The courier. (Lincoln, Neb.) 1894-1903, 1900-07-14
that seemed to be burning themselves

As he sat at the desk with his shoul.
ders dropping forward, his head low, and
his long white fingers drumming on the
sheets Of copy paper, he was - nervous
ss race horse fretting to be on the
track. Always, a. he came and went
about the halls. be seemed like . man
preparing for . sudden departure. Now
that he il dead it occurs to mo that al
his life was preparation for sudden
departure. l remember once when he
was writing q letter he stopped and
asked me about the spelling Of . word,
saying carelessly, II haven't time to
learn to SPELL"
Then. glancing down at his attire, he
added with an absent-minded smile, II
haven't time to dress either; it takes an
awful slice out of fellows life.'
He said h. was poor. and he certainly
looked it. but four years later when he
was 10 Cuba, drawing the largest salary
ever paid q newspaper correspondent,
he chung to the same untidy manner Of
dress, and his ragged overalls and but.
tonless shirt were eyesores to the inn
maculate Mr.. Davis. in his spotless
linen and neat khaki uniform, with his
Gibson chin always freshly shaver.
When l first heard Of his serious illness,
his old throat trouble aggravated into
consumption by his reckless exposure in
Cuba. recalled passage from Maeter.
linck's essay, THE Pre- Destined" on
those doomed to early death: "As child
rem. life seems nearer to them than to
other children. They appear to know
nothing. and yet there is in their eyes
90 profound q certainty that we feel
they must know all.-In oil haste. but
wisely and with minute care do they
prepare themselves to live, and this very
haste lie a sign upon which mothers can
scarce bring themselves to look" re.
membered, too, the young msn's mel.
sncholy and tenseness. his burning eyes
and his way 81 slurring over the less i'm.
portant things, as one whose time is
short. ~ >.
l have heard other people cay how
difficult it was to induce Crane to talk
seriously about bis work. and / suspect
that he was particularly averse to rs
cussions with literary men Of wider edu-
cation and better equipment than him
self, yet he seemed to feel that this fuller
culture was not for him. Perhaps the
unreasoning instinct which lies dsep in
the roots ct our lives. and which guides
us all, told him that he had not time to
acquire it.
Men will sometimes reveal themselves
to children, or to people whom they
think never to see again, more COM
pletely than they ever do to their con-
freres. From the wise We hold back
alike our follies and our wisdom. and
for the recipients Of our deeper conf
dencee we seldom select our equals.
The soul has no message for the friends
with whom We dine every week. 1t 10
silenced by custom and convention, and
We play only in the shadows. It selects
it's listeners willfully, and seemingly dc.
lights to waste its best upon the chance
wayfarer who meets us 10 the highway
at fated hour. There are moments,
too, when the lido rune high or very
low, when self-revelation 10 necessary to
every man, il it he only to his valet or
his gardener. At such moment l vas
with Mr.. Crane.
The hoped for revelation came unex-
pectedly enough. 1t was on the last
night he was in Lincoln. l had come