I admire the 
 view from my porch, I shiver and shrink be- 
 neath the windy blasts and generally end by 
 finding some excuse for a prolonged stay in- 
 doors. 
 
 Up to now we have had wonderful balmy 
 days with just enough snap to the air to make 
 it pleasant, but of late the skies have clouded 
 over and there is an ominous chill that pene- 
 trates through the walls of my little house. 
 Between the cold and the daily visits of 
 O-Phelia, who is now staying with Ratius or me, 
 as you may choose to put it, my temper has 
 been strained to the uttermost and I find it 
 hard not to tell my self-invited guest that she 
 + 33 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 must clear out, bag and baggage, before an- 
 other sunrise. 
 
 To-day she was accompanied by Ip and 
 Ratius. He had a message for me and he 
 listened with a scowling face as she ran over 
 the list of her accomplishments and urged me 
 to add her to my establishment. As, privately, 
 I think she is planning to supplant Roger, I 
 have a great dread that he may imagine me in 
 cahoot with her and I was just about to speak 
 my mind to her when I noticed that Ratius was 
 surveying her with a cool, contemptuous look 
 and understood that we were fellow sufferers 
 in regard to O-Phelia. She concluded her talk 
 with a coy glance at Ratius and said appeal- 
 ingly, "Ain't it so?" in a voice that should have 
 melted anything short of a cast-iron heart. 
 
 Ratius, however, has been toughened by pre- 
 vious years of abuse and his only response was 
 to gaze skyward, much indeed as if O-Phelia 
 were not in the land of the living, and remark 
 confidentially to me that he thought it would 
 snow to-morrow. I agreed with enthusiasm, 
 not because I like the snow, but because I saw 
 that my implicit trust in Ratius was not mis- 
 placed. O-Phelia, as Ratius put it, was only 
 temporarily out of a job and there was no 
 doubt in my mind that her brother would find 
 something suited to her capacity. I cannot pic- 
 134 
 
"AND WINTER CAME" 
 
 ture Ratius as a genial host when he is presid- 
 ing over any table, even one that is spread, we 
 will assume, by your humble servant. 
 
 The next day it snowed, as Ratius had pre- 
 dicted, and my trees looked as if they had been 
 beautifully powdered with quarts of purest 
 talcum. It was pretty and soft and fleecy 
 enough, I will admit that, but with me a little 
 snow goes a long way. I am always glad to 
 return to my fireside. 
 
 I phoned for the Youthful Pessimist. She 
 came over and, crossing her feet tailor fashion 
 beneath her, sat down on the rug in front of 
 my big open fire. She is a perfect salamander 
 and loves the heat and, if cheered by a cup of 
 cambric tea, will stay until her parents summon 
 her to return home. It seemed a profitable 
 moment to talk over Molly Brighton and Sel- 
 lars as, hitherto, I have been too busy with my 
 own affairs to give the matter much thought. 
 
 I told the Youthful Pessimist my fears in 
 regard to Miss Perrin and recalled to her mind 
 the deep interest Sellars showed in the Perrins' 
 Christmas box. He accompanied us from store 
 to store and opined that he was a much better 
 judge of Zeb's suit than the Youthful Pessimist 
 or I could ever hope to be. I went back to 
 our first trip to the farm and told her of Zeb's 
 speech with its underlying significance and she 
 135 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 listened so attentively that she let the fire burn 
 her face until it was as red as a peony. 
 
 "My dear/' I said in real concern, "move 
 back a little; you will ruin your skin." 
 
 I was thinking of "Old Anne" as I said this, 
 for, though she does not interfere with the 
 costuming of her daughter, she has two cares, 
 the hair and skin of the Youthful Pessimist. 
 As young Anne is prone to overpuff the former, 
 "Old Anne" endeavors to superintend each hair 
 dressing and, as for the latter, I have seen her 
 rub on the cold cream while the Youthful Pessi- 
 mist fretted impatiently and muttered cheer- 
 fully, "Oh, bother the freckles." 
 
 "If it could be managed, it would be an 
 ideal match," I concluded. "Do you think you 
 could help me arrange it?" 
 
 I depend largely on the judgment of the 
 Youthful Pessimist. 
 
 "Doubtless we could arrange it," she 
 answered thoughtfully, "but would it not be 
 wiser to let it wait over until the spring? Just 
 at present it seems to me we have our hands 
 full. So far, ahem," she cast a mischievous 
 glance at me, "we have made very little prog- 
 ress with those Wainwright girls and Thomp- 
 son." 
 
 Now this was unkind of the Youthful Pessi- 
 mist. When she spoke of delaying to the 
 136 
 
"AND WINTER CAME" 
 
 spring, I had intended to remind her that it 
 was useless to shut the stable door after the 
 steed was stolen. Her reference to Thompson 
 threw a wet blanket over my enthusiasm. He 
 brought to remembrance my Christmas dinner 
 which was undeniably a Waterloo, not so far 
 as pleasure went but so far as my hopes and 
 ambitions were concerned. 
 
 The second Wainwright girl is a wonderful 
 woman. She can do a little of everything and 
 it is no effort to her to make a dime accomplish 
 the work of a dollar. As she already has a 
 strong leaning toward church affairs, she would 
 be just the wife for an assistant and I felt it 
 my duty to move her into a more conspicuous 
 place in Thompson's horizon. 
 
 With this in mind, I gave a Christmas dinner 
 and invited the two older Wainwright girls, 
 Thompson, Corner, who has at last secured a 
 modest clerkship with the distant hope of a 
 rise in years to come and who has that uncon- 
 sciously blissful look of one who is perpetually 
 listening to the faint, sweet tinkle of imaginary 
 wedding bells, Sellars, the Youthful Pessimist, 
 Molly Brighton and a young man (I quote as 
 usual the Youthful Pessimist) who was only 
 eligible on account of his trousers. 
 
