the
face of a man scarred with uncertainty; an even money proposition that he
had either just emerged from the Commune or was about to enter it. Grief
was written on the brow; more than written, it was emblazoned. The eyes
were heavy with inexpressible sadness. The corners of the mouth were
drooped, heightening the whole effect of incomprehensible depression.
Quickly I turned to the next page among the stock quotations, where I got
my depression in a blanket form. The concentrated Cobb kind was too much
for me.

"A few days later I came suddenly upon the face again. The very
incongruity of its alliance with laughter overwhelmed me, and wonderingly
I read what he had written, not once, but every day, always with the
handicap of that half-tone. If Cobb were an older man, I would go on the
witness stand and swear that the photograph was made when he was
witnessing the Custer Massacre or the passing of Geronimo through the
winter quarters of his enemies. Notwithstanding, he supplied my week's
laughter.

"Digression this:

"After Bret Harte died, many stories were written by San Franciscans who
knew him when he first put in an appearance on the Pacific Coast. One
contemporary described minutely how Bret would come silently up the stairs
of the old Alta office, glide down the dingy hallway through the exchange
room, and seat himself at the now historic desk. It took Bret fifteen
minutes to sharpen a lead pencil, one hour for sober reflection, and three
hours to write a one-stick paragraph, after which he would carefully tear
it up, gaze out of the window down the Golden Gate, and go home.

"He repeated this formula the following day, and at the end of the week
succeeded in turning out three or four sticks which he considered fit to
print. In later years, after fame had sought him out and presented him
with a fur-lined overcoat, which I am bound to say Bret knew how to wear,
the files of the Alta were ransacked for the pearls he had dropped in his
youth. A few gems were identified, a very few. Beside this entire printed
collection the New England Primer would have looked like a set of
encyclopedias. Bret worked slowly, methodically, brilliantly, and is an
imperishable figure in American letters.

"Returning to Cobb: He has already written twenty times more than Bret
Harte turned out during his entire career. He has made more people laugh
and written better short stories. He has all of Harte's subtle and
delicate feeling,