Pike County press. (Milford, Pa.) 1895-1925, 1900-01-19
MY FRIEND
DICK DANA.


Dick Danas companionship was
much sought, by young and old, for
the reason that he was what the world
calls a good fellow" He was OF that
happy disposition which holds the
power to assist one to forget, for the
while at least, that there Is anything
but sunshine anywhere. Moreover,
knowing him intimately and probably
understanding him better than any
one. / am free to say that | have yet
to discover his equal in unselhshness.
lie was one Of those unfortunates
whom everyone likes and no one fears
and, as such. his life was largely spent
in doing favors for people who ac-
cepted them as a matter Of course.
BY reason of his ability to please
TO do and say the right thing at tho
right time. Dick was considerable OK
factor in the rather limited circle Of
fashionable society Of The town In
which he was reared, and where he
had wasted, through unambitious
drifting" the carry years following
his college career. lie was known
to all as Dick and was never taken
seriously by anyone. Anything he
said was expected to have a laugh in
It and passed for a joke whether it was
so intended or not. That he had
ability and talent was conceded, but
lack of power to assert himself, spok-
en- of by some as downright laziness,
and by others more charitably dispos-
ed. as indifference. discouraged even
those who most eourted his society.
| have just said that no one took
him seriously, and yet, that is not ex-
actly true. He was taken very seriously
indeed by a girl who saw or thought
she saw, in his careless manner and
laughing face, undeveloped possibili-
ties for usefulness in an enlarged
sphere-a career even and when
Dick himself made this startling dis
covery the sensation impressed him in
a manner that was new and novel. He
told me afteTwards,-I, who was his
closest friend and was to have been
his best man,-that he did not realize
exactly what had come over him until
upon a certain night believe it
was after the last Assembly bali,
when they were standing together at
the foot of the great staircase, and
Grace appeared so particularly hand
some,-his manner grew serious for
once, and he scarcely knew what ne
was saying But 1t rs certain that he
did not speak in vain, and it is prOh-
ably equally certain that there was a
tableau JUST at that time, with a soft
lighting effect reflected from a dimly
burning Moorish lamp, but Of this
feature he did not tell me. 1t is
merely draft on my imagination.
Grace Dixons father was spoken of
by the business world as a successful
man. By sheer hard work, including
the manipulation of an occasional
corner" he had built a magnificent
fortune and had surrounded mis- fam
lily with every luxury. He Judged ev-
cry man by his ability to make and
keep good, cold cash. How much
ls ne worth?" was usually his first
and generally his last question. He
bad absolutely no patience with the
young men of the period who spent
their time riding to hounds or playing
golf and he had even threatened to
Gil, off Toms allowance because that
worthy had dared to play centre rush
cn his college team.
smile now when l think of the
scene which must have followed the
request of my friend Dick,-7a request
plainly and straightforwardly put to
the President of the Lakeside Ma.
tional Bank for the hand of his only
daughter. had always known tha.
Dick was nervy but | had scarcely
thought him equal to this. TSe went
into the library that night knowing
that the man he was to interview was
preiudiced against him in particular
and in general against his class Of
men. Moreover he must have known
hot Of oil fc bo
ably the most hopelessly ineligible for
various reasons, but he did not hesi-
tate OF course there was a terrible
storm Dick told me afterwards that
he had remembered often to have seen
the same thing on the stage in melo-
drama, and the recollection that it al
ways came out alright in the end was
the only thing that served to brace
him up, but 1t was long seige, and
came to a very unsatisfactory ending
when the English servant, at his mas
ter's bidding handed in from the hall
an overaoat, a cane and a derby hat,
and Dick recognized his property.
It was three days afterwards that
Grace departed for another year at
school in the city and Dick appeared
as usual in his regular haunts, with
the same hearty laugh and happy man
ner. Apparently there was nothing
in the world to worry him, but | knew
that back of that carelessness there
was a great deal of hard thinking 60
ing on mingled with the first twinge
of real sorrow he had ever known.
With the departure of his daughter,
Arthur Dixon considered the matter
settled. A years separation, he fig
uFed would work wonders. He had
forbidden Grace to carry on any sort
OF correspondence whatever, and the
rush of business soon relieved his
memory in a measure, of the affair. AS
is usually the case the separation was
about the poorest plan that could have
been suggested. or course the faith
er didn't know it-fathers never do
but 1t WIS true, and 1t was not later
than Thanksgiving Day that another
storm shook the Dixon household at
the discovery. Aunt Mary, spinster.
had written Brother Arthur that Grace
had confessed to her of an engage
ment. Again the banker began ner-
yous trar p up and down the library,
while Thomas discreetly absentsd him
self from the room, and the family
cat arched his back and sought refuge
under the sofa.
"fll see that fellow. damn his i'm