If there is any man in this wide world who doubts the beauty and heart
significance of the Parable of the Good Samaritan, he need only go out
upon the lecture platform to have his eyes opened. I know of no workers
in the whole field of human effort this side of tramphood itself who
need more often the intervention of the Good Samaritan to get them out
of trouble than the followers of that same profession.
Indeed, I shall not even except the profession of the Hobo; for there is
a certain license granted to this latter sort of Knight of the Road that
is denied to us of the Lyceum Circuit. We are prone to forgive a hungry
tramp for breaking into a casual hencoop in search of the wherewithal to
satisfy the cravings of an empty stomach, and when his weary bones
demand a bed there are numerous expedients to which he may resort
without loss of dignity. I doubt, however, that if Dr. Hillis, or the
Hon. Champ Clark, or my humble self, were ever caught red-handed with a
farmer's fowls dangling by their legs from our fists, or were to be
discovered stealing a nap in the soft seclusion of a convenient hayloft,
we should get off quite so easily as do poor old Dusty Rhodes and his
famous colleague Weary Waggles.
Even as do our less loquacious brothers who foot it across country, and
earn their living by making after-dinner speeches to sympathetic
farmers' wives, so also do we more advanced members of the Fraternity of
Wanderers have often to throw ourselves upon the tender mercies of
others to get us out of the unexpected scrapes into which the most
careful of us sometimes fall. Life is ordinarily no very simple thing,
even to the man who lives all his days in one spot, and knows every
curve, crook, and corner of his special surroundings. How much more
complicated must it become, then, to him who has to change his spots
every twenty-four hours, and day after day, night in and night out,
readjust himself to new and unfamiliar conditions!
For the most part our troubles, such as they are, have to do with the
natural perversity of train schedules, or unexpected visitations of
Nature which will disarrange the most carefully forecast calculations of
men. In the machinery of our existence there are probably more human
cogs involved, which require our own individual attention, than in any
other known mechanism. Even the actor on the road is better looked after
than are we; for he has a manager to arrange for his transportation, to
look after his luggage, and to attend to all the little things that go
to make or mar the comfort of travel while we of the platform go out
wholly upon our own, unattended, and compelled at all times to shift for
ourselves.
I have been in many a scrape en route myself; but so far none of them
has found me without some personally devised expedient for my relief, or
the aid of a chance Good Samaritan, whose constant nearness in the hour
of need has convinced me that there are many more of his kind in
existence than most people are willing to admit. I have almost gone so
far at times as to believe in the "intervention of Providence," and
would quite do so did I not feel the idea somewhat belittling to the
Divine Intelligence that orders our goings out and our comings in.
On one occasion in the Far West I was so close to a scene of actual
murder that I might readily have been held as a material witness, and
escaped that great inconvenience only by pursuing the exceedingly
difficult policy of holding my tongue--always an arduous proposition for
a professional talker. I have faced starvation on a delayed train in
Oklahoma, starvation setting in in my case after fifteen hours without
food, and been suddenly relieved by the wholly chance appearance, at the
tail end of the train, dropping seemingly out of the mysterious regions
of Nowhere, of an Italian driving a wagonload of bananas across the
track, just as the train was starting along on another interminably
foodless stretch; an Italian who with remarkably quick wit--in response
to the lure of a new, shining silver dollar tossed into his
wagon--heaved a bunch of his stock large enough to feed an orphan asylum
on to the back platform.
I have even been threatened with complete annihilation, physical and
spiritual alike, by a man big enough to carry out his threat, unless I
would join him in a cocktail at six o'clock in the morning, and escaped
my doom, not as a great many readers may think, by accepting the
invitation, but only through the timely intervention on my behalf of
the blessed gift of sleep, which descended suddenly, and without
apparent cause, upon my convivial adversary before he had time to carry
out his amiable intentions looking toward my removal from the face of
the earth.
But there have been other times when nothing short of the sudden
appearance of the Good Samaritan himself has saved me from disaster. Two
of these instances I recall with feelings of gratitude, and I record
them here with sincere pleasure, since it may be that my willing helpers
may read what I have written about them, and learn from the record
something of the lasting quality of my grateful appreciation of their
courtesy.
The first of these incidents occurred in the distant city of Los Angeles
on a memorable afternoon when I was to all intents and purposes
stranded; not for the lack of ready money, but for the want of
transportation necessary to get me from where I was to the haven where I
was critically needed at that moment. It was a matter of making a train
or losing a whole chain of profitable engagements, arranged in such
sequence that if one were lost the others would in all probability go
also.
