The representative. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1893-1901, 1895-01-16
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rant que vOus n'aureZ rien de mieux a
embrasser, tachez de vous faire illusion.
La Joie fat peur.
We were at school together. l was the
show boy of our school. l did the bril-
liant things, wrote the clever essays, made
the most successful passes 1t was in
evltable that l was to succeed in the
world-succeed? No; the word was mine
for the asking. AS for Bontor, who thought
OF him? He was near the end of the
FORM | remember him we'll. He wore
dirty collars, hadn't much money and was
dense in school. He played foot ball pass
ably, and was banned as having CONNER
cial instincts. He had low tricks of sale
and barter with boyish tools and toys
which afterwards seemed less useful and
uenShttul than at first, generally having
some skillfully hidden flaw. 1t was sup
posed that he would go into his fathers
ONCE, the elder Bontor being merchant
rag merchant, our boyish wit saidD in
the city. As for brilliancy or success
ridiculous
Bontor left school before 1 did. His
iatner had gone bankrupt it appeared
Not much notice was taken of his leav-
ing. He was nobody.
1 left not very long after, when l had
nnlshed the course, in fact. The head
master took leave of me in very neat
ana laudatory speech expressed regret
at hearing that l was not going to uni
VerSlty; expected to hear of my success
and, in fact, seemed to be grateful for
my having condescended to shine in his
school. The boys cheered me when l went
nome. l should have liked to go to Cam
bridge. certainly. 1t seemed the obvious
next step for a young man of my powers
had quite quarrel with my father when
he said he could not afford to let me 60
1T was my right, l thought, and l re-
Sented the loss of it, However, it was
impossible, and after all, a university edu-
% nat AZ, ~,
those days AS my mother reminded me,
to young man of my genius the world
would open at touch. | agreed with
ner, ana wrote an essay, luminous and
brilliant essay. 1t not published.
My father began to look glum when I
had been at home II months, and was still
at his expense. l pointed out, and I still
think rightly, that it was not my fault.
but the worlds. He was illogical, and
showed me his bank book Upon this per-
suasion. / swallowed my pride, and wrote
novel. 1t took me four months to write,
and was not published. My father and
brothers became covertly sarcastic. My
father even wished openly that l had not
been brilliant. All this hard, but l
succumbed and tried hard for employment
on the best newspapers, and lastly even
| on the ruck of weekly dust heaps. Bril-
| liancy was at a discount.
| left home after this at my fathers re-
| quest and tried to sell my novel again, but
| still without success. After a while l be-
came a devil. l grubbed among books for
| more successful, but less talented men.
| could be seen daily at the British Museum.
| l was sitting in Staple Inn one afternoon
| under the trees. This was some years after
| l had left home. and l had not yet lar
| rived On the other hand, | had not then
| even begun to doubt myself At that time
! l thought my hard luck was the usual tenn
| pering process which my biographical
| knowledge assured me all men of genius
| had to suffer. | was waiting for the world
| to acknowledge me. Now, l have got pas;
| that stage: l am sarcastic at the mention
| of successful men. and satricai as to the
| worlds favor
| I was tired when / sat down in Staple
| Inn. l had been walking about all day tc
| pass the time, and feeling hungry. Il
was early autumn. and | should have Liked
an overcoat and missed my waist coat
| There was a young man sitting the sea-
| by me, eating saveloy; pen knife and
| roll were in piece of paper by his side
/ He was seedy, but we'll brushed; his boots
| were down at the heel and his nails black
| His felt hat had been mixed. l had beer
| sitting some minutes when he suddenly
| stopped munching and said, Halo, Grant,
| I looked round in some surprise and h,
continued, Don't you know me?' NO