The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 9, 1904, Page 6

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. N LB e I CE " fl WJ}/";’ AERELS TED PTE e AT\ P < 77 The change in my estate has been so few weeks ago that 1 have a sense 1 the Reuben I who came Beetville to finish his education in the n would be at the income I enjoy i—if no other attribute did so—to attract equipped with profound would extend the calm ] p % n several finishes, as the saying is, Yl I When I first came here it seemed to me ( T g in the modern hotels constituted the / Al A » man of my superior intelligence the \ { ‘7 n in welcome. a mere mask of lux- k's literary and artistic sets, if 3 of a scholar and ival of a prize- important that s to my views ity, I have 1 when I ns and sensitive to env at 1 must no 1L now vague generalities e have determined that f lic affairs he shall success- n, such of those whe I te Mr. 1t end, as v his adoring c on the i class. ) man ng in. om the Pres 1in- N a repeat and know ; feeling the sit Ir own set. Then t your own prope one knows * Keep to as p re ham- You SUE L ones set, and Smith-Jones society. She proba- Jrown or Smith r Jones want- is pulled—nothing more doing, have common interests grown up out W the deuce do they want with illed? Nevertheless, the lady’s at she is in the Brown-Smith-Jones isn’t. . My, my, honey, how hard hese eccentric vi of Mrs. Lacquerre’s because they may 2 why my reception here has not been as general or en- thusiastic as I had anticipated. Now T must take up in. chronological order the events which altered my style of living and started me on the way to make a “gang” of my own in the set to which Mrs. Lacquerre and Aunt Sarah belong. After my experience with that rascal valet, Bowker, the matter of en- gaging an apartment for me was ertaken by Mrs. Lacquerre, to my great relief of mind. She z obtained a valet for me, but when I urged her to order the furnishing of my apart t she declined. t your Aunt Sally do that,” she said. “Dear Sally is having fre- over our chumship—yours and mine—in fear that I'll capture you Frances. It would look rather mother-in-lawy for me to spend y for you, so let dear Sally shop for you. Sally’s a fool . in s things, and she’s saying unlovely things about me because you don’t your cousin Josephine, but she has mighty good taste about house- hing, and will not spend so much money for you as I would. The ht of emptying another purse than my own would be too muc So Aunt Sarah furnished the apartment, and with perfect taste, no doubt; but if she is an economical shopper I am fortunate to have escaped the machinations of an expensive one. My valet’s name is Martin. I know little else about him, not even whether that is a christian or surname, and beyond the fact that he was Mr. Lacquerre’s valet T never expect to know more about Martin. He is the most peculiar man I ever encountered, chiefly so because there is nothing peculiar about him. He has absolutely no mental, temperamental, physical or metaphysical characteristic. He is neither tall nor short, nor thin, grave nor gay, mild nor_peppery, quick nor slow. He fas- tes me, although for a time his colorlessness made mie all but uncon- scious of his being. Doubtless that which we ordinarily note in an individual to differentiate him in some small oddity which fixes our attention to the exclusion of the consideration that he is 2 human being. A man—an unfeathered, bare man—is an almost exciting thing to contemplate. Martin is without that oddity which fixes attention to the specimen rather than to genus—is with- out, for example, any view of things with which I differ or which 1 do not understand; is devoid of any eccentricity of accent or vocabulary or of manner. He is revealed simply as a human being, and as merely such becomes the wondrously involved problem the poet-philosopher has urged us to study. What, then, is man? We can by study and judicial weighing understand the mental abnor- mality of holders of the most radical views; we know that physical devia- tion from ‘the normal accounts for the most grotesque deformity; a man may eat glass, walk on coals, beat his wife, delight in poetry, prefer lemon to milk in his tea, denounce wealth, commit murder, write book reviews, deny the truths of higher criticism, become a professional gymnast though he may have but one leg; believe in fortune tellers or even assert that the AN { beet sugar industry requires no protecting tariffi—yet by patient search all these deviations from the normal Luman mind or body may be accounted for. But the normal animal man! Have you ever seen one in whom some singularity does not confuse your conception of him as a man, distract your attention from the fact that his singularity was given to him to con- ceal the awful fact that he was a man? Uncle Silas, my man Martin is a normal man, and I am convinced that he is the oplg one in the world.. If he is not a unique, his replica would have astonished a recording world. I exert my ingenuity to surprise from him-evidefice that he has likes or dislikes, chills or fever, insomnia or dro_wsmrss, courage or cowardice, ambition or contentment, hope or de- spair. To no purpose. One must have seen him a dozen days to be cer- tain to recognize him on the thirteenth, yet thereafter he is the one man in the world impossible to forget. ' I had written this much about him when I chanced to mention that I had hopes of a visit from you, and asked him if he could make a guest comfortable in my apartment. “l know your uncle’s wants well, sir,” replied Martin, “for I've taken care of him when he visited Mr. Lacquerre.” Now the fellow had never said he kuew you, although T