The Argosy for May — page 189: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

376 dollars reward for the recovery of that coat. I didn’t mention it inside for fear the policeman would claim it.” — He held out two yellow bills and one green one. ‘Then he paused as though about to say something more. ‘Look here, young man,” he began again. ‘‘ Have you got any letters of reference from — say, the business col- lege in Atlanta? I rather like your face, if that isn’t too much to say to it.” For the first time in three weeks Bab-- bit took his letter from the head of the Atlanta Business College out of its en- velope before being told that the person he wanted to show it to had not time to read it. It was a good letter. He had felt that it would be sure to land him some- where. It showed that he had held the highest marks in all classes throughout the course of study. Mr. Moore read it through silently and handed it back. He looked Babbit over with a look of disapproval in his eyes. THE ARGOSY. “ Pretty hard on clothes, aren’t you?” he asked. Babbit felt his heart sinking and stam- mered, “Yes, sir,” like a schoolboy caught in some glaring and interdicted naughtiness. “Still, 1 guess I want you. Here, I’ll give you a week’s salary in advance. I know [ can trust you, but I couldn’t have any one in my office who didn’t look a bit better dressed than you do. And here’s my place of business. Please be there at eight-thirty to-morrow morn- ing. Get yourself some new clothes in the meanwhile. Good night, and avoid further trouble.” And before the astonished young man could more than say ‘‘ Thank you,” Mr.. Moore was sprinting after an up-town car. Babbit looked through half - tearful eyes at two more yellow bills and one more green one. Then he hunted for a shop where he could buy a less expen- sive overcoat at not quite so good a bar- gain. THE HERO. War makes a hero ?—not success, not fame, Inebriate merchants, and the loud acclaim Of glutted Avarice—caps tossed up in air, Or pen of journalist with flourish fair ; Bells pealed, stars, ribbons, and a titular name— These, though his rightful tribute, he can spare; His rightful tribute, not his end or aim, Or true reward; for never yet did these Refresh the soul, or set the heart at ease. What makes a hero? An heroic mind. Expressed in action, in endurance proved. And if there be preeminence of right, Derived through pain well suffered, to the height Of rank heroic, ’tis to bear unmoved, Not toil, not risk, not rage of sea or wind, Not the brute fury of barbarians blind, But worse—ingratitude and poisonous darts, Launched by the country he has served and loved: This, with a free, unclouded spirit pure ; ~ This, in the strength of silence to endure, A dignity to noble deeds imparts Beyond the gauds and trappings of renown; This is the hero’s complement and crown; This missed, one struggle has been wanting still, One glorious triumph of the heroic will, One self-approval in his heart of hearts. Sir Henry Taylor. eC@nnicloool< (C@