nto work and sanity, I might just as well admit the fact that
I'm merely in the chronic state of all men who love him and pass on
cheerfully to a pleasant task. All that Brian has said of his father
is true. As for Brian himself, he's a lovable, hot-headed chap with a
head and a heart and too much of both for his own peace of mind. And
he's so darned level-headed and unaffected he needs a Boswell. I hope
I've made good.

"The O'Neills, in short, are a splendid pair of fellows with a rush of
Irish to the head. They give each other more admiration and affection
when they're apart and more trouble when they're together than any two
men I have ever known. Personally I think they're miserable apart and
hopeless together. However, I'm no judge. Five minutes of
concentration on their present problems fuddles my brain beyond the
point of intelligent logic.

"I must warn you that O'Neill senior is roving Heaven-knows-where in
search of your uncle's farm. Knowing him fairly well I am convinced
that he'll rove most of the way in a Pullman, though he distinctly said
not. He hopes to find at your farm a letter from your brother that
will furnish a clue. Whereupon, I take it, he'll rove forth again to
seek his son and patch up a regular ballyhoo of a quarrel that almost
disrupted the Holbein Club. You see, everybody insisted upon taking
both sides, with terrifying results.

"I pray Heaven that O'Neill senior may not find O'Neill junior, but
from now on I shall have a nervous conviction of the pair of them
quarreling all over the state of Pennsylvania. In view of a certain
sentimental indiscretion of mine in permitting O'Neill to read his
son's letter to me and find the postmark, I feel guilty and
apprehensive.

"Your brother, I should say, is just a little safer with Brian than he
would be anywhere else in the confines of the universe.

"I enclose a newspaper article on Kennicott O'Neill, written just after
he had acquired one of the medals that fly up at him wherever he goes.
It's fairly accurate.

"Sincerely,

"Garry Rittenhouse."

With the girl's soft eyes upon him, Kenny felt that he could not be
expected to read each word of the letter. He never did that anyhow.
He blurred through now with amazing speed, catching enough to gratify
and upset him. The letter, reminiscent of his penitential quest for
Brian, roused voices that he did not want to hear. Nor did he hear
them for long. Joan was holding out