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all the smoke there was in it。
He dearly loved the best food； the best champagne； and the
best Scotch whiskey。 But these things were friends to him；
and not enemies。 He had toward food and drink the Continental
attitude； namely； that quality is far more important than
quantity； and he got his exhilaration from the fact that he
was drinking champagne and not from the champagne。 Perhaps I
shall do well to say that on questions of right and wrong he
had a will of iron。 All his life he moved resolutely in
whichever direction his conscience pointed； and； although
that ever present and never obtrusive conscience of his made
mistakes of judgment now and then； as must all consciences； I
think it can never once have tricked him into any action that
was impure or unclean。 Some critics maintain that the heroes
and heroines of his books are impossibly pure and innocent
young people。 R。 H。 D。 never called upon his characters for
any trait of virtue； or renunciation； or self…mastery of
which his own life could not furnish examples。
Fortunately； he did not have for his friends the same
conscience that he had for himself。 His great gift of
eyesight and observation failed him in his judgments upon his
friends。 If only you loved him； you could get your biggest
failures of conduct somewhat more than forgiven； without any
trouble at all。 And of your mole…hill virtues he made
splendid mountains。 He only interfered with you when he was
afraid that you were going to hurt some one else whom he also
loved。 Once I had a telegram from him which urged me for
heaven's sake not to forget that the next day was my wife's
birthday。 Whether I had forgotten it or not is my own private
affair。 And when I declared that I had read a story which I
liked very； very much and was going to write to the author to
tell him so； he always kept at me till the letter was
written。
Have I said that he had no habits？ Every day； when he was
away from her； he wrote a letter to his mother； and no swift
scrawl at that； for； no matter how crowded and eventful the
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