The Washington herald., 1916-05-22


l. forces us to learn our lessons
from experience-bitter or
pleasant, cruel or kind.
Several years ago, 1 met one OF
the most prominent writers in this
, country, and so -awed was l by the
very introduction to him that l do
not remember even finishing my
conventional sentence of pleased to
meet you" He was very kind and,
out of courtesy to Mr.. Belasco, set
tied down to converse graciously
with me-
After few moments of hesitancy,
asked him one weak little ques-
ton which had to do with the build
Z ing of the modern drama. Uncon-
sciously l had launched him upon
his favorite subject of discussion
and for two hours his eloquence
stirred me, nor was it necessary for
me to enter into the debate, op-
posing him at any angle. l just sat
there and drank in all he had to
tell me, absorbing it, conscious l
was accommodating knowledge which
would be of material benefit to me.
To listen we'll is almost of as
much value to one as to converse
well, and this was proved to me
when we parted.
you have no idea how pleased
am that | met you," he said in all
sincerity, and after l had gone it
was reported to me that he turned
to the group standing near him and
said:
That young girl"-and he laid
great emphasis upon his words-"is
one of the cleverest young women
l have ever met"
And thereupon I decided that in
order to preserve an atmosphere of
intelligence l should never try to
talk upon any subject unless l was
acquainted with its many phases.
Don't you think that we give much
more credit to the intelligent listen
er than we do to those who express
themselves poorly, even upon sub
SectS in which they may be we'll
versed?
Forgive my wandering pen-it is
straying far and this was meant to
be a dissertation upon the "I-me-
myself habit-that honorable friend
of ours who lies in wait for US at
every shadowed corner-that irwin
cible Big l and Little You" con-
versationalist.
Of course we al. like to talk about
ourselves, and how often we let the
other fellow get in his sentence
cdgewise so that we may fill up the
paragraph, telling our experience,
which is just a little bit better than
his. If we performed some feat
y that he did, we were always much
younger, much braver, much strong
er than he-in TACT, we enlarge upon
the seed of his tabled story until
we have grown the giant oak of our
own.
So much fun has been made Of the
fishermen's "I-me-myself' yarns, but
here l can fully symPathize.
Once, IN California, caught rain
bow trout. l landed him after wait
ing hours in the redhot sun, worn
out, with aching arms, empty stom-
ach and despairing hopes. Unhap-
PLY, he was not such a splendid
specimen as had been caught, but
It IS the truth when l say that to
me he looked as big as a speckled
whale. OF course, womanlike,
wanted to throw him back into the
stream when | saw him gasping on
the rocks, but | knew | must carry
home some trophy of my days
sport. If l had only followed the
J dictates of my heart, l would not
Z only have saved life, but should
have had a better story to tell upon
my return to the hotel.
As the days went by and I spun
my fishing yarn to all the new
corners, that trout grew larger and
larger until l do not think there
ever was such monstrous fish bred
in the Pacific waters.
Only one man could better this
"l-me-myself' story, and he was the
bear hunter OF the party. There
was not a grizzly who had ever
growled in the high mountains that
had not fled in terror from his sure
shot gun.
But there came a wag to the
hotel, an old friend of the bear hun
ter, who told how only once he re-
membered when the two of them
were on the trail of a cinnamon. For
hours, through the thicket and
brush, they followed the tracks like
crafty Indians, but their reward
came at dusk when they discovered
Lord Bruin sitting on his launches,
licking honey from his paws, after
he had dug it out of the hollow of
a tree.
Around his neck was a big, deco
rative collar with a long rope at
tached to it. just as they were about
to shoot, the Italian who had lost
his pet support came rushing around
the bend of the road and captured
this Lord Bruin, who wabbled peace
ably along in the wake of his owner,
satisfied and sleepy after his spree
of freedom.
Never more could Mr.. Bear Hun
ter entertain us with his stories of
"I-me-myself, went hunting in the
Sierras."