the clipping, her slender arm in
its fall of yellowed lace a thing to catch the eye of any Irishman whom
Fate for the good of the world of art had made a painter.

Kenny took the clipping to insure his future peace of mind. Yes, Garry
had displayed better judgment than, in the circumstances, might have
been expected. The article he saw at a glance was an excellent one and
truthful. He particularly liked the phrase "brilliant painter" and
hoped Garry had troubled to read the thing through himself before he
sent it. It might inspire him to quotation in the grill-room.

Nevertheless, Kenny, with the clipping in his hand, had a picturesque
moment of confusion.

"It--it's just the sort of thing we call a 'blurb,' Miss West!" he
protested.

"It says in print," said the girl, her eyes wide and direct, "what your
son wrote in his letter."

The heart of the lad! Kenny had a bad minute. Until with his quest
upon the back of him he remembered Peredur and felt better. Peredur
had gone in quest of the Holy Grail. And he had found fair ladies.
History, romance, legend, call it what you please, was merely repeating
itself with the hero again Celtic and chivalrous.

With Peredur for precedent Kenny laughed softly, his eyes a-twinkle.

"Ah, well," he said with a hint more of brogue than usual, "we've an
Irish saying that there never was a fool who hadn't another fool to
admire him! Trouble is," he added, saving himself and Brian with a
whimsical air of loyalty, "the lad is no fool!"

"It's helped so," said Joan, "to know that Don is with someone like
your son. I cried a great deal the first night but the next day there
was Brian's letter and Don's. And later this letter and you."

Kenny understood. Brian could thank him for arriving in time. The
mere sight of him had certified Brian's respectability and guaranteed
the runaway's welfare.

And now--he cleared his throat--now he must ask if the brother had
written later and supplied a clue. It was utterly essential. If he
had--Well, if he had, he had. That's all there was to it! And he must
do some thinking afterward, some painful thinking of the kind that
drove him mad. He wondered for a moment, with his fingers by force of
habit traveling through his hair, if it really was dishonorable for him
to take advantage of Garry's letter to hunt his son to earth. There
was a subtlety there in which Garry might be right.

Inwardly in turmoil Kenny took the plunge.