-blue eyes. Her picture rose so vividly at times
it was uncanny.

"What do you think of her?" asked Sue.

"Mighty little," I replied. I did not care to discuss her with Sue, for
I had not liked Sue's tone at all.

But how little I'd learned about Eleanor's life. Where did she live? I
didn't know. When I had hinted at coming to see her she had smilingly
put me off. What was this pleasant harbor of hers? "Wait till you've got
yours all written down," she had said, and had told me nothing whatever.
Yes, I thought disgustedly, I was quite a smart young man. Here I had
spent two years in Paris learning how to draw people out. What had she
let me draw out of her? What hadn't I let her draw out of me? I wondered
how much I had told that girl.

For some reason, in the next few days, my thoughts drifted about with
astonishing ease and made prodigious journeys. I roved far back to my
childhood, and there the most tempting incidents rose, and solemn little
thoughts and terrors, hopes and plans, some I was proud of, some mighty
ashamed of. Roots, roots, up they came, as though they'd just been
waiting, down there deep inside of me, for that girl and her hoeing.

Presently, just to get rid of them all, I began writing some of them
down. And again I was surprised to find that I was in fine writing
trim. The words seemed to come of themselves from my pen and line
themselves up triumphantly into scenes of amazing vividness. At least so
they looked to me. How good it felt to be at it again. Often up in my
room at night I kept on working till nearly dawn. I was getting on
famously now.

* * * * *

And so now, as was his habit, Joe Kramer came crashing into my life and
as usual put a stop to my work.

Having just landed from Russia, he had "breezed over" to our house, had
had a talk with Sue downstairs and had then come up to my room to
surprise me--just as I had a good firm grip on one of my most entrancing
roots.

"Hello, Bill," he cried. "What are you up to?"

"Hello, J. K. How are you?"

I knew that I ought to be genial, and for a few moments I did my best. I
went through all the motions. I grabbed his hand, I smiled, I talked, I
told him I was tickled to death, I even tried pounding him on the back.
But it was quite useless.

"Kid," he said with that grin of his, "you're up to something idealistic
and don't want to be disturbed. But I'm here and it can't be helped. So
out with it--what h