, found him in that retired world to which he was forced. One or two
pegged-out actors sought him and borrowed a little of the little that he
had; a few others came when he had nothing at all. His partners,
quarreling among themselves and feeling that they had done him an
injustice, remained religiously away. He found, as he often told my
sister, broken horse-shoes (a "bad sign"), met cross-eyed women, another
"bad sign," was pursued apparently by the inimical number thirteen--and
all these little straws depressed him horribly. Finally, being no longer
strong enough to be about, he took to his bed and remained there days at
a time, feeling well while in bed but weak when up. For a little while
he would go "downtown" to see this, that and the other person, but would
soon return. One day on coming back home he found one of his hats lying
on his bed, accidentally put there by one of the children, and according
to my sister, who was present at the time, he was all but petrified by
the sight of it. To him it was the death-sign. Some one had told him so
not long before!!!

Then, not incuriously, seeing the affectional tie that had always held
us, he wanted to see me every day. He had a desire to talk to me about
his early life, the romance of it--maybe I could write a story some
time, tell something about him! (Best of brothers, here it is, a thin
little flower to lay at your feet!) To please him I made notes, although
I knew most of it. On these occasions he was always his old self, full
of ridiculous stories, quips and slight _mots_, all in his old and best
vein. He would soon be himself, he now insisted.

Then one evening in late November, before I had time to call upon him
(I lived about a mile away), a hurry-call came from E----. He had
suddenly died at five in the afternoon; a blood-vessel had burst in the
head. When I arrived he was already cold in death, his soft hands folded
over his chest, his face turned to one side on the pillow, that
indescribable sweetness of expression about the eyes and mouth--the
empty shell of the beetle. There were tears, a band of reporters from
the papers, the next day obituary news articles, and after that a host
of friends and flowers, flowers, flowers. It is amazing what
satisfaction the average mind takes in standardized floral forms--broken
columns and gates ajar!

Being ostensibly a Catholic, a Catholic sister-in-law and other
relatives insistently arranged for a solemn high requi