 I placed Thompson between the second 
 Wainwright girl and the Youthful Pessimist 
 137 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 and I must say that I expected him to know 
 on which side his bread was buttered. Assist- 
 ants, however, have a strong disregard for 
 the useful and what was my disgust to observe 
 that he was positively ignoring the girl I had 
 chosen for him and was devoting his entire 
 attention to the Youthful Pessimist. In justice 
 to him I must say that he showed excellent 
 taste for Anne had elected to array herself in 
 a pale green and silver creation that made her 
 appear as dainty and elusive as a dryad. I was 
 wondering how I could better matters when 
 the Youthful Pessimist came to my rescue, 
 turned a charming though chilly shoulder to 
 Thompson and dropped into earnest conversa- 
 tion with Sellars on her right. Under the cir- 
 cumstances, it was the only thing to do and 
 I admired her for her quick perception of the 
 situation, yet it was unfortunate that the table 
 talk could not be more general for Molly sat 
 on the other side of Sellars and, if the fates 
 had been willing, I might easily have killed two 
 birds with one stone. 
 
 After dinner, as Thompson still showed a 
 desire to hang about the Youthful Pessimist, I 
 whispered to Sellars to monopolize her and, in 
 this way, extinguished any foolish flutterings of 
 Thompson's heart. I suppose I should not ex- 
 138 
 
"AND WINTER CAME" 
 
 pect all my undertakings to be crowned with 
 success. 
 
 "It was your fault," I spoke accusingly to 
 the Youthful Pessimist who had no business to 
 bring up disagreeable recollections. "Why did 
 you wear that green dress?" 
 
 "I look well in it," she retorted with spirit, 
 "you know I did my best. If only Thompson 
 had not proved so difficult." 
 
 "You were rather nice about Sellars," I am 
 inclined to be lenient with the Youthful Pessi- 
 mist. "Does he bore you?" 
 
 "Not at all," the Youthful Pessimist re- 
 turned emphatically. 
 
 This is Anne's nicest trait, this habit of mak- 
 ing the most of my friends. Whether or not 
 she likes them, she always meets them halfway 
 and finds something pleasant to say about them. 
 I happened to think again of "Old Anne," who 
 has this same trait and regarded the Youthful 
 Pessimist critically. In spite of my warning, 
 the child was really ruining her complexion. 
 By this time even the ends of her ears were 
 pink and, though the warm color flooding her 
 throat and face was most beautiful, I forced 
 her to place a fire screen between herself and 
 the glowing grate. 
 
 To me afternoons like this are the pleasant- 
 est part of the winter. On milder days I have 
 139 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 a blaze of driftwood logs and sit and dream 
 of the sea and the Chance Acquaintance. 
 
 "Why not take a bit of the ocean back with 
 you?" she suggested and so I made an arrange- 
 ment to have several barrels of wood freighted 
 to my home and, though it is an extravagant 
 whim on my part, I love my tinted flames and 
 the odd aroma that emanates from my drift- 
 wood. 
 
 If the weather would only content itself with 
 snowing I might like the winter, but there 
 come days when the hail and sleet make my 
 garden a solid sheet of ice and I know without 
 being told that I must make up my mind to 
 lose many branches from my cherished trees. 
 Only recently a limb broke off my linden and 
 halfway crushed my little new birthday tree. 
 I have not quite made up my mind whether or 
 not this is an evil omen. 
 
 Also when the weather is bad, I forsake my 
 sleeping porch, and warm and comforting as 
 I find my feather bed, somehow I miss the cold 
 air and the sound of the rustling leaves. If I 
 were as big and as broad as Sellars, and my 
 face looked as if I had just stepped out of a 
 cold dip and, for the fun of it, done a half an 
 hour's exercise with dumb bells, I should be 
 as ardent an admirer of the winter as he is. 
 140 
 
"AND WINTER CAME" 
 
 As it is, I sit indoors and arrange suitable 
 matches for a stiff-necked generation of idiots 
 who do not know an opportunity when they 
 see it. If they want to, let them go through 
 the woods and pick up crooked sticks. 
 
 141 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE SPRING 
 
 SAID I to the Imaginary Listener, "If only 
 March knew that famous couplet, 'O 
 wad some power the giftie gie us, to see 
 oursePs as others see us/ he would not be as 
 rough and as boisterous a companion." 
 
 Said the Imaginary Listener to me, "Rough 
 he surely is and sometimes most unpleasant, 
 still he has on the whole a sunshiny disposition 
 and one great redeeming virtue, he ushers in 
 the spring." 
 
 Of course this is true and, as I think about 
 it, I feel much more kindly to March. Any 
 well-trained child can sit through soup and 
 dinner if he knows for a certainty that dessert 
 is sure to follow and besides, when you get as 
 old as I am, you are inclined to linger senti- 
 mentally over any month no matter how dis- 
 agreeable its personality. 
 
 Now, if you read the farmer's almanack 
 and I shrewdly suspect that you do, for each 
 one of us has some little weakness to which we 
 142 
 
THE SPRING 
 
 will not confess, you will find out that March 
 is a good time for planting vegetables. Con- 
 cerning flowers, such as I possess, my advice 
 would be that you should continue to clean your 
 garden, a job that should be begun in January, 
 save for a few odds and ends, practically com- 
 pleted in February and brought to a triumphant 
 finish in March. After which, you can, if you 
 like, do a little planting. 
 
 I myself consider it a month of the wildest 
 speculation for, sad as it may seem, you never 
 can tell what a spring may bring forth. A 
 shrub that blossomed last year like a mother 
 in Israel may this season be a withered eyesore 
 in your garden and, vice versa, a mere stick of 
 a plant may unexpectedly develop into a bloom- 
 covered treasure, the like of which cannot be 
 equalled in the countryside around you. 
 
