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thought it was； and in that event he must abandon his place and storm the
kitchen to tell the cook all about it。 Perhaps the gardener was taking life
easy on the kitchen porch。 He； too； came in for praise。 R。 H。 D。 had never
seen our Japanese iris so beautiful； as for his； they wouldn't grow at all。 It
wasn't the iris； it was the man behind the iris。 And then back he would
come to us； with a wonderful story of his adventures in the pantry on his
way to the kitchen； and leaving behind him a cook to whom there had
been issued a new lease of life； and a gardener who blushed and smiled in
the darkness under the Actinidia vines。
It was in our little house at Aiken； in South Carolina； that he was with
us most and we learned to know him best； and that he and I became
dependent upon each other in many ways。
Events； into which I shall not go； had made his life very difficult and
complicated。 And he who had given so much friendship to so many people
needed a little friendship in return； and perhaps； too； he needed for a time
to live in a house whose master and mistress loved each other； and where
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there were children。 Before he came that first year our house had no name。
Now it is called 〃Let's Pretend。〃
Now the chimney in the living…room draws； but in those first days of
the built…over house it didn't。 At least； it didn't draw all the time； but we
pretended that it did； and with much pretense came faith。 From the
fireplace that smoked to the serious things of life we extended our
pretendings； until real troubles went down before themdown and out。
It was one of Aiken's very best winters； and the earliest spring I ever
lived anywhere。 R。 H。 D。 came shortly after Christmas。 The spireas were
in bloom； and the monthly roses； you could always find a sweet violet or
two somewhere in the yard； here and there splotches of deep pink against
gray cabin walls proved that precocious peach…trees were in bloom。 It
never rained。 At night it was cold enough for fires。 In the middle of the
day it was hot。 The wind never blew； and every morning we had a four for
tennis and every afternoon we rode in the woods。 And every night we sat
in front of the fire （that didn't smoke because of pretending） and talked
until the next morning。
He was one of those rarely gifted men who find their chiefest pleasure
not in looking backward or forward； but in what is going on at the moment。
Weeks did not have to pass before it was forced upon his knowledge that
Tuesday； the fourteenth （let us say）； had been a good Tuesday。 He knew it
the moment he waked at 7 A。 M。 and perceived the Tuesday sunshine
making patterns of bright light upon the floor。 The sunshine rejoiced him
and the knowledge that even before breakfast there was vouchsafed to him
a whole hour of life。 That day began with attentions to his physical well…
being。 There were exercises conducted with great vigor and rejoicing；
followed by a tub； artesian cold； and a loud and joyous singing of ballads。
At fifty R。 H。 D。 might have posed to some Praxiteles and； copied in
marble； gone down the ages as 〃statue of a young athlete。〃 He stood six
feet and over； straight as a Sioux chief； a noble and leonine head carried
by a splendid torso。 His skin was as fine and clean as a child's。 He
weighed nearly two hundred pounds and had no fat on him。 He was the
weight…throwing rather than the running type of athlete； but so tenaciously
had he clung to the suppleness of his adolescent days that he could stand
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THE RED CROSS GIRL
stiff…legged and lay his hands flat upon the floor。
The singing over； silence reigned。 But if you had listened at his door
you must have heard a pen going； swiftly and boldly。 He was hard at work；
doing unto others what others had done unto him。 You were a stranger to
him； some magazine had accepted a story that you had written and
published it。 R。 H。 D。 had found something to like and admire in that story
（very little perhaps）； and it was his duty and pleasure to tell you so。 If he
had liked the story very much he would send you instead of a note a
telegram。 Or it might be that you had drawn a picture； or； as a cub reporter；
had shown golden promise in a half column of unsigned print； R。 H。 D。
would find you out； and find time to praise you and help you。 So it was
that when he emerged from his room at sharp eight o'clock； he was wide…
awake and happy and hungry； and whistled and double…shuffled with his
feet； out of excessive energy； and carried in his hands a whole sheaf of
notes and letters and telegrams。
Breakfast with him was not the usual American breakfast； a sullen；
dyspeptic gathering of persons who only the night before had rejoiced in
each other's society。 With him it was the time when the mind is； or ought
to be； at its best； the body at its freshest and hungriest。 Discussions of the
latest plays and novels； the doings and undoings of statesmen； laughter
and sentimentto him； at breakfast； these things were as important as
sausages and thick cream。
Breakfast over； there was no dawdling and putting off of the day's
work （else how； at eleven sharp； could tennis be played with a free
conscience？）。 Loving； as he did； everything connected with a newspaper；
he would now pass by those on the hall…table with never so much as a
wistful glance； and hurry to his workroom。
He wrote sitting down。 He wrote standing up。 And； almost you may
say； he wrote walking up and down。 Some people； accustomed to the
delicious ease and clarity of his style； imagine that he wrote very easily。
He did and he didn't。 Letters； easy； clear； to the point； and gorgeously
human； flowed from him without let or hindrance。 That masterpiece of
corresponding； 〃The German March Through Brussels；〃 was probably
written almost as fast as he could talk （next to Phillips Brooks； he was the
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fastest talker I ever heard）； but when it came to fiction he had no facility at
all。 Perhaps I should say that he held in contempt any f