Harrisburg telegraph. [volume] (Harrisburg, Pa.) 1879-1948, 1919-10-22
LITTLE TALKS BY
BEATRICE FAIRFAX

"Of all the blind luck!" says
Jones bitterly. Here I go plugging
along and doing the best 1 can every
minute of the day and it gets me
nowhere. Then Billings stumbles
across a man who has a formula
for redeeming metal scraps, he
backs the invention and makes a
fortune. OF all the blind luck!"
Does Mrs. Jones strive to dissi-
pate her husbands bitterness by
suggesting that there's something
positively thrilling about living in
a world where such miracles can
occur, and that if such good for
tune merely happened to overtake
Billings-who isn't to hope?
Or does she philosophically re-
mark that Billings probably kept
his eyes open and was around just
in time to see his chance, and that
if her own Freddie will only keep
on plugging, probably he'll manage
to see his chance too?
Does she wrest from the other
mans success the human sympathy
that's hers for the taking?
The chances are she does nothing
of the sort.
She's perfectly free to gather in
her bit from the Billings success
Hope. Encouragement. Generos-
ity. Strength to go out. But she
doesn't. Instead she adds her
crumb of bitterness to what her
husband feels and they extract for
themselves from the success of Bill
lings the following items:
Jealousy, Malice, Discourage
ment.
OF course, I like to think about
% -;k
ideal side of things appeals to me.
But in this particular phase of hu-
| man weakness, ny sense of effic-
| iency is affronted. There's SO much
waste and inefficiency to envy that it
seems one of the chief STUN bling
| blocks to human progress.
Let's return to Billings. Probably
he had foresight and shrewdness,
and he must have done a bit of
saving in order to have the money
to get into the game when he saw
his chance.
Wouldn't it be possible to share
tunes by just rejoicing and letting
generous enthusiasm hold sway
The electrical spirit that runs
through mobs is always ready to
communicate itself from person to
person. Why miss it?
The other day it was given me to
read a book. A masterpiece. The
man who wrote it is beyond his first
youth. And there is to his credit
long years of big job we'll done; a
routine job of long hours and the
sort of effort and concentration that
the average man would say took
everything out of him." Besides the
job there have been other books.
And now the masterpiece.
AS I read the exquisite phrases
lovingly turned, as I stepped myself
in the atmosphere as fragrant as a
lane set in balsam woods and as
pungent and clean, l shared the
triumph that is coming to the
author. For the moment 1 was up
/ lifted to the point of having as my
| own part of his joy of achievement.
what do you claim it gave your"
asks the Cynic. Don't tell me that
you weren't little jealous? Don't
tell me you didn't wish you'd written
/ it?"
Well, Mr.. Cynic, will tell you all
Il of that. The only emotion 1 was
conscious of at first was joy. 1t was
beautiful to vision the triumph COM
I ing. It was inspiring to feel that
the glorious expression of fine per-
sonality was set down in love and
honesty, and was clearly to bring
acclaim, appreciation and the hon.
ors that are due to genius.
Then the meaning Of it all added
itself to the joy I felt just because
some one else had done the big
thing for which all of us strive, and
so inevitably some must strive in
vain.
So my heart and soul and mind
toined in saying this to me:
Here's success. It has come to
reward honest striving, big ideals
a longing for growth.
"Here's beauty. 1t is written
here on these pages because the
man whose work they are has loved
beauty always and has set 1t on the
pinnacle it deserves.
Here's good Workmanship. II
has come after years of effort. And
II always does come to the man who
will work hard enough.
"Here's a beautiful contribution
to life. And a human being has
CT0nC uEADANuE