 But my dear readers you must not be unduly 
 encouraged by the wonderful phenomenon of 
 the mere stick, for it is by no means a regular 
 occurrence. They say that lightning rarely 
 strikes twice in the same place and surprises 
 of the sort only happen now and then in a 
 lifetime. The withered eyesore, on the con- 
 trary, may be a yearly visitor and, while I am 
 no church goer, I believe that any reliable au- 
 thority would admit that these ups and downs 
 have more or less a religious significance. The 
 143 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 last is a sort of triumphant proof of how are 
 the mighty fallen and you can see for your- 
 self that the mere stick is nature's best attempt 
 at a picture of the redeemed sinner. I allow 
 that a human being has as many possibilities as 
 a plant and I am consumed with a desire to 
 see such a transformation take place before 
 my very eyes. I should be tremendously im- 
 pressed if Mrs. Catchings commenced to grow 
 a pair of innocent, white baby wings that is, of 
 course, if I should be certain they were the 
 real article and not simply an attractive pose 
 on the part of my arch tormentor. 
 
 As Thompson's spring visit happened to co- 
 incide with Roger's spring cleaning, I was 
 forced to entertain him in my garden and, hav- 
 ing just inspected the decline of a mother in 
 Israel, I explained the symbolic side of the 
 question to him, using the plant as an illustra- 
 tion. Thompson is not very bright about put- 
 ting two and two together, so I was most ex- 
 plicit in regard to details. 
 
 "The growth, of course, must come from 
 within in either case," he said unwillingly. 
 
 I might add that Thompson is not imag- 
 inative. 
 
 "Perhaps the gardener might have some- 
 thing to do with the change," I suggested 
 slyly. 
 
 144 
 
THE SPRING 
 
 "Or it might be the soil," said Thompson 
 examining a bit of loose earth with apparent 
 interest. 
 
 I stared at my visitor with real surprise. 
 Was it possible that he had given me a quiet 
 but not unskillful thrust in payment for my in- 
 sinuation about the gardener? "The soil," he 
 had said in a tone of disgust that showed he 
 considered me an unfruitful and unprofitable 
 investment. I was as much astounded as if I 
 had found a big, swollen plum in one of Patsy's 
 breakfast rolls. Perhaps I had under-esti- 
 mated the fellow's intelligence. After he had 
 left, I talked about it to myself and I wished 
 that my garden could have told me what it 
 thought of his speech. That is the only unsat- 
 isfactory part about plants and trees. How- 
 ever well they understand you, they are forced 
 to play such a passive part in your existence. 
 
 I would not for worlds have any one but the 
 Imaginary Listener know of it, but I often talk 
 to my garden. Particularly in the spring when 
 the new life has burst through its winter co- 
 coon, I feel as if I ought to say a word of en- 
 couragement to my tried and trusted friends. 
 
 "Come now," I admonish my trees, "you've 
 done well before, I know, but see if you can- 
 not surpass yourselves this spring. I may not 
 be with you another season." 
 145 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 And to the plants in the border I say, "Lit- 
 tle friends, do not crowd each other too closely. 
 Push up into the air and sunshine. There is 
 plenty of room for every one above ground. 
 I shall do my uttermost to make you happy 
 and comfortable." 
 
 And last of all, I step close to my rose 
 arches and, so that the envious shrubs may 
 not hear me, I whisper, "You will do your 
 best, will you not, for one who loves you so 
 dearly?" 
 
 And, when the spring is here at last, I hate 
 to leave my garden for fear something may 
 grow a little while I am away. I begrudge 
 the hours I spend asleep and, at the first twit- 
 terings of the birds, I am awake and eager to 
 see what changes may have been wrought in 
 the night time. 
 
 "Old Anne," to whom a flower or tree will 
 always be a flower or tree, has very little pa- 
 tience with me at this time of the year and con- 
 siders that I have been particularly provoking 
 on this occasion. The cold weather gave us a 
 late spring, but, when at length the sun and 
 the warm rain came, everything grew with 
 amazing rapidity. I had been prowling hap- 
 pily about my yard for some days before "Old 
 Anne" descended upon me with the object of 
 her visit writ upon her face. 
 146 
 
THE SPRING 
 
 "Dear lady," I said in an effort to placate 
 her, "you have come to see the garden?" 
 
 "No," said "Old Anne" with calm direct- 
 ness, "I have come to speak to you, Timothy. 
 You must go out into the air and sunshine. 
 This garden is a damp, unhealthy place." 
 
 "You know it's not," I spoke with absolute 
 conviction. 
 
 "Well, if it's not, there's no use in becom- 
 ing a hermit," Old Anne replied swiftly chang- 
 ing her plan of attack. "Besides now you posi- 
 tively make an idol of this garden. It is all 
 wrong, you know." 
 
 "Why?" I asked. 
 
 "Why," she answered, a faint troubled line 
 puckered up her forehead and I have pushed 
 her to the wall too often not to be familiar 
 with that expression, "why," she repeated 
 firmly, "you should not make an idol of any- 
 thing. What possesses you, Timothy?" 
 
 I looked at "Old Anne" whimsically. It 
 was useless to try to explain to her how the 
 first green sprouts against the rough, dark bark 
 of my lindens affected me. Her ears were 
 sealed to the hum of life that vibrated through 
 the sunny atmosphere, her eyes were shut to 
 the beauty of the foliage, to the soft greenness 
 of the young grass, and I lacked not only abil- 
 ity to teach her to hear with my ears, but the 
 147 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 magic spittle to lay upon her eyelids that she 
 might, if only for one single instant, see the 
 true vision of the spring. I fell back, so to 
 speak, and intrenched myself in my fortress. 
 
 "A bachelor has so few interests," I com- 
 plained. 
 
 The trouble grew on "Old Anne's" face, and 
 I followed up my advantage. 
 