had often mentioned you. “Then you may have heard my uncle speak of me?” I asked with a strange feeling. “Ves, sir,” replied Martin. “I heard him dis- cuss this visit of yours with M. . Lacquerre. I was her butler then. Your uncle asked me if I could accept a place as your man when you were ready to have one.” “Oh, indéed!” I exclaimed, and I am conscious that I suddenly looked S N SRRz J0%0 /(\‘ SRS <L K SN ADVPNTURES # KEUBF DWARD 3 . TOWNSEND. SETS UP K VALET I i ‘1["'r'lh"‘:'y} ) T Lt INFEEN THE ZLES 25 PUZLZED — NOTHING IZOXKE DOING,” at him as if T had discovered a pond in which I could drop a pebble without making circles. Martin has, as a matter of routiney assumed charge of more things than I had supposed came within the province of a valet’s duties, but this assumption is without any degree of emphasis, not even of zeal; rather as a matter of fact, which dissuades me from i the resulting status. An accident showed me how varied a < mail he gave me this morning with the coffee he serves be was a letter which interested me much. It was a stra pleasantly told me he had chanced to see 2 1 man take up say, against a bully who was condemning my speech before the Reuben Larkmead Club. It seems that the events of t evening are the subject of lively controversy in the district, and my partisan, in the instance related by my correspondent, retorted with his fist when my traducer grew vio- lent in denouncing me. My knightly friend was in a fair way to be rough- ly handled, but my correspondent saved the plucky little fellow from fur- ther punishment. “I learned that little chap was out of work and had been ill,” wrote my correspondent, “so I took the liberty of rewarding him for standing up for you against such physical odds. He really is in need of more help than I could afford to give him, but I told him that if he would swallow his pride and let you help him you would consider that he had done you a further favor thereby. He was loath to apply to you for aid, but may do so, as his necessitics are great. By the way, his name is Oscar Smith.” I could not but be greatlp moved at reading this letter, for it is by such evidence that I keep faith in my heart that all New York is not a nelfish seeking crew, eager to impose on good nature and credulity. iiere is a poor fellow in want and ill who, without hope of reward, takea my part to the point of physical assertion. As chance has given me knowledge of his loyal nature, I shall rejoice at the opportunity to make proper acknowledgment. I shall tell Martin tha Mr. Oscar Smith calls in my absence he is to be detained until my return. Later when I returned to dress for dinner I heard voices in the din- ing-room, which aroused suspicion that Martin was entertaining callers there. I was about to make investigation when my progress was ar- rested by hearing my name used freely by Martin and another speaker. Martin said in his usual placid tone, “ Mr. Oscar Smith, you can’t pluck Mr. Larkmead while I'm with him. I guess if you knew that 1 was here you wouldn’t try that,old trick of pretending to be a poor sick devil who had struck a bully in defense of Mr. Larkmead. That’s an old time begging letter writer’s trick.” The caller made answer quite merrily: “Well, Martin, it was a long shot to try on anybody, but I'd heard that Mr. Larkmead was an easy mark, so I didn’t waste any new tricks on him at the start. Of course, if I'd known you were here I'd tried the best trick in my bunch, for there’s little in the way of my graft that you didn't learn to block when” you were with Mr. Lacquerre.” “Well,” rejoined Martin, in a tone he might have used in discussing pictures, potatoes or parties, “Mr. Larkmead has it in him to be a sharp one, but while he’s learning his way around you and your crew of bunko men will save a lot of postage in cutting him off your list, for I'm on guard here. Now you may get ouf, for I'm expecting Mr. Larkmead home presently.” “So long, Martin,” replied the other, seemingly undistressed by Mar- tin’s plain language. “I’'m glad to see you in such a good place. If I think of a new kind of begging letter dodge I'll try it on you, for if it passes you it will be good for fair. So long, Martin,” I was dazed at the condition revealed by this fortunately overheard conversation, and, expected a long explanation of the begging létter busi- ness when I asked Martin if any one had called that afternoon. “Only Mr. Oscar Smith, sir,” answered Martin. “I told you to keep him if he should call.” “There was no use, sir.. I gave him what he needed.” “Mongy?” o, sir; advice. I've known him a long time—not as Mr. Oscar Smith—and know that all he needs is good advice.” Martin said no more about turning the professional begging letter writer away, and seems to include the whole strange matter in the way of his regular duties. It may be, Uncle Silas, that I've been over-credulous in my dealing with those who have sought me here, but it seems that I'm now to be protected in one respect. But there’s another in which I fear even astute Martin will not avail to save me trouble. I refer to the matter of the pur- suit of me by mothers of eligible daughters. Not of the Aunt Sarah or Mrs. Lacquerre class, nor vet of the class of the mother of Miss Babe Franklin, but a different class still, who are swimming within my ken in such numbers and with such grimness of purpose that I am almost as much alarmed as embarrassed. I have devoted too much space to telling you of the change in the manner of my living. I must defer giving some account of what it is like to be the object of a lively contest in the marriage mar- ket. Until then, as ever, affectionately, REUBEN. s, SO to y/ - >\ \ | J