THE PRINCE ASKING EDDIE MARTIN ABOUT THE FAIR MARY MATILDA 38 THE PRINCE'S COAT-OF-ARMS--FLIGHT OF THE FAIR MARY MATILDA--THE AGGRAVATING MIRAGE 40 BROTHER SLOSSON AND HIS OTHER FRIEND EN ROUTE TO THE WEDDING 42 A STAMP ACCOUNT 57 AN ECHO FROM MACKINAC ISLAND 58 _With drawings by Eugene Field._ A BOWLING CHALLENGE FROM EUGENE FIELD 75 A LETTER FROM EUGENE FIELD CONTAINING THREE DRAWINGS 78 FIELD'S PORTRAIT OF HIMSELF 88 _"As I would have looked but for the refining influence of Old Nompy."_ A SCENE IN THE DAILY NEWS OFFICE 99 _From a drawing by Eugene Field._ PAGE OF ADVERTISEMENTS FROM "CULTURE'S GARDEN" 111 "THE ALLIAUNCE" 124 SKETCH AND EPITAPH 168 _From a drawing by Eugene Field._ OFF TO SPRINGFIELD 201 _From a drawing by Eugene Field._ HALF-TONE PLATES FACING PAGE ROSWELL FIELD 142 FIELD THE COMEDIAN 254 EUGENE FIELD WITH HIS DUTCH RING 302 EUGENE FIELD CHAPTER I OUR PERSONAL RELATIONS In the loving "Memory" which his brother Roswell contributed to the "Sabine Edition" of Eugene Field's "Little Book of Western Verse," he says: "Comradeship was the indispensable factor in my brother's life. It was strong in his youth: it grew to be an imperative necessity in later life. In the theory that it is sometimes good to be alone he had little or no faith." From the time of Eugene's coming to Chicago until my marriage, in 1887, I was his closest comrade and almost constant companion. At the Daily News office, for a time, we shared the same room and then the adjoining rooms of which I have spoken. Field was known about the office as my "habit," a relationship which gave point to the touching appeal which served as introduction to the dearly cherished manuscript copy, in two volumes, of nearly one hundred of his poems, which was his wedding gift to Mrs. Thompson. It was entitled, in red ink, "Ye Piteous Complaynt of a Forsooken Habbit; a Proper Sonet," and reads: _Ye boone y aske is smalle indeede Compared with what y once did seeke-- Soe, ladye, from yr. bounteous meede Y pray you kyndly heere mee speke. Still is yr. Slosson my supporte, As once y was his soul's delite-- Holde hym not ever in yr. courte-- O lette me have hym pay-daye nite!