--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Sharp, George Lee collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 27 number: 10 published: 1924-08 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "George Lee Sharp, “The Worth While,” *Improvement Era 27, no. 10 (August 1924)*: 944–948." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera27010unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera27010unse start_page: 944 end_page: 948 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1924-08) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera27010unse publication_year: 1924 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1924, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Worth While THE WORTH WHILE By George Lee Sharp Foreword — The short story following, written especially for the Era. has as its theme the beacon light of life — the ultimate goal of man's en- deavors in the search for true happiness — brotherly love. The author has attempted to contrast the philosophy of life as prac- ticed by typical characters in actual life itself, showing finally that purely material things are subject to the power of love and that, even after years of struggle and strife, in the search for glory and gold, man, when he hears the cry of distress of a fellowman, will forget all in the desire to risk his life or lift his hand to save a brother. The story has as its setting the trackless northland wherein the char- acters enact their roles of life. True, the tale verges on the tragedy, but life is a glorious combination of tears and smiles and just as we have our comedy so, too, must we have our tragedy. That is life. Here we have a page from the book of life itself. — GEORGE LEE SHARP. The biting blasts of drear, bleak winter were sweeping the crispy flakes of snow in gusts and frenzied flurries about the little trading post at St. Pierre. It was a dismal day. Dark pines, frosted with icy spangles, bent in the breath of the wind as it whistled and moaned through troubled forests around rugged crags and down snow filled gulches. It was a desolate day — typical, however, of Alaskan winter. Within the primitive stockade, nothing more elaborate than a log cabin fenced with a timber palisade, an atmosphere of warmth and cheer was prevalent. Old Mike, as the aged keeper of the post was called by trappers of the Hudson Bay Company, of which he was a servant, was entertaining. Three strangers from the States had arrived simultaneously with the breaking of the storm and their snow soaked clothes and benumbed limbs called for a crackling fire and liquor bracers. Wanderers in the northland are rare, for, excepting the trappers, but few white men care to brave the frozen barriers of unblazed wilderness even for compensations of fur and gold. It was little wonder then that Old Mike, hermit that he was, welcomed with con- genial hospitality the derelicts of the storm. As the men hovered about the stove small clouds of steam rose from their drying garments and the warmth, penetrating to the flesh, stimulated circulation and loosened tongues, until the small crude room echoed with loud talking and gruff guffaws. When news had exhausted itself discussion entered into channels of logic and philosophy. Stewart Jacobs, youngest of the group, had listened intently to the discourse which concerned more or less the field of human en- THE WORTH WHILE 945 deavor and the purpose of life itself. Old Mike had rendered his version and sat toasting his shins while his visitors eyed him critically. "You're wrong!" exclaimed Jacobs emphatically. "Entirely wrong. There you sit like a contented old woman, purrin' like a pet maltese over your pipe. You claim that a shack in the woods, a bottle of gin, and a supply of chewin' tobacco is paradise for a king. That's your ideal. To you that's life." Old Mike riveted his eyes on Jacobs, blew a cloud of smoke, nodded acquiescence and remained silent. "Dickson, here," continued Jacobs, indicating his neighbor with a jerk of his thumb, "has ideas of his own, and I reckon they're akin to yours and unrelated to mine, but be that as it may I've con- sidered my lot in life and have arrived at conclusions that can't be wrong:" "To live we must have necessities, and to live and be happy we must have the luxuries as well. But even these elements require at least a moderate degree of wealth. Life's mission, then, is obvious. The accumulation of a fortune spells happiness and all that is worth while. Gold must be the guiding star for it is gold that inspires progress and lifts man above the mire." Old Mike shoved his chair away from the stove with an outburst of sheer disgust. The unknown stranger stared at Jacobs in blank amazement. "Gold! Filthy gold!" exclaimed Dickson harshly. "So that's your Utopia of life. 