But so probably
were Agincourt and Crecy when you come to think of it, and
Davis, you may be sure, would have illuminated the foul
battle-field with a reflection of the glory which must exist
in the breasts of the soldiers.
The fact is, he was the owner of a most enviable pair of eyes,
which reported to him only what was pleasant and encouraging.
A man is blessed or cursed by what his eyes see. To some
people the world of men is a confused and undecipherable
puzzle. To Mr. Davis it was a simple and pleasant
pattern--good and bad, honest and dishonest, kind and cruel,
with the good, the honest, and the kind rewarded; the bad, the
dishonest, and the cruel punished; where the heroes are
modest, the brave generous, the women lovely, the bus-drivers
humorous; where the Prodigal returns to dine in a borrowed
dinner-jacket at Delmonico's with his father, and where always
the Young Man marries the Girl. And this is the world as much
as Balzac's is the world, if it is the world as you see it.
BY WINSTON CHURCHHILL
On that day when I read of Mr. Davis's sudden death there came
back to me a vivid memory of another day, some eighteen years
ago, when I first met him, shortly after the publication of my
first novel. I was paying an over-Sunday visit to Marion,
that quaint waterside resort where Mr.
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