I was due to lecture in the beautiful California city on a Wednesday
evening, and was to go thence to Salt Lake City for a Friday night
lecture. Unfortunately for me it happened that on Tuesday I was booked
at Tucson, Arizona, and with a strange carelessness of consequences
somebody had thrown a glass of water on the tracks of the Southern
Pacific Railroad, and thereby completely demoralized the roadbed. I do
not wish to libel that useful railway system; but at that time the
casual impression of the traveler on the Southern Pacific was that its
rails had been laid on water, and were ballasted with quicksand. It
should be added in justification of the conditions that the
irrepressible Salton Sea, a body of water that has no known parentage in
the matter of sources, or real destiny in the matter of utility, and
acts accordingly, had been on one of its periodic rampages, the proper
handling of which had taxed to the uttermost the ingenuity of the
engineers on whose shoulders the responsibility for the line rested. It
was Nature who was to blame, and not the authorities.
At any rate, however, there were such serious delays on my way from
Tucson to Los Angeles that, scheduled to lecture at the latter city at
eight P.M. on Wednesday evening, I did not arrive there until four
o'clock on Thursday morning, and even a Western audience will not submit
to any such delay as that. Thanks to the quick wit of my principals, who
stood to lose a considerable stake by my failure to appear, another
lecture was arranged for Thursday afternoon at one o'clock, although my
train for Salt Lake was scheduled to leave at two-forty-five. The plan
was for me to take a carriage out to the lecture hall, about forty
minutes' drive from the center of activity, to go upon the platform
promptly at one o'clock, to condense my talk into one hour, to leave the
platform at two, and drive hurriedly over to the San Pedro station, and
catch my train with five minutes to spare.
The first part of the program was carried out to the letter, and at five
minutes after two I was at the entrance of the hall ready for my drive
to the station. But there was no carriage or vehicle of any other known
sort in sight. Through some misunderstanding either on my part or on
that of the local managers, the carriage that brought me out had not
waited, and there was no substitute to be had within reach. What to do
became a most embarrassing question. The succeeding dates had been
arranged in such a way that if I failed to catch that train to Salt Lake
City my whole tour would come down with a crash.
Fortunately there was a rather fine boulevard running in front of the
hall, a rare temptation to speeders both in motors and with horseflesh;
and as my managers and I were standing on the curb, expressing our
opinion as to the intelligence of hackmen in general and ourselves in
particular, and hopelessly scanning the horizon in search of relief,
there suddenly emerged out of the gloom, coming along at a rapid pace, a
horse lover, seated in a light wagon, and driving a big bay trotter of
no mean abilities. He was striking nothing poorer than a two-forty gait,
and as he loomed bigger and bigger as he drew nearer he looked like a
runaway avalanche; but as he came the idea flashed across my mind that
here was my only salvation. I therefore sprang out into the middle of
the road, directly in his path, and waved my arms violently at him. The
driver drew in his reins with a jerk, and man, horse, buggy, and all
came to a sliding, grinding stop. I cannot say that his first remark was
wholly cordial.
"What the dash is the matter with you?" he roared.
I panted out my explanation--how my carriage had not come, how much
depended on my catching my train, and how completely I had relied on
him.
"Oh, that's it, eh?" he said, amiably calming down. "I thought you'd
escaped from a lunatic asylum or something. Jump in. I can't take you
all the way to the station, because I've got an engagement myself at
two-fifteen; but I'll land you at the hotel in a jiffy."
I needed no second bidding, and in a moment we were bounding along at
breakneck speed in the direction of the city. We covered the distance
that had consumed forty minutes before the lecture in twelve minutes,
and all seemed well--only it was not well; for, arriving at the hotel, I
found myself still fifteen minutes distant from the railway station, and
not a taxi or other kind of cab to be had. What was more, the electric
roads were blocked by a fire or something farther up the street. I was
as badly off as ever--and then entered the Good Samaritan!
As I stood there in front of the hotel making sundry observations, most
of them unprintable, concerning the quality of my luck, a man of fine
appearance came out of the hotel and stepped quickly across the sidewalk
to a large touring car that stood awaiting him by the curb. He opened
the door, and after seating himself in the tonneau leaned forward to
give his instructions to his chauffeur, when I was seized with the
inspiration that here indeed was truly my White Hope. Again I took my
chances. I sprang forward, laid my hand gently on his arm, and blurted
out:
[Illustration: "I cannot say that his first remark was wholly cordial."]
