The Red Cross Girl | Page 3

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This etext was prepared by Aaron Cannon of Paradise, California

THE NOVELS AND STORIES OF RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
THE RED CROSS GIRL
BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY GOUVERNEUR MORRIS

CONTENTS
Introduction by Gouverneur Morris
1. THE RED CROSS GIRL
2. THE GRAND CROSS OF THE CRESCENT
3. THE INVASION OF ENGLAND
4. BLOOD WILL TELL
5. THE SAILORMAN
6. THE MIND READER
7. THE NAKED MAN
8. THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF
9. THE CARD-SHARP

INTRODUCTION
R. H. D.
"And they rise to their feet as he passes, gentlemen unafraid."

He was almost too good to be true. In addition, the gods loved him, and
so he had to die young. Some people think that a man of fifty-two is
middle-aged. But if R. H. D. had lived to be a hundred, he would never
have grown old. It is not generally known that the name of his other
brother was Peter Pan.
Within the year we have played at pirates together, at the taking of
sperm whales; and we have ransacked the Westchester Hills for
gunsites against the Mexican invasion. And we have made lists of guns,
and medicines, and tinned things, in case we should ever happen to go
elephant shooting in Africa. But we weren't going to hurt the elephants.
Once R. H. D. shot a hippopotamus and he was always ashamed and
sorry. I think he never killed anything else. He wasn't that kind of a
sportsman. Of hunting, as of many other things, he has said the last
word. Do you remember the Happy Hunting Ground in "The Bar
Sinister"?--"Where nobody hunts us, and there is nothing to hunt."
Experienced persons tell us that a man-hunt is the most exciting of all
sports. R. H. D. hunted men in Cuba. He hunted for wounded men who
were out in front of the trenches and still under fire, and found some of
them and brought them in. The Rough Riders didn't make him an
honorary member of their regiment just because he was charming and a
faithful friend, but largely because they were a lot of daredevils and he
was another.
To hear him talk you wouldn't have thought that he had ever done a
brave thing in his life. He talked a great deal, and he talked even better
than he wrote (at his best he wrote like an angel), but I have dusted
every corner of my memory and cannot recall any story of his in which
he played a heroic or successful part. Always he was running at top
speed, or hiding behind a tree, or lying face down in a foot of water (for
hours!) so as not to be seen. Always he was getting the worst of it. But
about the other fellows he told the whole truth