'Tis a foul pursuit indeed. "Wealth is like the leafy fringe that bedecks the mighty oak, beautiful and attractive in the summer of life — forgotten and forlorn in the autumn of dull decay and unmourned death. The cardinal element of life is glory. Glory is like the sturdy oak itself which, even when devoid of leafy ornament, withstands the storms of time and lives, a monument of seasons passed — an inspiration in the days to come. Let man achieve his greatness as he may. Let glory come at any cost, from any source. "Men come into this world, pause briefly, and pass on. The span of life is short, uncertain, uncontrolled, and millions come and go — from clay to common clay. But memory embalms accomplishments of supermen and their names stay blazoned in the book of time eternal. "I would rather have it said of me, 'There is Dickson, the greatest dog-skinner in the Yukon,' than be heralded world-wide as an oil king dwelling in a house of gold." Dickson's eloquence left his trio of listeners spellbound and the sinister silence within, contrasted with the wild storm without, seemed uncanny. Old Mike slouched deeper into his chair and proceeded to place his feet upon the stove with the result that his water soaked boots sizzled momentarily and gave off sickening aroma of burnt leather. Jacobs and Dickson clinked glasses for the fifth time and sipped dark uninviting liquor while the unknown stranger, removed from the trio, sat inactive and silent. Outside the wind shrieked relentlessly, howling then moaning, 946 IMPROVEMENT ERA sighing and murmuring while, during intermittent lulls, the far off howl of the wolf, calling for its mate or announcing a kill, could be heard faintly. As the red coals settled in the firebox and warned of diminish- ing fuel Old Mike rose from his chair and shuffled after more wood. Jacobs refilled his glass and sipped while Dickson rested his head in his hands and meditated. The stranger had risen to his feet and had ioined the group: "Gentlemen," he said at length, so softly that his words were barely audible, 'your discourse has greatly interested me, and inasmuch as I, too, have my theory of life, I feel obligated to add my philosophy to yours: "Your ideals of life, as you have expressed them, are gold and glory. You have explained your reasons for believing as you do and your reasoning is entirely logical. I do not desire to cast reflection upon it. I simply seek to enlighten you on facts which you have not taken into account. "You have said that gold is the making of progress and the uplifter of mankind; the magnet that draws friendship and position. From a mate- rial standpoint this may be true, but certainly not from the viewpoint of ethics. Wealth is but a superficial thing and when it exists so-called friendship iMnishes like mediaeval ghosts. Riches are gained mostly through exploitation of our fellowmen. It encourages greed, inequality, discrimina- tion, and contributes not a single factor to true happiness. "You have stated that glory is the pinnacle of all earthly things, and should be sought for through all channels and obtained at any cost. True glory, the attributes of Washington and Lincoln, is worthy of desire. Such glory, however, is but one of many kinds. Alexander the Great was glo- rious. His iron hand swayed the world. He was a superman among men but his glory was not self-achieved, for it was built upon the sacrifice of his armies. He created his magnitude of power on the strength of his soldiers' life blood. His name is recorded in the pages of history but his name is not sacred for his deeds, or misdeeds, although they held a world aghast, stand not as models but as examples of greed and lust, and as such must be despised. "Glory for glory's sake is sin. If it comes from earnest effort, a result of effort not of aim, it is a thing to be admired, but only then. Anything that comes consciously at the expense of our fellowmen cannot be worth while. Life is but a single, short span as compared with life eternal, and brotherly love is the only thing that can establish greatness as seen by Him who sees all things. "True happiness should be the goal of man's undivided efforts, and the most indispensable factor of happiness is brotherly love. Mark my word, gentlemen, that is the worth while." As the stranger finished, his audience shifted uneasily. Old Mike puffed vigorously at his pipe. Jacobs gulped a glass of gin. Dickson crossed his arms, and all three smiled inwardly and shook their heads. * * * * Six years had passed since the little party of derelicts sought shelter at St. Pierre, and the great northland again lay buried beneath a blanket of freshly fallen snow. Down in the coastal settlement of Five Forks, the hearts of the THE WORTH WHILE 947 traders and trappers throbbed with elation for snowfall meant the signal for the greatest event of the year — the trans-Alaskan dog relay. Contention for the purse of ten-thousand dollars, and the honor of being the greatest sportsman in the north, was keen, and enthus- iastic dogsters were already arriving to prepare for the annual test of skill and endurance. One of the entrants, no other than Dickson, already mentioned in connection with the scene at the trading post, was a favorite