The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1934-05-28
TheAmateur Gentleman
BY jeffrey FarnoI

glorying in the blood of his atone
ment. and wasting himself and his
remaining years in woeful solitude,
seeking, thereby, to reclaim his soul
from the wrath to come.
But, as for me, 1 walk the high
ways preaching always forgiveness
and forgetfulness of self, and if men
grow angry at my teaching and mis-
use me, the pain of wounds, the
hardships, the fatigue, I endure
them all with a glad and cheerful
mind, seeking thereby to work out
my redemption and atonement, for
I was a very selfish man." Here the
stranger paused, and his face
seemed more lined and worn, and
his white hair whittier, as he stared
down into the running waters of the
brook
"Sirs," he continued, speaking
with bent head, Il once had a
daughter, and I loved her dearly,
but my name was dearer yet. was
proud of her beauty, but prouder of
my ancient name, for 1 was a sell
fish man.
1--WE lived in the country, a place
remote and quiet, and consequently
led very solitary, humdrum life,
because I was ever fond of books
and flowers and the solitude of trees
"a selfish man always And so, at
last, because she was young and
high-Spirited, she ran away from my
lonely cottage with one who was a
villain. And I grieved for her, young
sirs, I grieved much and long, be-
cause 1 was lonely but I grieved
more for my name, my honorable
name that she had besmirched, be-
cause, as told you, was selfish
man"
Again the stranger was silent, sit
ting ever with bent head staring
down at the crystal waters of the
brook, only he clasped his thin
tinued:
"nNE evening, as I sat among
~ my roses with a book in my
hand, she came back to me through
the twilight, and flung herself upon
her knees before me, and besolght
my forgiveness with sobs and bit
ter, bitter tears. All, young sirs!
I can hear her weeping yet. The
sound of it is always in my ears.
So she knelt to me in her abasement
with imploring hands stretched out
to me. All, the pity of those white
appealing hands, the pity of them
But I, sirs, being as I say a selfish
man and remembering only my
proud and honorable name, I, her
father, spurned her from me with
reproaches and vile words, such
burning, soaring words as no
daughter should hear or father ut
ter.
And so, weeping still, she turned
away YEARLY, hopelessly, and I stood
to watch her bowed figure till she
had crept away into the evening and
was gone.
THUS, sirs, I drove her from me,
GAAAo WOuA1OCO ldlIID, JIllS DOOT
broken-he maid-bone of my
bone, flesh of my flesh-I drove her
from me, I who should have COM
forted and cherished her, I drove
her out into the night with hate
full words and bitter curses. Oh,
was ever sin like mine? Oh, self,
self! In ancient times, sirs, when a
man had committed some great sin
he dashed himself with cruel stripes,
but I tell you no rod, no whip of
many thongs ever stung or bit so
sharp and deep as remorse-it is an
abiding pain.
"THEREFORE I walk these high
Il ways preaching always for
giveness and forgetfulness of self,
and so needs must I walk until my
days be done, or until find her
again"
The stranger rose suddenly and
so stood with bent head and very
still, only his hands gripped and
wrung each other. Yet when he
looked up his brow was serene and
a smile was on his lips.
TO Be Continued