Avenue any evening may prove it. For Davis the soliloquy was
not courageous; it was simply true. And that was a place for
it.

When "Soldiers of Fortune" was printed it had a quick and a
deserved popularity. It was cheerily North American in its
viewpoint of the sub-tropical republics and was very up to
date. The outdoor American girl was not so established at
that time, and the Davis report of her was refreshing. Robert
Clay was unconsciously Dick Davis himself as he would have
tried to do--Captain Stuart was the English officer that Davis
had met the world over, or, closer still, he was the better
side of such men which the attractive wholesomeness of Davis
would draw out. Alice and King were the half-spoiled New
Yorkers as he knew them at the dinner-parties.

At a manager's suggestion Dick made a play of the book. It
was his first attempt for the theatre and lacked somewhat the
skill that he developed later in his admirable "Dictator." I
was called in by the manager as an older carpenter and
craftsman to make another dramatic version. Dick and I were
already friends and he already liked plays that I had done,
but that alone could not account for the heartiness with which
he turned over to me his material and eliminated himself.
Only his unspoiled simplicity and utter absence of envy could
do that. Only native modesty could explain the absence of the
usual author pride and sensitiveness. The play was
immediately successful. It would have been a dull hack,
indeed, who could have spoiled such excellent stage material
as the novel furnished, but his generosity saw genius in the