David Graham Phillips

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This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work. This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work. As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.

ACOMET so dim that it is almost invisible will cause agitated interest in the heavens where great fixed stars blaze nightly unnoticed. Harrison was a large Ohio river town, and in its firmament blazed many and considerable fixed stars-presenting pretty nearly all varieties of peculiarity in appearance and condition. But when George Helm appeared everybody concentrated upon him. "Did you see that young fellow with the red whiskers stumping down Main Street this afternoon?"-"Did you see that jay in the funny frock coat and the stove pipe hat?"-"Who's the big hulking chap that looks as if he'd just landed from nowhere?"-"I saw the queerest looking mud-dauber of a lawyer or doctor-or maybe preacher-sitting on the steps of Mrs. Beaver's boarding-house."-"I saw him, too. He had nice eyes-gray and deep-set-and they twinkled as if he were saying, 'Yes, I know I'm a joke of a greenhorn, but I'm human, and I like you, and I'd like you to like me.'"

ACOMET so dim that it is almost invisible will cause agitated interest in the heavens where great fixed stars blaze nightly unnoticed. Harrison was a large Ohio river town, and in its firmament blazed many and considerable fixed stars-presenting pretty nearly all varieties of peculiarity in appearance and condition. But when George Helm appeared everybody concentrated upon him. "Did you see that young fellow with the red whiskers stumping down Main Street this afternoon?"-"Did you see that jay in the funny frock coat and the stove pipe hat?"-"Who's the big hulking chap that looks as if he'd just landed from nowhere?"-"I saw the queerest looking mud-dauber of a lawyer or doctor-or maybe preacher-sitting on the steps of Mrs. Beaver's boarding-house."-"I saw him, too. He had nice eyes-gray and deep-set-and they twinkled as if he were saying, 'Yes, I know I'm a joke of a greenhorn, but I'm human, and I like you, and I'd like you to like me.'"

Reproduction of the original. The publishing house Megali specialises in reproducing historical works in large print to make reading easier for people with impaired vision.

Reproduction of the original. The publishing house Megali specialises in reproducing historical works in large print to make reading easier for people with impaired vision.

The eminent Bishop of the Episcopalian diocese of New York has spent practically his whole life among people of wealth and fashion and their associates. He has made some brief excursions, but his social relations, his intimacies have been altogether with what Parton calls "the triumphant classes." He knows the plutocracy; his diocese lies in its stronghold, includes many of its most conspicuous and aggressive leaders both in making and spending money. There can be no question of his qualification to speak authoritatively of it, of its mode of living and thinking. He has said: "Hear a group of young girls whose fresh youth one would think ought, in the matter of their most tender and sacred affection, to be as free from sordid instinct as from the taint of a godless cynicism. You will find that they have their price, and are not to be had without it any more than a Circassian slave in the market of Bagdad."

The eminent Bishop of the Episcopalian diocese of New York has spent practically his whole life among people of wealth and fashion and their associates. He has made some brief excursions, but his social relations, his intimacies have been altogether with what Parton calls "the triumphant classes." He knows the plutocracy; his diocese lies in its stronghold, includes many of its most conspicuous and aggressive leaders both in making and spending money. There can be no question of his qualification to speak authoritatively of it, of its mode of living and thinking. He has said: "Hear a group of young girls whose fresh youth one would think ought, in the matter of their most tender and sacred affection, to be as free from sordid instinct as from the taint of a godless cynicism. You will find that they have their price, and are not to be had without it any more than a Circassian slave in the market of Bagdad."

ON the top floor of Grafton's house, in Michigan Avenue, there was a room filled with what he called "the sins of the fathers"-the bad pictures and statuary come down from two generations of more or less misdirected enthusiasm for art. In old age his father had begun this collection; forty years of dogged pursuit of good taste taught him much. Graftoncompleted it as soon as he came into possession. In him a Grafton at last combined right instinct and right judgment. Although he was not yet thirty, every picture dealer of note in America and Europe knew him, and he knew not only them but also a multitude of small dealers with whom he carefully kept himself unknown. He was no mere picture buyer. The pretentious plutocrats of that class excited in him contempt-and resentment. How often had one of them destroyed, with a coarse fling of a moneybag, his subtle plans to capture a remarkable old picture at a small price. For he was a true collector-he knew pictures, he knew where they were to be found, he knew how to lie in wait patiently, how to search secretly. And no small part 3] of his pride in his acquisitions came from what they represented as exhibits of his skill as a collector.

ON the top floor of Grafton's house, in Michigan Avenue, there was a room filled with what he called "the sins of the fathers"-the bad pictures and statuary come down from two generations of more or less misdirected enthusiasm for art. In old age his father had begun this collection; forty years of dogged pursuit of good taste taught him much. Graftoncompleted it as soon as he came into possession. In him a Grafton at last combined right instinct and right judgment. Although he was not yet thirty, every picture dealer of note in America and Europe knew him, and he knew not only them but also a multitude of small dealers with whom he carefully kept himself unknown. He was no mere picture buyer. The pretentious plutocrats of that class excited in him contempt-and resentment. How often had one of them destroyed, with a coarse fling of a moneybag, his subtle plans to capture a remarkable old picture at a small price. For he was a true collector-he knew pictures, he knew where they were to be found, he knew how to lie in wait patiently, how to search secretly. And no small part 3] of his pride in his acquisitions came from what they represented as exhibits of his skill as a collector.

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