Democratic Sentinel, Volume 6, Number 51, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 January 1883 — A TRUE FRIEND. [ARTICLE]

A TRUE FRIEND.

m Wliy Jack Would Throw Himself into the Fire for Ate. I had a friend named Jack, the same as Offenbach, only that he was nfit a musician; without that he had every fault. How lie became my friend is easily explained: We were boys together. In my day children were children, playing, at ball and spinning tops, and not little men discussing finance or the coming of Patti. Whether this was desirable or whether the children of those days were any better than the children of the present day, matters little to my story. One day another boy struck Jack. Jack was small and weak, and, perhaps, rather cowardly; he defended himself but feebly. I arrived and delivered Jack from his assailant, but not without losing a bit of my trousers in the fight; the lose of which caused me to receive a long lecture in the evening upon the folly of my ways. Everyone knows that a little boy who leaves fragments of his pantaloons along the wayßide will one of these days bring up on the gallows. Jack said to me: “You saved my life yesterday.” I can not tell you how my heart swelled with pride, at my 10 years of,age, to have saved the life of a brother play-fellow. When I say brother, it is rather a figure of .speech, for J ack was small, homely,’and most unkempt. But no matter, according to the scriptures, he was nry brother. From the eventful day when I saved his life, Jack became my intimate friend. ( It occasioned not a little remark in my town that the son of such parents as mine • should associate with a shoemaker’s child, but my mother always replied with much spirit: “My son is not proud.” And my father, who, although a gentleman, was born of old regicidal blood, would add: men are equal.” Jack, my friend Jack, thus became my mess-mate at home, and whenever strangers asked who the child w as, they were told that it was the little fellow whose life Antoine had saved, and I thus acquired much importance in the eyes of our friends. From this time, I may as well acknowledge it, I became Jack’s victim. At boarding-school I was always obliged to defend him, and, as his temper was violent, I was the recipient of many hard blows from fists and caps; but it could not lie avoided, as it was not possible to allow my “protege” to be beaten. Jack was constantly in need of pens, paper, or pencils, and I was forced to deny myself that I might provide all he asked; for one does not save the life of a brother to see him humiliated before his comrades. On leaving school I lost sight of Jack. This was the happiest period of my life; but it was not to be rof long duration. One day as, deep in thought, I was walking up and down my little chamber in the line St. Jacques, some one knocked. I opened the door and recognized Jack, w hom I had not seen for eight years. He had come to Paris to seek employment. Truly had it been any one but Jack my reception would not have lieen a cordial one, for, in my position of poet, any intercourse with a clerk engaged in trade would have been out of the question, but Jack was my protege. “My dear, old friend,” said he, “I have come to you to save my life a second time.” “What can I do for you?” I asked. “Alas, a very simple thing; divide with me as formerly. I am without employment, and I thought ” “You are quite right,” said I to him. “I am in sad circumstances, but when there islmt enough for one there is .enough for two, my dear Jack, so let us breakfast.” Jack ate all my breakfast, but he paid me well. "You see, Antoine,” said he, when he had devoured everything, "I am but a poor devil, not worth my salt. I have neither your genius nor your knowledge, but yon know I would throw myself into the .fire for you.” Sttcli humility and devotion deeply Affected me, and I replied, “My dear Jack, true friendship is the wealth of the poor.” This state of things lasted for eighteen nfWbths, Jack saying to me repeatedly: “You know, Antoine, that I would throw myself into the fire for van,” and in such accents that I was al- • ways touched. “Poor Jack,” I would say to myself, “what a noble nature he has I” One evening the landlord, Millet—a good man, but there are times when one is out ©f conceit with all the world—said to me: “Mr|Aptoi»e, yon are an honest fellow, Icgnp*>t always lodge you for nothing. luo not wish to retain any of your effects, but you must find a room elsewhere; you will pay me when you can.” “I will pay you sooner or later,” I said, and he replied: “I am sure of that.” I could have embraced him. The good did man! Had I only a pen of a Byron, or of our great poet, Lamartine, to render his name famous, in recognition of * his great sonl. Very few landlords : would have acted so nobly. The next ' -day I would have packed my bundle and have waited for Jack. It was my iatentwn* to ask him to assist me in the removal of crnr goods, but Jack did not make his appearance. I moved alone and most sorrowfully. When one has \ had' ahotlier with whom to share the miseries of this life, and then unexpect- , edly finds one’s self alone, |t makes the ' heart heavy and sad indeed! ! For mors than a year I sought the 5 inspiration of the muse in the Rue