con- testant. For three successive years he had driven his dog teams to victory, but such success he attributed to lack of worthy competition rather than to his own ability. The entry list for the coming event was long and bore the names of famous dog-skinners from all sections. It was rumored that the winner would have to run an unparalleled race, but Dickson was thrilled with the very thought of genuine rivalry and competition. If he won, his supremacy would be un- questioned and perpetual glory be bestowed. When the day of the race arrived throngs of spectators turned out to cheer the contestants as they started on the first lap of their perilous journey. Dickson was the first to leave and as he cracked his whip sharply his dogs let out a single lingering yelp and sped swiftly away over the glassy surface of the frozen snow. For hours the dogs dragged the sled at a killing pace. The settlement now lay far behind while miles of ice and snow, riffled in places and speckled here and there with solitary pines and defiant rocks, stretched forth as far as eye could see. Dickson was in a happy mood. He had a splendid start and his dogs were maintaining a rapid pace. He knew that somewhere behind him others, quite as determined as he, were racing for the same goal, but he was leading and that was all that mattered, Morning and afternoon passed quickly and twilight saw Dick- son camped in a wooded cove. The dogs, tied securely, were having their repast of meat scrap while their master busied himself with fire- building and camp arrangement. Suddenly one of the dogs barked, then followed a perfect chorus of yelps and snarls. Dickson looked up and peered into the distance. Heading westward, his dog team barely moving the laden .sled, was a stranger. Something about the general stature of the man seemed familiar and Dickson, his curiosity besting him, gave a lusty h-e-1-l-o with the immediate result that the stranger altered his course and ap- proached the camp. Coincidence is not uncommon but the consequent meeting of Jacobs and Dickson, resulting from events just mentioned, was as surprising as it was dramatic. The two wanderers of half a decade's separation were reunited at the very pinnacle of their accomplishments. Far up into the fastness of the mountains Jacobs had wandered 948 IMPROVEMENT ERA in search of gold. Years of fruitless toil had brought him no return, but he was persistent and at last the icy stream of the canyon yielded up its yellow metal in quantities that meant undreamed of fortune. Gold there was in plenty, but gold in itself afforded no more com- panionship than did the snow-capped peaks that poked specter-like into the crispy air. And because he was hungry for civilization and contact with his fellowmen Jacobs resolved to journey to the coast which resulted, as we have seen, in his meeting Dickson while en- route. As the shadows of dusk closed in, the two men sat in the glow- ing firelight and chatted freely of their wanderings and experiences. Each told of his endeavors and his accomplishments. Each com- mended the other one for the success achieved in obtaining the worth while. And so conversation waxed warm, became exhausted, and lapsed into silence. Jacobs replenished the supply of fuel while Dick- son meditated over his pipe. From out the dusk the dismal howl of a wolf rent the stillness, then followed a chorus of sinister replies until the very heavens seemed to echo. A distant shot rang sharply out, then another and another in quick succession. Jacobs and Dickson, pale with horror, stared at each other. "Wolves," muttered Jacobs beneath his breath. "Some poor devil is making his last stand." Dickson said not a word but from his keen gray eyes flashed a strange light. Without hesitation he snatched his rifle from the sled, untied the dogs and without second consideration sped to assist a brother in distress. Jacobs, revolver in hand, followed without delay. In a little hollow far out in the land of blizzards, ice, and awe-inspiring wilderness — in the land that God must have forgotten, three brothers fought valiantly a losing battle. Together their fire- arms barked into the cold crisp air, but wolves, frenzied with the pangs of hunger, are devoid of fear, and the battle, noble as it was, rested in the hands of Fate, and Fate decreed to snip the life thread of three earthly sons. Darkness enfolded the unkind world, and distant stars appeared to cast their mellow light upon the scene below. Night passed, and long before the light of dawn kissed the snowy fields the last wolf of the preying pack slinked through the fringing forest. Some days later the searching party from Five Forks reached the scene, but there was little left to tell the tale save Jacob's gold. Among the searchers, who stood silently with bared heads, was the unknown stranger and he was murmuring words unto himself: Gold and glory cannot long endure, Material as they are and so impure. Tis not the will of Him above, Who teaches — love as thou art loved. Sandy, Utah, R. D. No. 1