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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Do you know where she was, Lollie?" "Somewhere near Cresson." "And that was the purse her purse with the broken necklace in it?" "Yes, it was. You understand, don't you, Rich, that, having given her my word, I couldn't tell you?" "I understand a lot of things," he said, without bitterness. We sat for some time and smoked. Then Richey got up and stretched himself.
And here we were, away down in Tennessee, in the mud and the cold, no tents, on quarter rations, and picking scraps of hardtack out of the mud and eating them it was enough to make a preacher swear. But along about noon John Richey came to me and proposed that inasmuch as it was Christmas Day, we should strike out and forage for a square meal.
While we climbed to the upper floor I retailed the events of the previous night. "It's the finest thing I ever heard of," McKnight said, staring up at the ladder and the trap. "What a vaudeville skit it would make! Only you ought not to have put your foot on her hand. They don't do it in the best circles." I wheeled on him impatiently. "You don't understand the situation at all, Richey!"
We we were on our way to Washington together." She spoke slowly, as if she wished to give the minimum of explanation. Across her face had come again the baffling expression of perplexity and trouble I had seen before. "You were on your way home, I suppose? Richey spoke about seeing you," I floundered, finding it necessary to say something. She looked at me with level, direct eyes.
This was hardly loyalty to Richey. His voice came through the window just then, and perhaps I was wrong, but I thought she raised her head to listen. "Look at this hand," he was saying. "Regular pianola: you could play it with your feet." "He's a dear, isn't he?" Alison said unexpectedly. "No matter how depressed and downhearted I am, I always cheer up when I see Richey."
Once before, in college, we had both laid ourselves and our callow devotions at the feet of the same girl. Her name was Dorothy I had forgotten the rest but I remembered the sequel. In a spirit of quixotic youth I had relinquished my claim in favor of Richey and had gone cheerfully on my way, elevated by my heroic sacrifice to a somber, white-hot martyrdom.
"But why did he go off without the money?" I persisted. "And where does the bronze-haired girl come in?" "Search me," McKnight retorted flippantly. "Inflammation of the imagination on your part." "Then there is the piece of telegram. It said lower ten, car seven. It's extremely likely that she had it. That telegram was about me, Richey."
He was a constant reader of Wesley's Journal and sermons. When he was travelling to the General Conference at Baltimore, he spent his time on the vessel in study, as he writes: "Most of my time since I came on board has been occupied in reading, chiefly Flavel's Treatise on the Soul, Littleton's Roman History and Knox's Essays. Lord let none of them prove improfitable!" For spiritual growth he was accustomed to read religious biography, which is an excellent study, and he found much comfort and food for serious reflection in the Lives of John Fletcher and Whitefield. But he was not forgetful of the benefits of the solid studies which are needful for the Christian minister, and he applied himself with splendid energy to the Latin and Greek languages and works on theology. Matthew Richey who was well qualified to speak on the subject, because of his own training, and his acquaintance with William Black says: "During the time of our personal acquaintance with him, he possessed a critical knowledge of the New Testament in the original, which must have been the result of many years' application. In studying the Greek Testament, Parkhurst's Lexicon was his favorite thesaurus, and he knew well to discriminate the sound learning and theology with which that inestimable work abounds, from the fancies and eccentricities both etymological and philosophical, with which they are sometimes associated." It was his custom for many years to read Thomas
One is jail, and the other is " He strummed on an imaginary harp, with devotional eyes. But McKnight's light-heartedness jarred on me that morning. I lay and frowned under my helplessness. When by chance I touched the little gold bag, it seemed to scorch my fingers. Richey, finding me unresponsive, left to keep his luncheon engagement with Alison West.
Richey has a habit of stopping his car in front of the house and honking until some one comes out. He has a code of signals with the horn, which I never remember. Two long and a short blast mean, I believe, "Send out a box of cigarettes," and six short blasts, which sound like a police call, mean "Can you lend me some money?"
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