"Excuse me, sir, but my name is Bangs--John Kendrick Bangs. I am out
here lecturing, and if I don't catch that two-forty-five train for Salt
Lake City I shall lose half a dozen engagements. If you have ever read
any of my books and liked them, sir, you will be willing to do me a
service. If you've read 'em and not liked them, you'll be glad to get me
out of town. Won't you be a Good Samaritan and give me a lift to the
station? _You're my only hope!_"
"Sure thing!" he answered without an instant's hesitation, opening the
door. "Get in--and, James," he added, turning to the chauffeur, "the San
Pedro station, and never mind the speed limit."
I clambered into the car as quickly as I could, and the car fairly
leaped forward.
"It's mighty good of you," said I breathlessly as we sped along.
"Don't mention it, Mr. Bangs," said my host. "Glad to be of service to
you. I read your 'House-Boat-on-the-Styx' once with a great deal of
pleasure; but there's one thing about you that I like a great sight
better than I do your humor."
"What's that?" I asked.
"_Your nerve, sir_," he replied, handing out a cigar.
We caught the train with eight minutes to spare, and as it drew out of
the station I realized possibly for the first time in my life that in my
particular line of business _nerve_ is a vastly better asset than
_nerves_, and I have faithfully cultivated the one and resolutely
refused to admit the existence of the other ever since, to my very great
advantage.
It may not be without interest to record here that in spite of all my
trials and tribulations at Los Angeles, the Salt Lake City engagement
was lost. Our engine broke down in the wilds of Nevada, and we did not
reach Salt Lake until long after midnight the following night.
Nevertheless I kept my hand in; for in response to the request of some
of my fellow passengers I delivered my lecture that night in the
observation car of the stalled train in the Nevada hills, to an audience
made up of fifteen fellow travelers, the train crew, and a half-dozen
Pullman porters.
I hesitate to think of what might have been my fate had I employed
similar tactics to get me out of such troubles in New York or Boston, or
some other of our Eastern cities. The chances are that my name would
have been spread upon the blotter of some police court as a disorderly
person; but in our great West--well, things seem somehow very different
out there. There are not so many sky-scrapers in that part of the
country, and the horizon of humanity may therefore be a little broader;
and perhaps too the strugglers out there are closer to the period of
their own trials and tribulations than we are here in the East, and
become in consequence more instantly sympathetic when they see the
signal of distress flying before them.
The second incident occurred nearer home. It was in Ohio, at the time of
the floods that wrought such havoc in Dayton and thereabouts in the
spring of 1913. I had lectured the night before at Ironton, and on my
way to Cleveland was to all intents and purposes marooned at Columbus.
Much doubt existed as to whether traffic out of Columbus was at all
possible, so completely demoralized were all the railroads centering
there. It is a cardinal principle with lyceum workers, however, to make
every possible effort to get through to their engagements at whatever
inconvenience or cost. So in spite of the warnings of subordinate
officials I took my chances and went out on a morning train which
passengers took at their own peril, through scenes of dreadful
desolation, and over a disquietingly soggy roadbed, until the train
reached an Ohio city which I shall not identify by name here. While I
have no hard feelings against it, or against any of its citizens, I
cannot bring myself to speak of it in terms of "endearment," as I should
much prefer to do.
At this point our train came to a standstill, and the announcement was
made that it would be impossible to get through to Cleveland because all
the bridges had been washed away. Motoring over for the same reason was
out of the question, and the engagement was lost. I immediately repaired
to the telegraph office and sent off several despatches--to the
Cleveland people, announcing my inability to get through; to my agents,
telling them of my plight; and to my family, assuring them of my safety.
These telegrams broke my "financial back"; for when I had paid for them
I found myself with only forty cents left in my pocket, marooned
possibly for days in wettest Ohio, hungry as a bear, and not a friend in
sight.
I did not worry much over the situation, however; for on several other
occasions when I found myself penniless in the West and in the South I
had not found any trouble in getting some one to cash my check. So,
after assuring myself that my train would be held there for at least two
or three hours before returning to Columbus, I set off blithe-heartedly
to secure the replenishment of my pocket. In the heavy rain I walked up
the main thoroughfare of the little city, and to my great relief espied
a national bank on one of the four corners of its square. I walked
boldly in and addressed the cashier, telling him my story with a few
"well chosen words."
