I went into the dining—car the next morning
for breakfast. Ordinarily I only care for coffee
and rolls, but this particular morning I espied an
important-looking man on the other side of the car
eating broiled chicken. I asked for broiled
chicken, and I was told by the waiter and later by
the dining-car conductor that there was no broiled
chicken. There must have been an argument, for
the Pullman conductor came in and remarked: “If
he wants broiled chicken, give it to him. If
you haven’t got it on the train, stop somewhere.
It will be better for all concerned!” I got
the chicken.
It is from experiences such as these that you get
your education of life, and you string them into jewels
or into tinware, as you may choose. I have received
recently several letters asking my counsel or advice.
The principal request is for some incident that may
prove helpful to the young. There were a lot
of incidents in my career to help me along —sometimes
they helped me along faster than I wanted to go.
Here is such a request. It is a telegram from
Joplin, Missouri, and it reads: “In what
one of your works can we find the definition of a
gentleman?”
I have not answered that telegram, either; I couldn’t.
It seems to me that if any man has just merciful
and kindly instincts he would be a gentleman, for
he would need nothing else in the world.
I received the other day a letter from my old friend,
William Dean Howells—Howells, the head
of American literature. No one is able to stand
with him. He is an old, old friend of mine, and
he writes me, “To-morrow I shall be sixty-nine
years old.” Why, I am surprised at Howells
writing that! I have known him longer than that.
I’m sorry to see a man trying to appear so
young. Let’s see. Howells says now,
“I see you have been burying Patrick. I
suppose he was old, too.”
No, he was never old—Patrick. He
came to us thirty-six years ago. He was my coachman
on the morning that I drove my young bride to our new
home. He was a young Irishman, slender, tall,
lithe, honest, truthful, and he never changed in all
his life. He really was with us but twenty-five
years, for he did not go with us to Europe, but he
never regarded that as separation. As the children
grew up he was their guide. He was all honor,
honesty, and affection. He was with us in New
Hampshire, with us last summer, and his hair was just
as black, his eyes were just as blue, his form just
as straight, and his heart just as good as on the
day we first met. In all the long years Patrick
never made a mistake. He never needed an order,
he never received a command. He knew.
I have been asked for my idea of an ideal gentleman,
and I give it to you Patrick McAleer.
After
the serious addresses were made, Seth Low introduced
Mr.
Clemens
at the Settlement House, February 2, 1901.