 "Many years ago if a certain young woman 
 had not discarded a certain young man," I 
 grew more plaintive, "I might have been hap- 
 pily married with dozens of interests." 
 
 "Oh, Timothy!" "Old Anne" sighed un- 
 happily. 
 
 When "Old Anne" sighs, she touches my 
 heart. I stopped teasing her at once, agreed 
 that the garden was damp and promised her 
 not to become a hermit nor to make an idol 
 of my flowers. "Old Anne" is so practical, 
 her temperament so even and sunny that it 
 would be an ill-natured subject who would not 
 enjoy the reign of so kindly a despot. In our 
 thoughts "Old Anne" and I are as far apart as 
 the poles and yet — but there is no use speaking 
 of ancient history. 
 
 "Old Anne" chose other and more subtle 
 means to lure me into the open. She sent over 
 the Youthful Pessimist armed with a tea bas- 
 ket and a thermos bottle and the proposition 
 148 
 
THE SPRING 
 
 that we should take our afternoon tea on the 
 roadside. Surrounded by the enemy, I sur- 
 rendered and the afternoon rides became a reg- 
 ular institution. 
 
 Sometimes at night I went out alone and 
 drove the converging shadows before me and 
 sometimes I picked up a pack of children and, to 
 help the sandman, gave them a breath of fresh 
 air. They were always eager to accompany me 
 and squealed with delight whenever a molly 
 cotton tail hopped frantically across the road. 
 At night time the Youthful Pessimist has 
 manifold engagements with Anthonys and such 
 like, but she saved the afternoon for me or 
 rather my automobile. Sellars often went with 
 us, and I was glad to see him take a little re- 
 laxation. He is making a name for himself 
 and, as a consequence, is thin and I suppose 
 over worked. We have all taken a fancy to 
 the tea basket and the rug, upon which we sit 
 eastern fashion, is always kept in the bottom 
 of my car ready for any emergency. 
 
 The Youthful Pessimist insists that we have 
 found one of nature's tea tables with a cleared 
 space for our rug, a stump to hold the thermos 
 bottle and a trickling stream near by wherein 
 we wash our dishes. I am averse to this sort 
 of work, so Sellars and the Youthful Pessimist 
 do it together and appear to do it thoroughly. 
 149 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 They are long enough about the job. This 
 nature's tea table suits us admirably, but lately 
 we have had to share it with some birds who 
 built a nest in the stump. We were much 
 mystified when the birds flew angrily around 
 us and we narrowly escaped thrusting the 
 thermos bottle into the nest so cleverly con- 
 cealed and so full of tiny eggs. We have come 
 so often since and behaved with so much tact 
 that lately they have begun to ignore us, and 
 the Youthful Pessimist declares that, thinking 
 her a part of the landscape, they have even 
 tweaked the corn like tassels that adorn her 
 new spring hat. I accepted her statement, but 
 classed it under the head of "truth is stranger 
 than fiction.' , 
 
 I often see Sellars with Molly Brighton and 
 have told the Youthful Pessimist that I do feel 
 a bit encouraged. 
 
 "Well," she said smilingly, "you believe, 
 don't you, that in the spring a young man's 
 fancy " 
 
 "Why of course," I answered, "how can he 
 help it? Look about you." 
 
 The Youthful Pessimist was neatly packing 
 the tea basket. She looked thoughtfully about 
 her. 
 
 "Do you know, Timothy," she said irrele- 
 vantly, "you are such a dear." 
 150 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE GREATER UNDERSTANDING 
 
 MY automobile is broken and ever since 
 I heard the bad news I have been 
 plunged in gloom. These warm days 
 I have become so dependent upon my nightly 
 rides that to be deprived of my car for a good 
 twenty-four hours makes me as fretful as a 
 baby who suddenly finds his sugar rag jerked 
 from between his appreciative lips. 
 
 It is now only the tenth of June and the 
 thermometer has been playing about the hun- 
 dred mark for the last week. It has been a 
 scorching spell, uncheered by our usual thunder 
 showers, and so depressed am I that I fasten 
 all my hopes upon Thompson. Yesterday he 
 prayed for rain and you can believe it or not 
 the clouds have been banking up all the morn- 
 ing, and I have said to myself with intense sat- 
 isfaction, "Something will happen before mid- 
 night." Provided the lightning spares my 
 trees, nature can do as it likes. It's all the 
 same to me. 
 
 I5i 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 Yesterday morning Sellars came to see me 
 and spent the better part of his visit mopping 
 his brow and drinking quarts of iced water. 
 He really came to tell me that the birthday 
 baby was dead and, after he had imparted that 
 sad bit of news, I felt myself growing as dis- 
 couraged as he looked. 
 
 "Could nothing be done to save it?" I asked 
 rousing myself from my lassitude. 
 
 "With money, yes," Sellars returned suc- 
 cinctly. "With a trained nurse, specially pre- 
 pared food, a change of air, things might have 
 turned out differently. After all it was the 
 heat that did the business." 
 
 "I would have given some money," I said. 
 
 "As it is, you are always dipping your hand 
 into your pocket. At best it would have been 
 just a gamble. It never was particularly 
 strong," Sellars answered with an effort. "As 
 a doctor, you get such a one-sided view of life," 
 he went on, "for no reason whatever you feel 
 like shouting 'Down with the aristocrats.' 
 Some of them are generous enough, too. A 
 mother's a mother all the world over, you 
 know, and somehow this baby's death got on 
 my nerves." 
 
 Of course a mother was a mother and will 
 be to the end of time. I have not forgotten 
 how "Old Anne" wept for the little boys, and 
 152 
 
THE GREATER UNDERSTANDING 
 
 yet she had the satisfaction of knowing that 
 no stone had been left unturned in her efforts 
 to save them. My heart ached for the seam- 
 stress who must have sorrowed doubly that 
 she could not give her baby its single chance 
 for life. It gave me a queer twinge to remem- 
 ber that it had been named Anne. It was so 
 suggestive of the Youthful Pessimist. 
 