"I thought possibly," said I, as he listened without too great a display
of interest, "that in view of all these circumstances you would be
willing to take a chance on me, and cash my check for twenty-five
dollars."
"Why, my dear sir," he replied, "_this is a bank_!"
I restrained a facetious impulse to tell him that I was surprised to
hear it, having come in under the impression that it was a butcher shop,
where I could possibly buy an umbrella, or a much needed eight-day
clock.
"I know," I contented myself with saying, smiling the while. "That's why
I came here for money."
"Well, you've come to the wrong place," he blurted out. "_We are not
running an asylum to give first aid to the injured!_"
"Thank you, sir," I replied. "You are quite right, and perhaps I should
not have asked such a favor--but I'll tell you one thing," I added.
"To-morrow or next day when the Governor of this State issues his appeal
for aid for the stricken, as he surely will, you will find that the
financial men in that part of the world where I come from are running
just such institutions, and when that golden horde for the relief of
your people pours in from mine I hope it will make you properly ashamed
of yourself, if you are not so already."
It was as fruitless as reading a Wordsworth sonnet on nature to a
rhinoceros; for all he did was to grunt.
"Humph!" said he, and I walked out.
Another bank was soon found, where I secured not accommodation but a
more courteous refusal. The president of the bank was one of the most
sympathetic souls I have ever met, and would gladly cash anybody's draft
for me; but my own check, that was out of the question. He was a trustee
of the funds in his charge--poor chap, apparently without a cent of his
own on deposit. However, he was courteous, and vocally sympathetic. He
realized very keenly the difficulties of my position, and actually
escorted me as far as the door to see me safely to the perils of the
pave, expressing the hope that I would soon find some way out of my
difficulty. I returned to the train, ate thirty cents' worth of sardines
in the dining car, gave the waiter a ten-cent tip, and repaired to the
smoking compartment absolutely penniless. A number of others were
gathered there, and we naturally fell into discussing the day's
adventures.
"Well," said I, "I've just had one of the strangest experiences of my
life. I've been in all parts of the United States in the last eight
years, and never until to-day have I found a place so poor in sympathy,
and easy money, that I couldn't get my check cashed if I happened to
need the funds. Why, I've known a Mississippi hotelkeeper who was so
poor that his wife had to do all the chambermaid's work in the house, to
go out at midnight to _borrow_ twenty-five dollars from a neighbor to
help me out; but here, with this flood knocking everything galley west,
I can't raise a cent!"
And I went on and narrated my experience with the two national banks as
recorded here.
"Well, by George!" ejaculated one of the men seated opposite to me,
slapping his knee vigorously as I finished. "I'm an Ohio man, sir, and
I blush for the State. I'll cash your check for you on your looks. How
much do you want?"
"Twenty-five dollars," said I.
"All right," he said, pulling a well-filled wallet from his pocket, and
counting out five five-dollar bills. "There's the stuff."
I thanked him, and drawing my check handed it over to him. He took it,
and glanced at the signature.
"_What?_" he exploded. "_The Idiot?_"
This was the title of one of my books.
"Guilty!" said I.
"Here, you!" he cried, pulling his wallet again from his pocket, and
holding it wide open, displaying a tempting bundle of ten-dollar bills
within. "_Here--just help yourself!_"
And yet there are people in this world who ask if "literature" pays!
About the most Samaritan of the Good Samaritans I ever encountered I met
in February last in one of the most flourishing of our northwestern
cities. He was a Samaritan with what the modern critic would call a
"kick" to him--or at least it struck me that way. As I made my way
northward from Minneapolis to fill my engagement there I was seized
with a terrific toothache which for the time being destroyed pretty
nearly all my interest in life. The offending molar was far back in the
region of the wisdom section, and inasmuch as it had been somewhat loose
in its behavior for several days I decided to be rid of it. All my
efforts to extract it myself were unavailing, and finally after a last
desperate effort to pull it out myself I returned to my chair in the
Pullman car and informed the Only Muse who upon this trip was Seeing
America with me that our first duty on reaching our destination was to
find a dentist and get rid of it.
[Illustration: "I'm an Ohio man, and I'll cash the check for you on your
looks."]
"I hope you will be careful to get the right kind of a man," said she.
"We can't afford any quack doctors, you know."
At this moment a charming woman seated on the opposite side of the car
leaned over and said, "I do not wish to intrude, but I have seen how you
were suffering, and I just overheard your remark. Now my son-in-law is a
dentist, and we think he is a good one. He is coming to meet me at the
station, and I think possibly he will be willing to help you."