The Other Fellow

FICTION concerns itself with the pursuit of the Feminine. Nowhere is adequate justice done to the equally absorbing pursuit of the Masculine. The Girl is the guiding star of the Romancer, the Man a necessary but commonplace accessory. The Girl presents a problem of exceptional elusiveness, and adds to the piquancy of the situation; but why this unjust discrimination ? If, after long trial and tribulation, the Girl is found, are the results so much more gratifying than when, after years of waiting, the Other Fellow is at last discovered ? I think not. But perhaps it is not quite clear what I mean by the Other Fellow.

The Other Fellow is generally supposed to be the undesirable remainder after the blissful union of two other units. He is considered an essential element in all romance, and as such fills a humble but useful place. His only profit is a slender halo of pathos as he wishes his successful rival all happiness. For a brief hour he is heroic, and then he vanishes. This is the popular conception of the Other Fellow. To what base uses has he fallen!

The Romancer must sell his wares, and so he would have the world think that life consists of happy mating and unhappy remaining, that the only drama is the little comedy of three. But after all, he writes merely of the bright bubbling at the sources of the stream, and, after manning his fragile barque and letting the Other Fellow gallantly walk the plank, he quite loses sight of the long journey ahead downstream. Will not the crew of two desire to touch at pleasant points, and lie in inviting harbors by the way? Will they not take excursions ashore, and visit strange lands ? And if so, will not the Captain (or perhaps he is only First Mate now) like to smoke a pipe and loaf away a summer afternoon with another masculine voyager?

It is in this part of the journey that the Other Fellow is found. The Romancer is still at work upstream, delighting the same audience with the same simple story as before, but we are wiser now, and are content to leave him. We are in the full swing of the current, and must needs see that no opportunities for pleasure are overlooked.

And what a noble business the seeking of pleasure is! Much is said against it by many who would appear wise in their day and generation, but their words are as chaff. We seek pleasure to share it, and in the finding of it we benefit our fellow. In the great catalogue of pleasures the Other Fellow stands at the head of the list. If he is real, he has long ago forgotten any little episode he may have figured in upstream, though, indeed, he may never have been the Other Fellow in the old mistaken sense, but, on the contrary, simply another commonplace man with a charming wife, and no faint aureole of past heroisms upon him. It is a strange fact that he is so little prized. He is not mentioned in the most elaborate catalogue of sports, nor enumerated among the camper’s or traveler’s necessities. He is recommended in no Baedeker, nor is he advertised by enterprising landlords. But what is sport or travel without him, or, for that matter, home or the club ?

Fortunate is the man who has found him. If he is found, he is easily recognized. He is the man who fits. Fits is the only word, — fits your masculine needs with masculine gifts, as the woman gives the feminine. So, first, a man. Brown, Robinson, or Vere-de-Vere, it matters not by what name he is known, or what station he ornaments. Years are of no moment, be it only that his heart is a contemporary of your own. He may have lived a longer or shorter time, but he must be rich in experience. He must be a better man than you, that the best may come from your communion. You had best be a bit shy to brag before him, for he will be merciless to your pretensions. He will drive a better ball, cast a better fly, and write a better poem than you can, and you wall spend your life trying in vain to excel him. He will absent himself at the right time, and at long intervals, but will return at the moment when he is most needed. He will not pry into your personal affairs, but will listen and smoke and sagely comment if the spirit moves you to intimate talk.

He will know the value of silence,— the supreme test, — and will be an adept at that best sort of conversation, the monosyllabic.

Such, then, is the Other Fellow. The world was made for him, and what would life be without him ? We may refine away as much of the primitive man as possible, and still there remains the instinct of the fighter. We wish to match our skill, courage, or endurance against another’s. But we must have as our opponent a man we can trust, a man with the same clear ideas of sport and the same horror of unfairness. When we have found him, he is the Other Fellow, and we add to all else the serene pleasures of comradeship, and we are content.

Yet the Other Fellow has other uses. He is more than a skillful and resourceful antagonist. He is the well by the roadside from which you draw strength and refreshment. His friendly confidence in you begets confidence in yourself. He pricks the countless iridescent bubbles of your self-conceit, thereby clearing your mental vision to a wonderful degree. He is your alter ego, and with him at your elbow you can face a frowning world.

To the young Benedict, then, I say: Do not let the open fire and cheerful lamplight tempt you to too many hours of slippered ease. You may have succeeded in one noble and important quest, and achieved the Girl; but there is another quest, and you should be up and doing, — the Other Fellow is to be found.

If he has already been found, do not, in your present excess of self-satisfaction, neglect him. He is patient and slow to anger, but he may weary of your indifference, and be lost to you forever.

If he is within hailing distance, go to him, that the future may hold for you perfect happiness. Then will all wise men unite in the toast I give you: “To the noblest, most useful, and least appreciated of mankind, the Other Fellow,— a health to you! ”