 And the heat killed the birthday baby. I 
 have been thinking of that ever since Sellars , 
 visit. It came to me in the night as I watched 
 the still trees and the listless droop of the 
 leaves. It ran through my mind all the next 
 morning while I felt as if the hot earth and the 
 hotter heaven, two steaming brass cymbals, 
 were about to close together for the sole pur- 
 pose of crushing me between them. I thought 
 of it in the long evening as I watched the 
 banked up clouds. The rain might come, but 
 the heat had killed the birthday baby. Weather 
 like this, old people and young babies were best 
 out of town and yet, I who could afford to go, 
 stayed on though I was too exhausted to do 
 more than cling limpet-like to my chair on the 
 porch. 
 
 As I stared out into my garden that, by dint 
 
 of much labor on Ratius' part, still preserved a 
 
 semblance of freshness, I told myself that after 
 
 all the last twenty-sixth of July had been a most 
 
 *53 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 unlucky birthday. The heat had killed the 
 birthday baby and the birthday tree had never 
 been the same since the limb from the linden 
 had crushed it. The top had been snapped off 
 and, in the spring, it had put out from the sides 
 as if it would try once more to grow. It re- 
 minded me of a man who, having lost his right 
 hand, makes a brave and noble effort to prove 
 to the world that, when all's said and done, the 
 left one is equally as good. 
 
 It must rain. I felt my irritation rise and 
 thought that Roger was getting a little careless 
 of me. That I might not have to move, I had 
 a square table with my books and a pitcher of 
 water placed by my side and I saw now that 
 the front end of the cover trailed upon the 
 floor. Roger had apologized for this and said 
 that we were short of small tea cloths. It 
 vexed me and I struck at it with my cane. 
 I was vexed with Thompson, too, that it had 
 not rained yesterday as I had expected it to do. 
 It was far too dark to read, and I made up 
 my mind when Roger had washed up the tea 
 things, to have him move the table indoors 
 again. 
 
 The birthday tree would live, but it would 
 
 have to map out its life afresh. It could not 
 
 hope to grow tall and straight toward the 
 
 heavens. There was no power on earth that 
 
 154 
 
THE GREATER UNDERSTANDING 
 
 could make It a shapely tree again. I sighed 
 and, as I sighed, I sat up in my chair and 
 looked down the walk. The Youthful Pessi- 
 mist had deserted her Anthonys and was com- 
 ing up the path. She was walking rapidly, in- 
 deed, almost running, and I wondered at her 
 haste. She came up the steps at the same swift 
 pace, stopped for a minute before me and then, 
 like some shot bird, tumbled into my lap and 
 flung her arms around my neck. 
 
 "Timothy," she cried and I felt that she 
 was sobbing. 
 
 "Are you ill?" I asked her anxiously. 
 She shook her head. 
 "Are the people at home ill?" 
 She shook her head again. 
 "Perhaps something has troubled you," I 
 suggested, "and you just needed Timothy. Is 
 that it?" 
 
 She nodded this time and I smoothed her 
 hair as I had always done when she used to 
 come to me with her childish woes. After all 
 the Youthful Pessimist was not entirely grown 
 up and, in the twinkling of an eye, had re- 
 verted back into a most unhappy little girl. 
 
 "I've wanted you all day long," she whis- 
 pered, "I was ashamed to come until it grew 
 dark. I've— I've disgraced you, Timothy." 
 Save for the fear of hurting her feelings, I 
 *55 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 could have laughed at the absurdity of her 
 speech. Disgraced me, indeed, and yet her 
 tone was so tragic that, in spite of my laughter, 
 I felt a faint uneasiness stealing over me. I 
 kept silent and, after a little, she commenced 
 to talk. She told me of her love for Sellars, 
 of his unlikeness to the other young men she 
 knew, of their many meetings in my garden in 
 which all unwittingly I had played so large a 
 part and each word bit into my heart like a 
 tingling drop of cold, hard hail. 
 
 "Why did you not tell me before?" I asked. 
 
 "I thought you would guess and afterward, 
 I couldn't, Timothy," without looking I knew 
 that she was blushing. 
 
 And while I was gathering my wits together 
 to make the best of this bad business, she told 
 me of the proofs of Sellars' devotion. First, 
 his indifference, then his friendship and, at last, 
 as she thought, his love. And in her daily in- 
 tercourse with him, little by little, the knowl- 
 edge had come upon her that Sellars, not abun- 
 dantly blessed with this world's goods, was far 
 too proud to follow where his heart had led 
 him. So it had seemed to her that all might 
 yet go well if she could but show him that with 
 her money did not spell happiness, not by any 
 manner of means. Then my little Youthful 
 Pessimist, generous as her mother before her, 
 
 i 5 6 
 
THE GREATER UNDERSTANDING 
 
 had offered to Sellars to my mind the pearl of 
 great price, namely her charming self. And 
 when she had finished her simple tale, she cried 
 out in a stricken voice, "He scorned me, Tim- 
 othy," and fell to sobbing once more. 
 
 I put my arms about her and comforted her 
 and I knew that I hated Sellars and wished 
 never to see his face again. I took her story, 
 bit by bit, and, when I had dovetailed the pieces 
 together, just as at one flash the lightning blasts 
 the tree, so the naked truth stood before me 
 and thrust its jeering face into mine. I saw 
 the Youthful Pessimist and Sellars at odds with 
 one another. I saw myself patching up a 
 friendship between the two. I saw myself in 
 the garden appealing to Sellars to make that 
 same friendship and I saw myself praising and 
 approving each new move in the drama en- 
 acted before me. 
 
