His eloquence on art and life, genius and literature, had enthralled and placated me ... his personal wheedling irritated and angered.

“A book of my poems ... without my name on the title page, perhaps,” I cried, impassioned, looking him deep in the eyes.  He shifted his glance from me—­

* * * * *

I threw my few belongings together.

Everybody, in saying good-bye, gave me a warm hand-clasp of friendship (excepting Pfeiler), including Spalton, who assured me—­

“Razorre, you’ll be back again ... despite its faults, they all come back to Eos.”

“Yes,” I responded, sweeping him off his feet by the unexpectedness of my reply, “yes, in spite of all, Eos is a wonderful place ... it has given me something ... in my heart ... in my soul ... which no other place in the world could have given ... and at the time I needed it most ... a feeling for beauty, a fellowship—­”

“Razorre,” he cut in, moved, “we all have our faults,—­God knows you have—­mutual forgiveness—­” he murmured, pressing my hand warmly again; his great, brown eyes humid with emotion ... whether he was acting, or genuine ... or both ...  I could not tell.  I didn’t care.  I departed with the warmth of his benediction over my going.

* * * * *

This time I did not freight it.  I paid my fare to New York.

* * * * *

My father ...  I must pay him a visit, before lifting my nose in the air like a migrating bird.  Where I would go or what I would do that spring and summer, I hadn’t the vaguest idea....

It seemed but the day before that I had left Haberford.  The fat policeman who leaned against the iron railing of the small park near the station was there in the same place.  The same young rowdies pushed each other about, and spat, and swore, near the undertaker shop and the telegraph office.

But as I walked past the Hartman express office—­the private concern which Hartman, the thin, wiry shock-haired Swede, had built up through arduous struggle, beginning with one wagon—­

Hartman saw me through the window, and beckoned vigorously for me to step in....

“—­just got home from another hobo-trip, Johnny?”

“You’re almost right, Mr. Hartman.”

“A pause....

“—­been to see your father yet?”

“No, sir, I’m on the way there now ... just arrived this minute, on the train from New York.”

“I’m glad I caught sight of you, then, to prepare you.”  A longer pause ... mysteriously embarrassing, on his part.

“I have something to tell you about him ...—­guess you’re old enough to stand plain talk ... sit down!”

I took a chair.

“You see, it’s this way,” and he leaned forward and put his hand on my knee.. “it’s women—­a woman” ... he paused, I nodded to him to go on, feeling very dramatic and important....