The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1897-06-18
PART 1.
The SECLUsIoN OF BERTRAM
DYER.

PART 1.
The SECLUSIoN OF BERTRAM
DYER.
knew Bertram Dyer when he was
living on two boiled eggs in the morn
ing, and an occasional Invitation to
dinner; but he was constitutionally
Incapable of becoming either poor in
flesh or shabby in dress, and therefore
few of his friends were aware how
meager was the reward of his literary
labors. 1t was a pleasure, in those
days, to see him eat; and I enjoyed 1t
as often as l could afford to do so. Now
that his fame is so great, l can boast
of having fed him: and, moreover, 1
can advance the claim that IT was one
of my dinners which started him on
the road to fortune.
On the occasion in question I had
asked Bertram to meet me at q tobac-
conists on Forty-second street near
the hotel, where we were to dine. Urged
by appetite, he came too early; and /
found him sitting on the pedestal of
a wooden Indian in front of the shop.
Aroused from deep meditation by the
sound of my voice, he arose and faced
the image.
"Old fellow" he said but which of
US he was addressing / do not know,
there's money in a story about In
dams"
And forthwith he wrote one which
has been the talk of three continents,
IL count Australia. Though Dyer was
under thirty and had never seen a live
Indian, he was thought, in England,
to be general Of our western army
arurthe peculiar terror of the red
man. newspaper portrait of him,
which appeared bald, through a de-
feet in the plate, led to the rumor that
he had been scalped, and thousands
of people were thus induced to buy his
book. The singularly lurid coloring of
the Forty-second street Indian shines
out in Dyer's description of war paint,
and lends horrid realism to the tale
which has been marked by many, but
fully appreciated, / believe, by no one
except myself.
If there Is one thing that is certain
ly worth money to a man in these days
it is advertising, and Dyer had an
abundance. Offers from publishers
came thick and fast in the wake of it,
and my friend was well to do. Greatly
to my sorrow, he married, and i saw
less and less Of him; for, though he
urged me to come to his home, went
very seldom. having taken a violent
dislike to Mrs. Dyer. Then he moved
away from the city for reasons that
seemed excellent when he presented
them to me, though selfshly urged
him to remain. for j had become very
much attached to him. 1t appeared
that he was overwhelmed with literary
engagements which he thought it would
be easier for him to fulfill if he could
have the quiet of the country. Also, he
was entertaining many. Of, my wife's
relations, and they had begun to be a
burden upon him, notwithstanding the
comfortable size of his income.
He bought an abandoned farm in
the wilds of the Berkshire hills, and
made a habitable dwelling Of the 1ude
old farmhouse. We maintained a de-
sultory correspondence as long, fancy,
as nature will have such things live;
and then knew no more of him, ex-
cept by paragraphs in the papers, and
by his published writings which ap-
peared in great and increasing profu-
sion
About two years after his withdrawal
into seclusion came to know his cou-
sin, Miss Emily Dyer, a charming
young woman who had been thrown
upon her own resources by the death
OF her parents, and was struggling to
maintain herself in New York. She had
secured a position as a ''retouchel' in
q Photographers establishment, and
her leisure was given to drawing and
painting. Her work was hard: her
wages very small, and. TO cap the ell
max OF misfortune, the Photographer
had fallen in love with her. | would
have rescued her from all these hard
ships and perils by the simple process
OF matrimony; but, unhappily, she did
not care for me- Her affections were
fixed upon a tail, tow-headed youth
who was studying art. but had not vet
learned TO draw a salary. Even by the
light of their own Iosaats hopes II
seemed likely that they might have to
walt year or two before the young
man should become rich and famous;
and, in the meantime, thought that
Bertram Dyer. as the nearest relative
OF the girl, ought II help her along.
1 wrote TO him upon the subject, and
received q reply ten days later. II
, was refIs5l. and he bad dictated il
10 sfenogrs pher! The thing read like
circular about foreign missions. 1
would have thought 1t a forgery, got.
ten up by his wife, but for the unmis-
taxable Dyer signature. Such little.
finelined, coldly regular characters.
Why had / not long ago read his true
nature in his parsimonious chiro-
graphy. Yet had thought him one OF
lthe most generous and tenderly sym
pathetic of men. Could success change
human creature so completely? 1
could not credit it, yet on the chance
that 1t was true, ] was moved to thank
God that he had made me a failure.
After spending a day or two in an
endeavor to digest Bertram's letter, l
went 20 see Emily. We were just as
good friends as IL had never given
her the annoyance Of refusing me. She
was i'll and could not receive me. Upon
leaving the house whore she was board
ing, 1 perceived the fiaxen-haired artist