Santa Fe new Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1898-1951, 1898-10-12
A FAILURE.

Bates had been arguing with Brooke for
ten minutes, but Brooke was obdurate.
Brooke was comfortable as he was and
lazy.
But, Ben" began Bates for che tenth
time, sit won't take you more than II
minutes to change from pyjamas to your
light suit, and then an hours trolley ride,
an hours listening to good music, al
hours ride home again, and you're u diff
ferent man." :,
"But l don't want to be a different
man." smiled back Brooke indulgently.
"l'm cool in my pyjamas, I've plenty of
settlers and lemon, plenty of cigarettes, an
interesting book. Why should I go out?"
well, II for no other reason, that l want
company, " dolefully answered Bates.
"The thorough unselhshness of that re.
mark appeals to me, Bates, but ever then
I must decline. Trot off, take your troll
ley ride, hear your music and go satisfied
to bed. AS for me, I'm anchored here I'm.
til sleep woes my drowsy eyelids."
Bates edged toward the door, then turn
ed quickly as u thought struck him. 81
suppose you've seen the evening papers2"
mo. Anything startling in them?"
"Well, yes" answered Bates slowly.
"Ransome tried to stop a runaway team
and had his brains knocked out"
Brooke jumped to his feet. "Ransome
not our Ransome-not Phil Ransome,
Bates?"
Eyes, 1t was our Ransome-Phil Ran
ON A woman and child were In the
carriage, horses took fright, tore down the
street, and Ransome, who wa standing
on the curb, made a dash for the horses.
He made a grab for the bride, missed and
fell right under the horses hoofs. They
crushed his brain in like a bit of paper,
fell all over him and were unable to get
up. The woman and child were unhurt,
but terribly frightened naturally. Ran
some was az dead as u stone when they
picked him up. The evening papers give
1t a column and a half"
Poor Ransome-poor, dear, dead fel-
low!' said Brooke. ''What a monumental
failure he made out of life!" and he shook
his head sadly.
"Seemed, Ben, as if the fellow never
could succeed with anything, " said Bates.
"Yet he had gifts-gifts you or l would
have given a fortune for or made a fortune
from. He just seemed to be cursed with
. fate that was perverse and wouldn't bo
kind, no matter what he'd do"
He always was a f~atalist. " answered
Brooke. Believed in his kislnet, said
what would be would be. l think this re-
lying on fate, this shifting of the RESPONSE
bility from himself was really the cause Of
Phil's going down hill"
ttAh Uo11 - oirho1 potoc 8Arothar
Of the old crowd passes away. We're get
ting older, Ben"
Brooke drummed nervously Of the ia
BILE, but did not answer. Bates fumbled
with the doorknob a second and then said
abruptly, SWELL, good night, Ben"
"Good night, Bates. See you at lunch
tomorrow"
Brooke waited until he heard the out
side door close and was sure Bates was
out Of the house. Then he walked quickly
over to his desk, unlocked a drawer
marked "Private" and took out u long
narrow envelope. ITO Benjamin Brooke,
Esquire-not to be opened until my death.
Signed, Phil Ransome." Two months
ago Ransome had brought this missive
around to Brooke's lodging. Brooke found
1t, on his desk. The landlady said Mr..
Ransome had only waited up there 10
minutes; said he didn't want to see Mr..
Brooke particularly, merely to leave a
note for him.
Brooke turned the envelope over and
over. 1t had an uncanny look to it. 1t
Of a last will and testament-a
letter from a man who was dead. Brooke
shivered as he broke the seal. Two pack
cts dropped out-0ne was an insurance
the other q letter covering several
pages Of foolsoap.
It was dated April ~ aud was as fol.
lows:
"DEAR BEN-Im q failure. l found 1t
out years before my friends did. Which
shows how keen are my perceptions. !
don't know why I'm q failure and don't
particularly care now because ! think I've
finished caring for anything. I'm q fail
ure, and when that's said all's said.
i've been everything since l left col
lege-everything from an electrical con-
tractor to . li-tterateur-and I've done my
dismal worst, and so I've come to the con
to end my days in a blaze Of glory
Ito die nobly, grandly. II / couldn't live
% should, I thought that at least I
might have my choice OF death, and I've
decided to die aN accidental death as
quickly as ! can hAd the proper aud be1t-
ting accident.
~ came to this conclusion, my dear
Ben, only after I'd been rejected when l
went to enlist. You know I'm o fatalist
to the backbone, 80 / thought when this
war with Spain broke out that my oppor-
tunity had come. I knew my fatalism
would make me a good soldier, that I'd
be In the front rank or = little ahead Of |
that always. I'd be the first to storm a /
or to lead a forlorn hope-not
that I'm brave in the tiniest degree
that I'm a fatalist. I'd take it
that II my time had come to die, say, In
Tuesdays battle, I'd die that day whether
was walking unconoernedly up to q load.
ID cannon or hiding behind q tree ten
away from the conflict. II l was to
lie the next day, that was my day-not
90 I'd be as reckless and as
iaring Is the bravest man who ' Q lived
land I not q grain Of courage In my com
AL - AN .-.A 49, u. 49, ~ n