atural
vehicle."

"You remember the poem?" asked Presley. "It was unfinished."

"Yes, I remember it. There was better promise in it than anything you
ever wrote. Now, I suppose, you have finished it."

Without reply, Presley brought it from out the breast pocket of his
shooting coat. The moment seemed propitious. The stillness of the vast,
bare hills was profound. The sun was setting in a cloudless brazier of
red light; a golden dust pervaded all the landscape. Presley read his
poem aloud. When he had finished, his friend looked at him.

"What have you been doing lately?" he demanded. Presley, wondering, told
of his various comings and goings.

"I don't mean that," returned the other. "Something has happened to you,
something has aroused you. I am right, am I not? Yes, I thought so. In
this poem of yours, you have not been trying to make a sounding piece of
literature. You wrote it under tremendous stress. Its very imperfections
show that. It is better than a mere rhyme. It is an Utterance--a
Message. It is Truth. You have come back to the primal heart of things,
and you have seen clearly. Yes, it is a great poem."

"Thank you," exclaimed Presley fervidly. "I had begun to mistrust
myself."

"Now," observed Vanamee, "I presume you will rush it into print. To have
formulated a great thought, simply to have accomplished, is not enough."

"I think I am sincere," objected Presley. "If it is good it will do good
to others. You said yourself it was a Message. If it has any value, I do
not think it would be right to keep it back from even a very small and
most indifferent public."

"Don't publish it in the magazines at all events," Vanamee answered.
"Your inspiration has come FROM the People. Then let it go straight TO
the People--not the literary readers of the monthly periodicals, the
rich, who would only be indirectly interested. If you must publish it,
let it be in the daily press. Don't interrupt. I know what you will say.
It will be that the daily press is common, is vulgar, is undignified;
and I tell you that such a poem as this of yours, called as it is, 'The
Toilers,' must be read BY the Toilers. It MUST BE common; it must be
vulgarised. You must not stand upon your dignity with the People, if you
are to reach them."

"That is true, I suppose," Presley admitted, "but I can't get rid of the
idea that it would be throwing my poem away. The great magazine gives me
such--a--background; gives me such weight."