Clovis, when one Sunday I spied Jack, evidently gotten up for a holiday. Everything about him was strikingly i*ew, and Ms boots shone like the sun. I dared not accost him, but he came to me. “I knew that I was an expense to you,” said he, “and so.I went away.” “I was very unhappy about it,” I replied; “why not have told me you were going?” “You would have wished me not to leave you, and I could not live at your expense any longer.” “I do not understand your feelings.” “I felt, you see, that I, who would throw myself into the fire for yon, could not always deprive you of half your daily bread. Good-by, Antoine, I will see you soon.” “Dear old Jack,” I cried to myself, “what a hoble heart J” One .day the editor of the Forban paid me 47 francs. I can see them now, two Napoleons in gol<L one piece of 5 francs in silver, and four pieces of 10 sous, and I was Walking the streets with a light heart. " “Why,"Jack, dear old fellow,” I cried to myself, “why did you leave me? Where are yen, now that fortune smiles upon me and glory knocks at my door?” “Good-day, Antoine,” said a timid voice. It was Jack, but with such a woe-be-gone appearance! His overcoat had but two buttons on remaining; perhaps, even, it was the two buttons that had no overcoat. “Where do you come from, my poor fellow?” I cried, taking both his hands in mine. “I don’t know, and I am going back,” replied Jack. “The ‘Siege de Bagdad’ has failed, and I am homeless again.” “Come with me.” “But—” “Come.” “I will accept, my dear Antoine, and

