And, because this sudden and new light
of Love was upon him, he turned those dry bones of history and dirty records of
misdeeds into things to weep or to laugh over as he pleased. His heart and soul
were at the end of his pen, and they got into the ink. He was dowered with
sympathy, insight, humor and style for two hundred and thirty days and nights;
and his book was a Book. He had his vast special knowledge with him, so to
speak; but the spirit, the woven-in human Touch, the poetry and the power of
the output, were beyond all special knowledge. But I doubt whether he knew the
gift that was in him then, and thus he may have lost some happiness. He was
toiling for Tillie Venner, not for himself.
Men often do their best work blind, for some one else's sake.
Also, though this has nothing to do with the story, in India where every one
knows every one else, you can watch men being driven, by the women who govern
them, out of the rank-and-file and sent to take up points alone. A good man
once started, goes forward; but an average man, so soon as the woman loses
interest in his success as a tribute to her power, comes back to the battalion
and is no more heard of.
Wressley bore the first copy of his book to Simla and, blushing and stammering,
presented it to Miss Venner.
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