You will remember one summer day, nearly five years ago,
when I came into your town—Bobby McTabb. I was without
friends, without introductions, without money—but you will
remember, too, how you received me with open arms, and for
two years made life for me here happier than any life that
I had ever dreamed might exist for me. You made me love
you, as I would have loved my father, my mother, my
sister; and I schemed and schemed to think of some way in
which I could repay you. At last the time came. I saw an
opportunity of making a great deal of money, but to make
that money I required a large sum in cash. I believe that
most of you would have responded to my call for that
cash—but, perhaps foolishly, I had the childish desire TO
SURPRISE YOU. So I went away and took your money with me.
I have realized, since then, that the joke was not a good
one—but never for an instant have I believed that you
would lose confidence in me.
Dear old friends, what I went away to achieve I HAVE
achieved, and my heart is near bursting with joy at the
knowledge that once more I am to be one of you—until the
end of life. Friends, I took with me just one hundred and
forty thousand dollars of your money, and I have brought
you back just six dollars for every one that you have
loaned me during that time. Is this work well done? Is it,
at last, a proof of the deep love and reverence I hold for
you all? I have the money in cash, and every depositor of
the old bank, when he calls upon me, will receive just
seven dollars in place of every dollar he had deposited.
But it is not money, but love, that counts, dear friends,
and I ask that you measure me—not by the gift I am making
to Fawcettville—but in that almost immeasurable devotion
which I hold for you all.
Affectionately,
Bobby McTabb.
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the April, 1912 issue of
The Red Book Magazine.]