The Seattle post-intelligencer. [volume] (Seattle, Wash. Terr. [Wash.]) 1888-1914, 1892-10-30
A STORMY EVENING.
Copyrighted, 1892, by jerome K. Jeromel

maj summer OF 1sS-, the wettest and
stormiest was the Saturday when Brown.
MacShaugnassy and Jephson paid their
first visit to me on my house boat.
Brown and MacShaugnassy came down
together in the afternoon tJephson sent
word that he would follow on in the even
ingt and as soon as they had dried them
selves and changed their clothes (for some
of mine) and had had some tea, we settled
down to work.
We four were collaborating in the writ
ing Of novel, and Brown proposed that
we should occupy ourselves, until Jeph-
sons arrival, with plots.
Let each of us" said he, "sit down and
sketch out . plot. Then, afterwards, We
can compare them and select the best"
This we proceeded to do. The plots
themselves forget; but remember that
at the subsequent judging each man
selected his own, and became so indignant
at the bitter criticism to which it was SUBJ
jected by the other two. that he tore it up !;
ana for the next half hour We sat and
smoked in silence.
There was q time, when I was very
young. when l yearned to know other
peoples opinion of me and all my works;
now my chief aim is to avoid hearing it.
In those days had anyone told me there
was half a line about myself in news
paper l should have tranped London to
obtain that publication. Now when l see
q column headed with my name hur-
riedly fold up the paper and put it away
from me, subduing my natural curiosity
by saying to myself, "Why should you?
1t would only upset you for the day."
In my cubhood I possessed friend.
Other friends have come into my life
since-very dear and precious friends
but they have none of them been to me
quite what this friend was. Because he
was my first friend and we lived to-
gether in q world that was much bigger
than this world-more full of Joy and
grief; and in that world we loved and
hated deeper than we love and hate in this
smaller world that have come to dwell in
since.
He also had the very young mans crav-
ing to be criticised, and we made it our
custom to oblige each other We did not
know that what we meant when We asked
for criticism" was appreciative encour-
agement. We thought that we were
strong-one does at the beginning of the
truth told about ourselves.
Accordingly each one pointed out to the
other his errors, and this task kept US
both 80 busy that We had never time to
say q word Of praise to one another. That
we each had high opinion of the
Others talents l am convinced, but our
heads were fell of silly saws. We said to
ourselves: "There are many who will
praise man; it is only his friend who will
tell him of his faults" Also we said:
mo man sees his own shortcomings, but
when these are pointed out to him by
another. he is grateful, and proceeds to
mend them"
As we came to know the world better,
we learned the fallacy of these ideas. But
then it was too late, for the mischief had
been done.
When one of us had written anything
he would read it to the other, and when
he had finished he would say, NOW, tell
me what you think it-frankly and as q
friend"
Those were his words. But his thoughts.
though he may not have known them,
were:
'Teil me it is clever and good, my
friend, even if You do not think so. The
world is very cruel to those who have
not yet conquered it. and, though We
keep q careless face, our young hearts
are scored with wrinkles. Often we
grow weary and faint-hearted. Is it not
30, my friend? No one has faith in us,
and in our dark hours we doubt ourselves.
You are my comrade. You know what of
myself have put into this thing that to
others will be but an idle half hours read
ing. Tell me it is good. my friend. Put a
little heart into me, pray you"
But the other, full of the lust of criti-
cism, which is civilizations substitute for
cruelty, would answer more in frankness
than in friendship. Then he who had
written would flush angrily, and scornful
words would pass.
One evening he read me play he had
written. There was much that was good
in it, but there were also faults (there are
in some plays), and these l seized upon
and made merry over. l could hardly
sary bitterness had | been a professional
critic.
AS soon as paused from my sport, he
rose. and, taking his manuscript from the
table, tore il in two, and tlung it in the Are
he was but very young man, you must
remember-and then. standing before me
with n white face, he told me, unsolicited
his opinion of me and my art. After which
double event. ii Is perhaps needless TO say
we parted in hot anger.
did not see him again for years. The
streets of life are very crowded, and If We
lose each others hands We are soon
hustled far apart. When 1 did next meet
him il Was by accident.
had left the Whitehall rooms after a
public dinner, and, glad of the cool night
air. was stroiling home by the Embark
ment. man. slouching along under the
trees. paused as | overlook him.
"Nou couldn't oblge me with n light
could you, guvenor ," he said. The voice
sounded strange, coming from the figure
that it did.
struck a match and held il ont TO him
shaded by my hands. AS the faint lightil-
lumed his face | star ted back and let the
match fall:
Harry"
He answered with a short. dry laugh.
II didn't know II was you" he said, "or
/ shouldn't have stopped you"
How has 1t come Ten this, old fellow ?"
/ asked. laying my hand upon his shout
der. His coat was unpieasantly greasy.
and | drew my hand away As quickly as [
could, and tried To wipe 1t covertly upon
my handkerchief.
"oh, its a long story" he answered
careiessly. land too conventional to be-
worth telling. Some of us go ur. Won
know. Some Of us go down. You re do
ing pretty well. | hear"
II suppose SO. " replied; 1--WE climbed
q few feet up greasy pole. and am irving
so stick there. But never mind me. il is
of you l want to talk. Can't do any.
thing for you. Ha-rv2"
Viewer passing under gas lamp AT the
moment. He thrust his face forw sri close
tn mine. and the ligh; fell full and uti.
lessIy uponit.
sno | look like man Won conla 40