He represents in this country a large English land syndicate and
it was while he was in England on business that he met my very
dear friend, Helene Castleton; later on, they were married and
near the outbreak of the War I came to New York to visit them.
One afternoon Mr. Coombs telephoned from his office that a col
legemate had come in on the troopship Warrior and he was
going to bring him up to dine with us. Well—you know there
was so much in the papers—with a smile to the Doctor—it was
then that my hero-worship began. That evening I was intro
duced to Lieutenant-Surgeon Walker Thomas and he took me in
to dinner, All during the time we were at the table he seemed
to be studying me, although he tried not to appear that way, I
could not help noticing it, nevertheless. Well, he told me the
story of the trooper's death and of the photograph and I carelessly
remarked, ' Poor fellow, I suppoSe that she was some flirt.' Well,'
said he, `you may judge for yourself,' and he handed me the
miniature. I took one look and, well—just like a woman—
fainted.
' The photograph recalled at once two incidents which had
deeply impressed me years before. One day, when about fifteen,
I was looking over some old photographs and I caine across one
striking one, and I asked abruptly, Mother who is this fine look
ing soldier?' She started perceptibly and replied, Oh! an old
playmate, daughter! Give it to me, please!' and she put it away.
A little later, after mother's death, I found the photograph (I
have kept it close by ever since) and I said to Grandpa Hamp
son, Can you tell me about this, Grandpapa?' My child the
mistake of my life, the mistake of my life! P-o-o-r Bessie! I
hope she has forgiven me in her happy home above,' and he
would say no more upon the subject. You may imagine how I
felt."
She did not finish—but retiring, her husband interposed: "It
was all clear to me when I saw the photograph for, on the back
in a clear, bold hand was written, , < 9 / 3 7 . , ” 7 . , 4% ee , y, •
TROOPZR BURIED AT SUA