his guitar to a neighboring pawn-broker where the instrument
was always good for an eight-dollar loan. But from the time
Richard first began to make his own living one of the great
pleasures of his life was to celebrate, or as he called it, to
"have a party." Whenever he had finished a short story he had
a party, and when the story had been accepted there was
another party, and, of course, the real party was when he
received the check. And so it was throughout his life, giving
a party to some one whom a party would help, buying a picture
for which he had no use to help a struggling artist, sending a
few tons of coal to an old lady who was not quite warm enough,
always writing a letter or a check for some one of his own
craft who had been less fortunate than he--giving to every
beggar that he met, fearing that among all the thousand fakers
he might refuse one worthy case. I think this habit of giving
Richard must have inherited from his father, who gave out of all
proportion to his means, and with never too close a scrutiny to
the worthiness of the cause. Both men were too intensely human
to do that, but if this great desire on the part of my father and
brother to help others gave the recipients pleasure I'm sure
that it caused in the hearts of the givers an even greater
happiness. The following letters were chosen from a great
number which Richard wrote to his family, telling of his first
days on The Evening Sun, and of his life in New York.


YORK Evening Sun--1890
DEAR MOTHER:

Today is as lovely and fresh as the morning, a real spring