 I said to myself in a mighty fury that, "By 
 God, Sellars had no right to overdo his part," 
 and then, as the strength flowed from me, I 
 knew it was I who had hurt the Youthful Pes- 
 simist and had humiliated her not only in her 
 own, but Sellars' eyes. That I loved her better 
 than my life itself was no excuse. Meddlesome 
 old men, as well as lunatics, should be kept in 
 solitary confinement. There had been so many 
 Anthonys that it had never occurred to me to 
 157 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 give a thought to the Youthful Pessimist, but 
 even the most capable of caretakers are some- 
 times sleeping, and I had picked the lock of 
 her heart and betrayed my little friend. 
 
 "Just what did you say?" I managed to ask 
 her. 
 
 "It was last night," she began obediently. 
 "He was so unhappy. He talked about money 
 and what a difference it coulJ make in our lives, 
 the birthday baby was dead you see, and I said, 
 that, if I loved a man, I'd marry him if he did 
 not have a single penny to his name." 
 
 "But how could he tell that you were re- 
 ferring to him?" I said with a ray of hope. 
 
 "There's everything in the way you say a 
 thing, Timothy," she answered with the fright- 
 ened look of a child who is staring into some 
 dark abyss. "And then, without even a good 
 night, he went away." 
 
 "Without one word?" 
 
 She made a faint sound that I judged to be 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Have you told your mother this?" I ques- 
 tioned gently. 
 
 "Not mother, Timothy," she said proudly, 
 "not mother. Only you, you understand." 
 
 It is strange how often the sweet will creep 
 into the bitter. In spite of my pain, in spite 
 of the knowledge that I had wounded the 
 
 158 
 
THE GREATER UNDERSTANDING 
 
 Youthful Pessimist, I had one tiny thrill of 
 happiness. With the wisest and best of 
 parents, "Old Anne's" child came to me for 
 solace. How could I undermine her simple 
 faith? 
 
 In my mind I sought here and there for 
 some solution of the difficulty and, at every 
 turn, I found myself cleverly checkmated. 
 Must I tell her of the part I had played in 
 her affair with Sellars? That would only hu- 
 miliate her further. Must I encourage her to 
 believe that Sellars loved her? My own acts 
 in the past made that an impossibility. For- 
 tunately the Youthful Pessimist was too ab- 
 sorbed in her own thoughts to notice my pre- 
 occupation. Once she murmured pitifully, "I 
 surely thought I knew," and once she said 
 again, "He scorned me, Timothy." That cry 
 hit me hardest of all. 
 
 We had both been somewhat oblivious of the 
 heat. Now I was aware that my throat was 
 parched and I must have water. I reached out 
 for the pitcher and, at the same instant, we 
 both saw Sellars coming toward us. If the 
 Youthful Pessimist had run, he crawled and 
 his head was thrust forward and his hands 
 crossed behind his back. 
 
 The Youthful Pessimist whispered, "Hide 
 me," and I motioned in the direction of the 
 
 159 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 door, but she caught the lapel of my coat and 
 said insistently, "the light." 
 
 I had forgotten that the hall jet made a clear 
 shaft of light to one side of my chair. If she 
 stepped in that, he would surely see her. I 
 may have said before that I am ingenious. 
 The trailing cover caught my eye. I lifted it 
 up and the Youthful Pessimist slipped to the 
 floor. I dropped the cloth over her and was 
 drinking some water when Sellars did reach 
 the porch. 
 
 If I had not been so angry with Sellars, I 
 might even have pitied him so white and dis- 
 traught did he appear as he stood in the shaft 
 of light. I spoke coolly but civilly enough and 
 he replied by placing his chair by mine. I 
 thought of the Youthful Pessimist and prayed 
 that he might leave quickly. 
 
 "Timothy," he began greatly to my surprise 
 for we had not attained the intimacy of our 
 christian names, and it seemed almost a foolish 
 time to commence just as I was about to wind 
 up our friendship, "I have come to talk to you 
 because I can trust you and besides ever since 
 I first came here you have been my friend." 
 
 I thought savagely that all that sort of thing 
 
 was at an end and I wanted to tell him my 
 
 true opinion of him, but somehow the words 
 
 stuck in my throat and I had some natural cu- 
 
 160 
 
THE GREATER UNDERSTANDING 
 
 riosity. The man should give an account of 
 himself. 
 
 "I've got, I suppose," he said drearily, "to 
 drag out the family skeletons and shake the 
 bare bones for your benefit. To do that I must 
 go back to my boyhood. My father died when 
 I was fifteen, Timothy, and I have never felt 
 young since." 
 
 "Why not?" I asked without thinking. 
 
 "My mother," he answered swiftly, "she's 
 a morphine fiend you know. What little money 
 we had went that way bribing people to get it 
 for her. You here in your garden can't take 
 that in, but I lived with her for years. She 
 grew to loathe me because I tried to save her 
 from herself. I got an education, some way 
 or other and scuffled along, half clothed and 
 half fed. She spent all we had and, when I 
 began to practice medicine and tried to put by 
 a little, I found I must provide for her. She 
 loathes me now and so I placed her with peo- 
 ple who would care for her and to pay for that 
 care I work early and late though nothing 
 saves me from the sting of her contemptuous 
 words. She did her best to ruin my name in 
 the town where we lived, and so I cut loose 
 from it all and came here to try to make good 
 again." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 161 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 "I liked it here from the first," he went on, 
 "and then I met you and I learned what it 
 meant to live. But I've cheated you, Timothy, 
 from beginning to end, I've been a living fraud. 
 You showed me Paradise and I, a beggar by 
 the roadside, stepped in. I love Anne, Tim- 
 othy," again he stopped and, in the white light, 
 he trembled as if the recollection overpowered 
 him. 
 
