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Updated: June 10, 2025
"Ah," said I, "here is another 'volunteer organist." I had seen the man and talked with him lots of times before, but always took him for a common drunkard. You can't tell what an old coat covers. After the meeting I had a little talk with him and asked him why he was in such a condition. "Oh," he answered, "it's the old, old story, Mr. Ranney the drink habit.
He would often say, "Danny, if I could only sober up and be a man and go back to my family, I'd give anything. But what's the use of trying? I can't stop, and I wish sometimes that I was dead. And sometimes, Mr. Ranney, I'm tempted to end it all in the river." I reasoned with this man time and time again, but with no effect.
Professor Robinson slumbered on, blissfully unconscious of the events that had made the night an exciting one. When he came downstairs early in the morning he strayed accidentally into the room where Dick Ranney was confined under guard. Being short-sighted, he did not see the captive until Ranney hailed him. "Good morning, professor!"
"You would think that a man who had been the pal of Ranney for three years would never say an unkind word to one that he loved, but that is what I did. We had a misunderstanding, and I said things to Dave Ranney that he never will forget. I called him every name on the calendar. He was speechless and I thought afraid of me. He never said a word.
He had returned to Painesville, and closed up the few matters of his brother Henry; had written to Ranney, at Jefferson, and already had resumed his books with a saddened and sobered determination.
"I guess you don't have to do it now," answered the boy, glancing at the neat and expensive attire of his new acquaintance. "Well, no; I can do better." "Are you in business?" "Yes," answered Ranney, vaguely. "I am traveling for a house in New York." "I should like that." "Give me your name. I may be able to give you a place some day." "My name is Oren Trott."
I know you don't believe I meant what I said. I love you more to-night than any time since I first met you. Why, men, I would lay down my life that Ranney is one of the best and whitest Christians in New York to-night. It ain't the big things that a man does that show his real character. No, it's the little things. I have watched Ranney, been with him; his sorrows are my sorrows, his joys my joys.
We could have gotten a hundred dollars to help a man like this whose life after all was past or nearly past to one dollar we could get for the work of saving a boy from such a life! Among the most interesting characters that I came in contact with in those days was Dave Ranney; he is now himself a missionary to the Bowery lodging houses.
"What shall we do?" asked Walter helplessly. "They don't want me," returned the tramp complacently. "It's you they want!" "You will stand by me?" implored Walter, eager for any help. "Won't do no good! There's a crowd of them. You're in a bad box, young feller!" "Have you got a pistol?" "No." Then it flashed upon Walter that he still had the revolver which belonged to Dick Ranney.
Judge Ranney has a mind richly stored with not only the treasures of his profession, but of ancient and modern classics, and the best literature of the day. He is a great reader, and though he writes but little, whatever proceeds from his pen is marked by elegance and culture. As a Judge, he was courteous, affable and indulgent. His decisions are his best monuments.
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