THE MAN WHO WINS
The Man Who Wins
BY
ROBERT HERRICK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK, 1897
Copyright, 1897, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK
TO
H. H.
THE MAN WHO WINS
I
The Four Corners in Middleton made a pleasant drive from theuniversity town of Camberton. Many a time in the history of the housea party of young fellows had driven over the old turnpike that startedwhere the arsenal used to stand in the sacred quarter of Camberton,and as the evening sun gilded the low, fresh-water marshes beyondSpring Pond, would trot on toward the rolling hills of Middleton.After dinner, or a dance, or, perhaps, mere chat over a late supper,they rode away at midnight singing as they whipped up their sleepynags and otherwise disturbing the decorum of night in Middleton. Or,maybe, routed out early on a frosty October morning, after lightingpipes and a word with the stable-boy, they would snuggle intoovercoats and spin away over the hard roads where the night froststill lay on the caked dust in the hollows like a crust of milk. Incrossing the meadows the autumn sun swung into their faces, acomfortable solace on a morning drive, exciting them forward towardCamberton that they might report in the little stucco chapel while thetinny college bell was still harshly calling to prayer.
The Ellwells had kept the old Four Corners in Middleton long after thefamily had moved out into the wider world of Boston, and from farmingand the ministry had entered the spheres of commerce and money-owning.In the time of old Roper Ellwell the Four Corners had been theparsonage for Middleton, and there first the Rev. Roper Ellwell hadstirred the placid waters of meeting-house faith until something likea primitive revival had spread into neighboring parishes. His wife, alearned woman, had managed half a dozen young men who were preparingtheir Greek and Latin for Camberton. Those were the homely and kindlydays of the Four Corners.
Then Roper Ellwell was called by the Second Church, in Boston, to betheir pastor. This was the beginning of the Ellwell family in the goodsociety of New England. The pastor's eloquence waxed into books thatare found to-day on the shelves of the Harvard Library, with theUniversity book-plate recording their gift by the author; also inblack-cloth bindings, admirably printed, going to auction from someprivate library formed by a parishioner of the noted divine. When hebecame old in service, the congregation, now rich and fashionable,added to his ministrations the vigor of a younger man. Yet RoperEllwell, on fine Sundays, still fired one of his former discoursesfrom the lofty pulpit of his church. As these days grew rarer, the oldpastor divided his time between his son's house on Beacon Street andthe Four Corners.
Mark Ellwell was, as he should be, his father's son with the leaven ofa newer world which led him into business instead of the ministry. Buta fair product of Camberton, and a man well known and liked in Boston,where he was a merchant, when that term did not cover shop-keeping orgambling. He made a solid fortune in wool; built a house just beyondCharles Street on Beacon Street; was a member of two good clubs, and adeacon in his father's church.
In these days t