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day； he wrote her the best letter that he could write。 That
was the only habit he had。 He was a slave to it。
Once I saw R。 H。 D。 greet his old mother after an absence。
They threw their arms about each other and rocked to and fro
for a long time。 And it hadn't been a long absence at that。
No ocean had been between them； her heart had not been in her
mouth with the thought that he was under fire； or about to
become a victim of jungle fever。 He had only been away upon a
little expedition； a mere matter of digging for buried
treasure。 We had found the treasure； part of it a chipmunk's
skull and a broken arrow…head； and R。 H。 D。 had been absent
from his mother for nearly two hours and a half。
I set about this article with the knowledge that I must fail
to give more than a few hints of what he was like。 There
isn't much more space at my command； and there were so many
sides to him that to touch upon them all would fill a volume。
There were the patriotism and the Americanism； as much a part
of him as the marrow of his bones； and from which sprang all
those brilliant headlong letters to the newspapers； those
trenchant assaults upon evil…doers in public office； those
quixotic efforts to redress wrongs； and those simple and
dexterous exposures of this and that； from an absolutely
unexpected point of view。 He was a quickener of the public
conscience。 That people are beginning to think tolerantly of
preparedness； that a nation which at one time looked yellow
as a dandelion is beginning to turn Red； White； and Blue is
owing in some measure to him。
R。 H。 D。 thought that war was unspeakably terrible。 He
thought that peace at the price which our country has been
forced to pay for it was infinitely worse。 And he was one of
those who have gradually taught this country to see the
matter in the same way。
I must come to a close now； and I have hardly scratched the
surface of my subject。 And that is a failure which I feel
keenly but which was inevitable。 As R。 H。 D。 himself used to
say of those deplorable 〃personal interviews〃 which appear in
the newspapers； and in which the important person interviewed
is made by the cub reporter to say things which he never
said； or thought； or dreamed of〃You can't expect a fifteen…
dollar…a…week brain to describe a thousand…dollar…a…week
brain。〃
There is； however； one question which I should attempt to
answer。 No two men are alike。 In what one salient thing did
R。 H。 D。 differ from other mendiffer in his personal
character and in the character of his work？ And that question
I can answer offhand； without taking thought； and be sure
that I am right。
An analysis of his works； a study of that book which the
Recording Angel keeps will show one dominant characteristic
to which even his brilliancy； his clarity of style； his
excellent mechanism as a writer are subordinate； and to
which； as a man； even his sense of duty； his powers of
affection； of forgiveness； of loving…kindness are
subordinate； too； and that characteristic is cleanliness。
The biggest force for cleanliness that was in the world has
gone out of the worldgone to that Happy Hunting Ground
where 〃Nobody hunts us and there is nothing to hunt。〃
GOUVERNEUR MORRIS。
Chapter 1
THE RED CROSS GIRL
When Spencer Flagg laid the foundation…stone for the new
million…dollar wing he was adding to the Flagg Home for
Convalescents； on the hills above Greenwich； the New York
REPUBLIC sent Sam Ward to cover the story； and with him
Redding to take photographs。 It was a crisp； beautiful day in
October； full of sunshine and the joy of living； and from the
great lawn in front of the Home you could see half over
Connecticut and across the waters of the Sound to Oyster Bay。
Upon Sam Ward； however； the beauties of Nature were wasted。
When； the night previous； he had been given the assignment he
had sulked； and he was still sulking。 Only a year before he
had graduated into New York from a small up…state college and
a small up…state newspaper； but already he was a 〃star〃 man；
and Hewitt； the city editor； humored him。
〃What's the matter with the story？〃 asked the city editor。
〃With the speeches and lists of names it ought to run to two
columns。〃
〃Suppose it does！〃 exclaimed Ward； 〃anybody can collect
type…written speeches and lists of names。 That's a messenger
boy's job。 Where's there any heart…interest in a Wall Street
broker like Flagg waving a silver trowel and singing； 'See
what a good boy am！' and a lot of grownup men in pinafores
saying； 'This stone is well and truly laid。' Where's the
story in that？〃
〃When I was a reporter；〃 declared the city editor； 〃I used to
be glad to get a day in the country。〃
〃Because you'd never lived in the country；〃 returned Sam。 〃If
you'd wasted twenty…six years in the backwoods； as I did；
you'd know that every minute you spend outside of New York
you're robbing yourself。〃
〃Of what？〃 demanded the city editor。 〃There's nothing to New
York except cement； iron girders； noise； and zinc garbage
cans。 You never see the sun in New York； you never see the
moon unless you stand in the middle of the street and bend
backward。 We never see flowers in New York except on the
women's hats。 We never see the women except in cages in the
elevatorsthey spend their lives shooting up and down
elevator shafts in department stores； in apartment houses； in
office buildings。 And we never see children in New York
because the janitors won't let the women who live in
elevators have children！ Don't talk to me！ New York's a
Little Nemo nightmare。 It's a joke。 It's an insult！〃
〃How curious！〃 said Sam。 〃Now I see why they took you off the
street and made you a city editor。 I don't agree with
anything you say。 Especially are you wrong about the women。
They ought to be caged in elevators； but they're not。
Instead； they flash past you in the street； they shine upon
you from boxes in the theatre； they frown at you from the
tops of buses； they smile at you from the cushions of a taxi；
across restaurant tables under red candle shades； when you
offer them a seat in the subway。 They are the only thing in
New York that gives me any trouble。〃
The city editor sighed。 〃How young you are！〃 he exclaimed。
〃However； to…morrow you will be free from your only trouble。
There will be few women at the celebration； and they will be
interested only in convalescentsand you do not look like a
convalescent。〃
Sam Ward sat at the outer edge of the crowd of overdressed
females and overfed men； and； with a sardonic smile； listened
to Flagg telling his assembled friends and sycophants how
glad he was they were there to see him give away a million
dollars。
〃Aren't you going to get his speech？〃； asked Redding； the
staff photographer。
〃Get HIS speech！〃 said Sam。 〃They have Pinkertons all over
the grounds to see that you don't escape with less than three
copies。 I'm waiting to hear the ritual they always have； and
then I'm going to sprint for the first train back to the
centre of civilization。〃
〃There's going to be a fine lunch；〃 said Redding； 〃and
reporters are expected。 I asked the policeman if we were； and
he said we were。〃
Sam rose； shook his trousers into place； stuck his stick
under his armpit and smoothed his yellow gloves。 He was very
thoughtful of his clothes and always treated them with
courtesy。
〃You can have my share；〃 he said。 〃I cannot forget that I am
fifty…five minutes from Broadway。 And even if I were starving
I would rather have a club sandwich in New York than a
Thanksgiving turkey dinner in New Rochelle。〃
He nodded and with eager； athletic strides started toward the
iron gates； but he did not reach the iron gates； for on the
instant trouble barred his way。 Trouble came to him wearing
the blue cambric uniform of a nursing sister； with a red
cross on her arm； with a white collar turned down； white
cuffs turned back； and a tiny black velvet bonnet。 A bow of
white lawn chucked her impudently under the chin。 She had
hair like golden…rod and eyes as blue as flax； and a
complexion of such health and cleanliness and dewiness as
blooms only on trained nurses。
She was so lovely that Redding swung his hooded came