 "Until that day in the garden, I kept that 
 thought out of my mind. It was like playing 
 with fire. And then I promised myself I was 
 man enough to stand the test. I have been 
 happy here and, save for mother's letters, I 
 might have been born again. It is so easy to 
 slip down hill and so pleasant. I shut my eyes, 
 Timothy, and deliberately tricked you, but I 
 am not so low as I thought. I can't go on 
 like this. Why I've never once told her of my 
 love. How can I? Though I get along well 
 enough now, there is always my mother drag- 
 ging me down, down into the mire again." 
 
 I found my heart going out to Sellars. 
 Tricked me he had, but, after all, I had not 
 been mistaken in my man. 
 
 "And then?" I asked gently. 
 
 "Last night," he said thickly, "I knew I 
 could not bear my life. I could not see Anne 
 without telling her of my love and so I made 
 162 
 
THE GREATER UNDERSTANDING 
 
 up my mind to move again, to leave all this, to 
 leave — her." 
 
 "Why?" asked the Youthful Pessimist and 
 stood up slim and straight beside my chair. 
 
 Sellars leapt to his feet. It was incredible 
 how quickly his face changed. 
 
 "I've nothing to offer you," he said dully, 
 "no money " 
 
 "YouVe yourself," she put in swiftly, 
 though her eyes smiled, there were tears in her 
 voice. "Tell him, Timothy, that I am not a 
 mercenary little wretch." 
 
 "Timothy," gasped Sellars hoarsely, "help 
 me, man. There's my lack of money. There's 
 my mother " 
 
 I closed my eyes. I had to think swiftly for 
 these two young people who stood on either 
 side of my chair supplicating me. I ought also 
 to think of "Old Anne," but somehow I could 
 not bring my mind to bear upon that phase of 
 the question. That Sellars would abide by my 
 decision I knew, from his voice, his words, his 
 resolute face and yet — I felt as if a little ma- 
 chine within my brain was ticking out facts, 
 actual facts. 
 
 First that Anne's hands, like small night 
 moths, fluttered lightly about my face. Second, 
 that the heat spell was broken for I could hear 
 the patter of the rain on the leaves of my 
 
 163 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 trees. Third, that Sellars loved and was be- 
 loved by the Youthful Pessimist. Fourth, that 
 Sellars had nothing but his practice and a 
 mother who dragged him down, down, down, 
 and fifth that nobody need fear want if they 
 owned my house and garden. The machine 
 stopped here and whirred over and over again, 
 garden, garden, garden. When I died, it 
 would all belong to the Youthful Pessimist. 
 There was no reason for money to stand in 
 the light of her happiness. 
 
 I felt a moment's exultation that after all 
 there was nothing in Mrs. Catchings' theory, 
 and my garden would be a boon to this child 
 of my heart. I prayed that "Old Anne" might 
 forgive me. The garden, the garden, the gar- 
 den, whirred the machine. I spoke suddenly 
 in Thompson's best voice. 
 
 "Whom God hath joined together," I said, 
 "let no man put asunder." 
 
 164 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE NIGHT 
 
 THE Youthful Pessimist was married in 
 the fall just as the trees had turned to 
 russet and gold. When "Old Anne" 
 heard of the engagement, she was vexed with 
 me as I knew she would be. 
 
 "Why did you not tell me?" she asked re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 "I knew nothing whatever about it," I re- 
 plied truthfully. 
 
 "When did you learn?" 
 
 "The very same night that you did." 
 
 "Anne told you first?" I detected the jealous 
 note in her voice. 
 
 "Only because they happened to meet here 
 and it just popped out," I answered with great 
 tact. 
 
 "Old Anne" looked at me with a specula- 
 tive eye. In the past she has been good enough 
 to tell me that I am rather brighter than the 
 average man, and I could see that she was 
 mentally reversing her opinion. But she did 
 
 165 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 not doubt my word and even assumed that I 
 would side with her in preference for a long 
 engagement. About this point the Youthful 
 Pessimist remained smilingly obstinate and, 
 after a little, "Old Anne" perforce accepted 
 the inevitable. She came to talk to me of the 
 marriage and, when I remembered that I could 
 have stayed the match, I felt as if I had been 
 a traitor to my dear old friend. During my 
 illness she had taken rather a fancy to Sellars, 
 but she shook her head at his limited income 
 and said that she wished he had no mother. 
 
 u You wanted an orphan?" said I. 
 
 "I did not want anything, Timothy," she re- 
 minded me, and I squirmed under her frank- 
 ness. 
 
 At times like this I feel genuinely sorry for 
 "Old Anne," genuinely sorry for the three of 
 us for we were all in the same boat. Of course 
 the Youthful Pessimist would marry, that we 
 had never doubted, still now that the break 
 had come, we were as much surprised as 
 though such an idea had never entered our 
 heads. I thought that "Old Anne" would be 
 happier if I could convince her that the lack 
 of money did not matter and so I told her of 
 my will in favor of the Youthful Pessimist. 
 To my surprise she said, in a high dudgeon, 
 that, if I mentioned the subject again, she 
 166 
 
THE NIGHT 
 
 would go home and, since I cannot betray the 
 Youthful Pessimist, I am forced to pose as a 
 sentimental idiot who, even if the gas and 
 water bills remain unpaid, ecstatically approves 
 of love in a cottage. 
 
 In the preparations for the wedding I think 
 "Old Anne" partially forgot her anxiety. The 
 Youthful Pessimist was charmingly docile and 
 let her mother arrange everything. She ac- 
 cepted her trousseau and linen chest with be- 
 coming gratefulness, was delighted with her 
 presents and, after suggesting that candles 
 would look well on the altar, spent the rest of 
 her wedding day out motoring with Sellars. 
 
