He had evidently peopled every dark corner
with a pirate, and every floating object had meant something
to him. He had adventure written all over him. It was the
first time I had ever seen him, and I had never heard of him.
I can't now recall another figure in that smoke-filled room.
I don't remember who introduced us--over twenty-seven years
have passed since that night. But I can see Dick now dressed
in a rough brown suit, a soft hat, with a handkerchief about
his neck, a splendid, healthy, clean-minded, gifted boy at
play. And so he always remained.
His going out of this world seemed like a boy interrupted in a
game he loved. And how well and fairly he played it! Surely
no one deserved success more than Dick. And it is a
consolation to know he had more than fifty years of just what
he wanted. He had health, a great talent, and personal charm.
There never was a more loyal or unselfish friend. There
wasn't an atom of envy in him. He had unbounded mental and
physical courage, and with it all he was sensitive and
sometimes shy. He often tried to conceal these last two
qualities, but never succeeded in doing so from those of us
who were privileged really to know and love him.
His life was filled with just the sort of adventure he liked
the best.
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