without hesitation, because you know I would throw myself into the fire for you.” Jack stayed with me fbr some months. One morning I said to him: “My poor friend, fate is against us. You were engrossed in the trade of new goods, I in the old; the Forban, like the ‘Seige de Bagdad,’ was unsuccessful. We are sorely pressed.” By evening Jack had disappeaed. He was so sensitive he did not wish to remain longer at my expense. This time, alas! real misery came nearer than ever before. The journals wished for known writers only, and to be known one had to make one’s self know. What was to become of me ? As I was pondering this dreadful question I heard some one ridiculing my personal appearance because (I mnst admit it) I was so very shabily dressed. Looking around I recognized Jack with two or three other young men. “Is it you, Antoine?” he cried, “what has befallen you ?” I confess I was about to say some very hard things to him, when he cried out : “Gentlemen, he who stands before you will be a great man one of these day; mark well my words. Let ine introduce a friend who saved my life when we were childen, and who has been a good comrade since we have grownup; he will dine with us.” “Thanks,” I replied. “I havediped.” This was very near the truth, as I had taken all the dinner I was accustomed to of late. J ack took me by the arm, and allowed his friends to pass on. “Come with us,” said he. . “No, I am no subject for ridicule." “Listen, dear friend. I have been employed by the ‘Ville de Carcassonne’ for two months now, I have not laid up anything as yet, but in another month I shall come to see you, and then” “You owe me nothing.” “I owe everything to you.. But that does not weigh upon me, for you know, my good Antoine, I would throw myself into the fire for you.” I had no dinner, but I returned home with a joyful heart; it is so delightful to meet with such gratitude! Nevertheless, Jack did not come. I did not hear of him in any way for eighteen months, and none of his companions knew of his whereabouts. One morning I saw a kind of Chodrue-Du-clos slouching along the Champs Elysees. It was Jack. “Is that you Jack ?” “Yes, my friend: the Yalle de Carcassonne failed, and I was afterward with the ‘Grand Klebel,’ but that has since liquidated.” Did one ever hear of such ill-luck ? When misfortune once comes to a man it seem to follow him everywhere, or to speak more truthfully §£ill, it precedes him. I took Jack home with me. “It is destiny that you should always save my life,” said Jack. “Would you not do the same for me?” "Oh, surely! I would throw myself into the fire for you.” My situation at this time was somewhat improved, as I had accomplished some work for a bookseller, and an old sharper of the “Place de la Bourse” engaged me to write some verses for an* unknown party, paying me 1 sou and selling them for 10 to the satisfaction of everybody. Jack could have assisted me somewhat, as my verses at that time must have been atrocious, but when I alluded in any way to such a desire, he would say: “I would throw myself into the fire for yon, dear Antoine, you know, but do not ever ask me to find a rhyme for you.” One day I said to him: “My good Jack, I have worked all night on these papers, will you oarry them to the printing office for me?” He replied: “My dear Antoine, you know that I would throw myself into the fire for you, but notwithstanding my desire to be useful, I can not act as your servant.” This was just, he was quite right. I went to the office myself. The old sharper of the “Place de la Bourse” died at this time, and the book-seller failed. Jack, who as I have already said, was so very delicate in feeling, again disappeared. One morning I found him smoking a cigar at the door of a mercer’s shop. “What are you doing here, Jack?” I inquired. “This is my home,” he replied. “What do you say?” “I have married the mistress of the shop.” “Mlle^Minette?” “The same.” 1 could not help smiling. “I know why you smile,” cried Jack.” “You mistake me.” “No, Ido not. But there is mercy for all sins.” “Are you happy?” “Yes, business is very good.” “I wish I could say as much.” “My good Antoine,” said he, “you know I would throw myself into the fire for you, but jrou understand that it would be impossible for me to have yon here." He was right. Besides, I must own that I should have been ill at ease with poof Minette. This little shop \ o nan was anything but happy. Jack soon squandered all of her money, and she was obliged to go back to w >rk in the city again. “My wife was a jade,” said Jack, “and I have left her. I wish to live alone hereafter, and I am going into business.” # While waiting for said business, Jack lived with me as formerly. I did not feel satisfied with the arrangement, but he was always saying: “My dear, good Antoine, what should I have done without yon ? What wonld

have become of me? As a child yon fought my battles, as a young man you divided your bread with me; as a man yon sheltered me under your roo£ yonr table is mine and your fireside is my refuge; but I am not ungrateful; believe me, I would throw myself into the fire for you.” “Very good,” said I one day, “just do me the favor of taking this letter at once to the editor of the Etoite du 8oir; he offers me a situation as reporter, which I have long desired, and he wishes an immediate reply,” “I will fly with it,” cried Jack with enthusiasm. I dressed myself with care and then hastened to the Odeon, where there was to be a first representation of a great play. During one of the entr’actes I saw the editor among the crowd, and made my way to him in order to express my thanks. “You have nothing to thank me for,” said he in the coolest manner. “I asked for an immediate response and you did not * reply; so much the worse for yourself, as I have now given the position to Isadora Grattesel.” I turned away, utterly crashed. On entering the house I saw Jack eating plums in the room of onr neighbor, Mme. Morean, and at the same time making a speech to the assembled company. “Why did you not carry my letter ?” I cried, breaking in upon him.. “Friend Antoine,” said he, trembling, “I am a man capable of the greatest devotion, bwt I am not an errand boy. Ask me to throw myself into the fire for you and I will do it, but never ask me to carry a letter.” I wanted to kill him on the spot; but I controlled myself, for that would have keen a sin, but who has not sinned once in his life-time? “Friend Jack,” said I, “leave me and go where you please. I want a friend, and as I rarely fall into the fire, I have no need of a fireman.” “I see,” replied Jack; “now that you are so successful you desert your friends; even those tvho would throw themselves into the fire for von!”—Boston Journal.