The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1901-04-28

TO" the wears nad changed him. ! had
come home again expecting a certain So
briefly; for the man had married. money.
so they told me-and was. besides. making
a name for himself in quite surprising di.
rectiona. He was our one critic-so people
said when / landed; a great teacher. "a mix
turc OF Ruskin and Pater and various other
things. / came home and found ethical
societies discussing Dickie Conybeare.
Twelve years ago and they would nave
held the pair Of US up as awful examples
he and /! We had been pretty light
Observation-Disclosures at noon. a look at the
paper a little exercise, dinner. and then II
work or play as the mood found us.
We had lived somehow; partly on my al
lowance. partly on credit. and Dickie wrote
for the papers and was rewarded with
nronthly cheques. We were twenty some
thing then. and London was our play
Bround-not the London OF to-day, but a
city Of delight where the very policemca
smiled encouragement on the sinner. such
were Dickie and | in the old days after
~c had done with the varsity: neither
very good nor very bad. nut young. care
less. light OF heart and smiling in the face
OF the intinitudes. And now. l was not
exactly middle-aged. and something net
exastly despicable in her Majesty's colonial
service; and Dickie was discussed by ethic-
a. societies, had a big place in the coun-
try. and a wife. So does life shape us-even
such rosues as Dickie and l.!
or course l turned to him again, wroTe
down from the club as soon as | reached
London. wondering what he would say TO
ire; for it was siX years since we had ex-
changed a letter. lie wired asking me to
stay. We met the next forenoon at the
big house that he and Mrs. Conybeare &C.
cupied. And thus did my Dickie come
hack to m~e-prodigious. a parsonage and
county magnate. yet calm in his honors.
and only a smile left In the face tina was
once all laughter.
The week passed quickly enough. We
played golf. We walked. we chatted in the
drawing room. and ate Mrs. ~Conybeare's
dinners. Dickie put aside his work while
/ stayed. and did his duty to the utmost.
lie was like that; the old zest seemed to
have departed from him, and. instead. was
this quiet devotion that almost panied mo.
IL was easy 10 see how little he cared for
his position; and. as for life, his part was
t. endure rather than TO share.
They had a couple OF children, and with
these Dickie seemed at his best. happy even
at times. With Mrs. Conybeare he was
tender enough; but the joy that was IN
HIM. the old. ineradicable JOY for which
We had loved him in those other days.
where was IL? Snuffed out; gone from
HIM. And the gain? "Our one critic
SO people told me! l write with heat of
these things: for they hurt at the time.
and now they hurt even more-but, at
least. / understand.
We were in Dickie's workroom that last
evening. a plain. bare room, full OF books
and the litter Of his trade. The children
were asleep. and Mrs. Conybeare had
kissed Dickie and gone upstairs. | hal
him to myself. and somehow the night
seemed before Us. One feels these things
IT times. especially when. as here. to-mor-
row means dispersal. We had let the
world go by for seven days-no easy matter
Tor busy men. Tomorrow. the old round
would claim us. The thought was with
Dickie. too; he felt it a time for speech.
you find me changed he said. drawing
his chair closer: more changed than I've
any right 10 be? owe you a great deaf;
frienCship-and other things-too much to
let you go away without a word"
LAS you like, Dickie.' said l. You know
I'm not the sort that prizes"
And this is what Dickie told me. The
tale Is unutterably sad. but not so sad as
Dickle's face. or the voice that shaped the
story of Mrs. Conybeare.
You remember the varsity" he began.
land what young fools We were-but hap
py. Ell? No day was too long?"
1t was good enough for me-" l said
with a smile.
Il stayed up one vac-how the slang
sticks, / had nowhere special TO go, and
thought I'd read a bit with a coach who
lived Down the ~Cherryhinton road. You'd
gone OF TO Scotland. and l had the whole
place 10 myself. barring another man
Dove was his name. who'd stayed on as
well. We two kept together I'm Jesus Lane.
and did a lot OF work. and got up 10 no
mischief worth mentioning. Then the
Long began. and men came back and Dove
snd 1 had TO go into college.
They gave me one OF the best sets in the
Spittoon-Hardie's. who roweG stroke chat
year: good enough rooms, furnished ike a
club. with wine in the sideboard and 'baccy
and cigarettes wherever you put your hand
down. There was the thwart he'd pulled
on. turned into some sort OF a cupboard
and prettily lettered and emblazoned. in
one corner OF the keeping room. and his
oar, equally Respondent. was slung over
the d~oorway-but you know the outfit. |
was quartered in the rooms OF our best
known blue. There were enough pots and
things about to stock a silversmith's, and
the walls were hung with groups that most
varsity men would have given their right
hand 10 be in-the eight. Leander, trial
eights. third Trinity. Pitt. and what not
Ills Vanity Fair portrait and one from
the Granta were I'm the middle. 1t was like
living In Buckingham Palace.
Now there was no harm in 1t at all till
one day--a perfect summer afternoon II
was-Dowe and l went loaiing in the Backs
We were going home for some tea in Har-
dies china when we met two girls standing
in Clare bridge. They had a guide book
and one was reading from IL.
'Sightseers-girl sightseers.' said I tC
Dove. Let's pretend we're a couple OF
those chaps that show people round
W didn't look IL. but the notion prom
ised a lark. and you know my form ir
those days. 1 never missed anything
And now it's ethical societies. l ven
tured with a smile.
Wen. l never asked them to-if they
will be such asses" Dickie's voice be
fokauad an infinite wearfneSS Lets drOI