 She was married at home, and I am told 
 wore a wonderful gown. I saw her through a 
 mist of tears and knew that I must map out my 
 life again just as the birthday tree had done. 
 When she kneeled before the altar and placed 
 her hand in Sellars, I surprised upon her face 
 that look that only blooms into this world when 
 watered by a perfect love. So radiant, so ex- 
 quisite, so wonderful was that look, so tenderly 
 comprehensive and trustful that I closed my 
 eyes before it. It reminded me of "Old 
 Anne's" wedding and the Youthful Pessimist 
 had said repeatedly that this was a joyful and 
 not a melancholy occasion. 
 
 I did my best to live up to this admonition. 
 167 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 I chatted with the guests, kissed the bride, con- 
 gratulated the groom, drank their respective 
 healths and was really pleased that Priscilla 
 Wainwright, much to Corner's delight, secured 
 the wedding ring. And when the merriment 
 was at its height, I stood to one side of the 
 room and looked about me, at my neighbors 
 who were all so busily intent upon amusing 
 themselves, the old folks sticking together 
 Darby and Joan fashion, and the young peo- 
 ple congregated in the center of the room in 
 one laughing, chattering group. Among 
 them, side by side, "Old Anne" and her hus- 
 band moved, stopping here and there, until 
 finally they reached the Youthful Pessimist. 
 
 Then a hush fell upon the crowd. The bride 
 and groom were going upstairs and, as the 
 news spread, the girls like a hive of bees 
 swarmed about the staircase. The Youthful 
 Pessimist walked up the steps leisurely and, 
 leaning over the banisters, swung her bouquet 
 above the sea of upturned faces. "One, two, 
 three," she cried and I saw her throw the flow- 
 ers toward Priscilla. In the babel of sounds 
 that followed, I opened the drawing room win- 
 dow and slipped out upon the porch. 
 
 I had no definite plan in my mind and tried 
 the famous experiment of simply following my 
 nose. I went through their yard, under the 
 168 
 
THE NIGHT 
 
 rose arches and, once safely in my own garden, 
 sat down on the bench beneath the crepe myrtle 
 bush. The Youthful Pessimist and Sellars 
 have monopolized this bush all the summer and 
 I was conscious that it offered me rather a 
 chilly welcome. 
 
 I have always thought that there were times 
 in our lives when, save for our beating hearts, 
 we were practically inanimate beings. In great 
 crises in the shock of sorrow, we are apt to 
 experience such feelings. We do not desire 
 food, we are indifferent to heat and cold, our 
 minds are blank and we stare ahead of us 
 with unseeing eyes. Yet we live and our won- 
 derfully busy hearts tick on unconcernedly un- 
 til we choose to resume our wonted duties 
 again. So I sat on my bench and brooded and, 
 in the minutes that passed, I do not believe a 
 single thought crossed my mind. 
 
 Then the Youthful Pessimist called me, but, 
 in my garden, that happened any time. I did 
 not trouble to reply. Then a hand was laid 
 upon my shoulder and I saw Sellars and the 
 Youthful Pessimist standing before me. As I 
 traveled slowly back to earth again, I noticed 
 that Anne had on her new cloth suit. They 
 were ready to begin their honeymoon. They 
 sat down on either side of me. 
 
 'Timothy," said the Youthful Pessimist, 
 169 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 "I've been looking for you everywhere. It has 
 been a splendid wedding and Priscilla got the 
 bouquet as well as the ring. That was nice, 
 wasn't it?" 
 
 I did not reply and she squeezed my hand. 
 
 "When I get back," she was talking rapidly 
 now, "we will have to plan some more wed- 
 dings. Look how quickly you got rid of me." 
 
 "I shall not plan any weddings," I said 
 quietly. 
 
 "Why not?" she coaxed. "I think you are 
 a wonderful matchmaker. We three are going 
 to have gorgeous times together." 
 
 I suppose that I was still brooding. I really 
 did not feel that I could answer her. She 
 turned to Sellars. 
 
 "Tell him," she said, "how happy we are, 
 for I am happy, Timothy." 
 
 "I am glad of that," I heard myself say. 
 
 "You did it all," she cried, "you and your 
 garden. Without you, it would never have 
 happened. You've been everything to me, 
 Timothy, and oh, my dear, my dear, it is going 
 to be exactly the same, just exactly." 
 
 I took her in my arms and kissed her. 
 
 "Were you not going to tell me goodby?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "I could not bear to," I confessed. 
 170 
 
THE NIGHT 
 
 She kissed me again and this time her face 
 was wet with tears. 
 
 "It's because I'm so happy," she exclaimed. 
 
 Then Sellars wrung my hand and they left 
 me with a parting caution not to stay out in 
 the damp, night air and, since I was on my 
 feet, I obediently went into the house. 
 
 The servants were still at the wedding, and 
 I had the place to myself. I went to my sleep- 
 ing porch and looked down into my garden. I 
 could see the bright light of my neighbor's 
 home, I could hear the carriage wheels crunch 
 on the road outside, but below, all was as 
 silent as I was. It had done its work and now, 
 with folded hands, it waited, for me or the 
 Youthful Pessimist. I could not tell. It 
 claimed her I knew. Octopus like, it had 
 spread its coils about her and I foresaw that 
 the day would come when she would hunger 
 for my garden. I was glad to think that this 
 would be the case and glad to think that I 
 could satisfy that hunger. 
 
 I must map out my life afresh. Sellars was 
 all sufficient to the Youthful Pessimist, and this 
 wedding would draw "Old Anne" and her hus- 
 band still closer to each other. I was alone, 
 utterly alone. 
 
 As I said this sadly to myself, it was as if 
 an intangible presence filled my porch. Out of 
 171 
 
THE EGOTISTICAL I 
 
 nothingness, born of nothingness, made of 
 nothingness, to pass again into nothingness, it 
 came and stood beside my chair and comforted 
 me. And formless and voiceless though it was, 
 I knew it to be my last, my best friend, the 
 Imaginary Listener. 
 
 THE END 
 
 172 
 
NOV 5 1913