The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1897-08-29
THE SCORCHER AS A TYPE.
He is "a Selfish Person and Misses Most
of Lies Good Things.

The annual convention of the Delta Tau
Delta Fraternity was held in Chicago, Aug
20, &c and o. The principal feature was the
banquet which occurred on Thursday night
at the Victoria Hotel. Among the speakers
was Mr.. Alfred f. Potts, of Indianapolis.
His topic was THE Scorcher" which he
treated in this manner;
1T seems to me that the bicycle scorcher
may be taken as the type of a certain class
of men among us known as mere money
getters The scorcher is conscious of moth
ing but the road before him He enjoys
nothing but the hum of his wheel He
dashes to the top of the hill and sees moth
ing of the sublime panorama spread out be-
fore him. Down he goes into the cool and
refreshing shadows or the valley, conscious
OF nothing but the accelerated speed he
gains by the descent In the level road
below he pedals on with all his strength
to store momentum for the ascent beyond
over murmuring brooks, through scented
fields, past mash and meadow, past
past quaint and picturesque rural
Misunderstanding nothing. He hears no
song OF birds, no murmur of the brooks no
music OF the trees; hears nothing but the
hum of his wheel. But "he gets there"
you say: Yes, he gets there as your over
worked lawyer, or broker, or merchant gets
there He has made his hundred miles or
the way. He is tired and HOT. sleenv ap3
stupid. His mind is a blank, and he has
no pleasure in anything but the MARKINGS
OF his cyclometer. He has little to saw mn
a
had puncture. -
Il am rider and lover of the wheel
myself but against ne scorcher; whether
on the road or on t1e road to fortune /
plead and protest. The scorcher never
paused TO consider what will be there
when he sets there. His sole desire is to
MS happiness. Distance is the space be-
tween a starting and a finishing point
Gays allotted 10 us, and God, in His mercy
mas hned TINS distance with an infinite va
rely OF beauty, lie has planted by the
wayside the widespreading oak and elm
with their inviting shade. IVies and wild
roses ana the dancing daffodils and yell
low daisies spring up by every path The
brook babbles its lullaby and the wind MUIR
murS through the trees it's resttuI songs
These are on the waysde for the traveller
Whether atoot or awheel. And so is life
itself environed From the cradle to the
grave Is love, with all the tender relations
which spring out of ii. But the scorcher
cannot be the lover whom ell the world
loves. There must be time for long bliss
tul sllences, with now and then the glance
OF an eye or the lingering touch of soft
hand. The scorcher has no time for such
trtfies. If he makes love it must be on the
tandem. II he sings to his sweetheart his
song must be attuned to the hum of the
wheels of his bike or his business And
here is the world of art. of books. of ro-
10 read and revel in the fancies of the
story teller; to travel with him over the
feasts and enjoy the hospitality of his
castles in SPAIN" to meet and converse
with his heroes and to follow out the life
threads of his plots.
Again, we should give ourselves the
pleasures of the seasons as they pass
The scorcher on his wheel or in his trolley
scarcely sees springs green carpet being
spread upon the wntry fields, and knows
nothing OF the bursting bud upon the tree
or vine When summer comes he feels the
heat and curses the dust that blows in his
face but has no eye for the golden harvest
fields. In the fall the cooler air gives him
vigor and fresh hope that he may Guido
himself. but there are no autumn tints on
the trees, and for him no purple mists rise
out of the valley
The men who live long and have happy
old age are they who in season quit their
business. shoulder a gun fishing rod
and spend the day in the forest or BY the
stream. where there is no worry and no
hurry.
1T is evident from the very way in
which the money metals, gold and silver
are hidden away in the barren and remote
corners OF the earth that they are not the
things meant for worship or our pleas
ure. Imagine yourself with untold wealth
IN some bleak canyon OF the Klondike
What would be the supreme wish and de-
sire Of your hearth Green grass, and run
ming brooks, and flowers, and spreading
trees, balmy air, the music OF birds and
In short, the pleasures of the changing sea
sons of our temperate zone. These are the
true sources of our pleasure, ard yet the
scorcher ignores them. with his eye glued
to his cyclometer or the footings OF his in