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Updated: May 1, 2025
I looked down at the fragments, hardly knowing what to do.... Spalton came over to me ... intensely ... his eyes blazing. "Razorre, come out into the lobby ... I want to speak to you." I willingly followed him ... he wheeled on me when he had me alone.
I have hardly begun to enumerate the prime ones, yet.... But when I returned to the little settlement a curious man had already established himself ... one who was called by Spalton, in tender ridicule, Gabby Jack ... that was Spalton's nickname for him ... and it stuck, because it was so appropriate. Jack was a pilgrim in search of Utopia.
I stood in the presence of the great Roderick Spalton himself, the man who, in his Brief Visits to the Homes of Famous Folk, had written more meatily and wisely than any American author since Emerson ... the man whose magazine called The Dawn, had rendered him an object of almost religious veneration and worship to thousands of Americans whose spirits reached for something more than the mere piling of dollars one on the other....
Coming out into the world again, no one would trust him because of that one mistake, Spalton, at this juncture, took him in and gave him a new chance but as I said unkindly, in my mind, and publicly, he made capital of his generous action. But Alfoxden was a soul of rare quality. He never seemed to resent "John's" action.
Dorothy bore their child ... a girl ... and went away to teach in a smart school somewhere in the East, under an assumed name.... Now, after many years, Spalton and she married. I saw in the sitting room a wonderful girl.
An affinity of like-mindedness grew up between Spalton and this intense, homely woman, Dorothy ... whose face, like that of all clever, homely women, grew to a beauty in his eyes, that mere beauty which plastic form can never attain. There was a local busybody of a minister, and it was he who first intimated to the then Mrs. Spalton that her dear and intimate friend, was betraying her....
His English was a marvel of ignorant ornateness, like his vest and his watch-chain and rings. He had, apparently, no family ties. Spalton became his father, his mother, his brother, his sister, almost his God.
Spalton, who knew men thoroughly and quickly appraised their individual natures, had installed Roderick in the managing end of things, there with the aid of an older head one Alfoxden, of whom Spalton made too much of a boast, telling everyone he had rescued him from a life of crime; Alfoxden, when younger, forged a check and had served his term for it.
Spalton, in passing through where we sat together, asked her if she was coming. "No, she was too tired." She remained sitting by me. Spalton shot me a glance of scarcely concealed resentment and went on. We were left alone. She began telling me of her deceased husband ... of their devotion to each other ... she applied a dainty thing of lace to her eyes, pausing a moment....
All work was suspended the day of Jack's funeral. Spalton eloquently read the curious, crude composition of his disciple ... which had fine flashes, as of lightning in a dark sky, here and there, in it. Then Spalton began adding words of his own, in praise of the deceased
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