In the Heart of a Fool

by William Allen White

That evening the Doctor and Laura began to read their Browning where they had left off the night before. They were in the midst of “Paracelsus,” when the father looked up and said:

“Laura, you know I’m going to fight Tom Van Dorn for another term as district judge?”

“Why, of course you should, father–I didn’t expect he’d ask it again!” said the daughter.

“We had a row this afternoon–a miserable, bickering row. He got on his hind legs and snarled and snapped at me, and made me mad, I guess. So I got to thinking why I should be against him, and it came to me that a man who had violated the decencies as he has and whose decisions for the old spider have been so raw, shouldn’t be judge in this district. Lord, what will young fellows think if we stand for him! So I have kind of worked myself up,” the Doctor smiled deprecatingly, “to a place where I seem to have a sacred duty in the matter of licking him for the sake of general decency. Anyway,” he concluded in his high falsetto, “old Browning’s diver, here, fits me. He goes down a pauper and, with his pearl, comes up a prince.”

“Festus,” cried the Doctor, waving the book, “I plunge.”

Thus through the pique of pride, and through the sting of scorn, a force of righteousness came into the world of Harvey. For our miracles of human progress are not always done with prunes and prisms. The truth does not come to men always, nor even, generally, as they are gazing in joyful admiration at the good and the beautiful. Sudden conversions of men to good causes are rare, and often unstable and sometimes worthless. The good Lord would find much of the best work of the world undone if he waited until men guided by purely altruistic motives and inspired by new impulses to righteousness, did it. The world’s work is done by ladies and gentlemen 283who, for the most part, are largely clay, working in the clay, for clay rewards, with just enough of the divine impulse moving them to keep their faces turned forward and not back.

Public opinion in the Amen Corner, voiced by Mr. Brotherton, spoke for Harvey and said: “Well, say–what do you think of Old Linen Pants bucking the whole courthouse just to get the hide of Judge Van Dora? Did you ever see such a thing in your whole life?” emphasizing the word “whole” with fine effect.

Mr. Brotherton sat at his desk in the rear of his store, contemplating the splendor of his possessions. Gradually the rear of the shop had been creeping toward the alley. It was filled with books, stationery, cigars and smoker’s supplies. The cigars and smoker’s supplies were crowded to a little alcove near the Amen Corner, and the books–school books, pirated editions of the standard authors, fancy editions of the classics, new books copyrighted and gorgeously bound in the fashion of the hour, were displayed prominently. Great posters adorned the vacant spaces on the walls, and posters and enlarged magazine covers adorned the bulletin boards in front of the store. Piles of magazines towered on the front counters–and upon the whole, Mr. Brotherton’s place presented a fairly correct imitation of the literary tendencies of the period in America just before the Spanish war.

Amos Adams came in, with his old body bent, his hands behind him, his shapeless coat hanging loosely from his stooped shoulders, his little tri-colored button of the Loyal Legion in his coat lapel, being the only speck of color in his graying figure. He peered at Mr. Brotherton over his spectacles and said: “George–I’d like to look at Emerson’s addresses–the Phi Beta Kappa Address particularly.” He nosed up to the shelves and went peering along the books in sets. “Help yourself, Dad, help yourself–Glad you like Emerson–elegant piece of goods; wrapped one up last week and took it home myself–elegant piece of goods.”

“Yes,” mused the reader, “here is what I want–I had a talk with Emerson last night. He’s against the war; not that he is for Spain, of course, but Huxley,” added Amos, as 284he turned the pages of his book, “rather thinks we should fight–believes war lies along the path of greatest resistance, and will lead to our greater destiny sooner.” The old man sighed, and continued: “Poor Lincoln–I couldn’t get him last night: they say he and Garrison were having a great row about the situation.”