ink of a story
dealing with the effect of a dream on the life of a man?--I have in mind
a tale to be called _The Shadow of a Dream_, or something like that,
wherein a man is to be influenced in some decided way by the memory of a
vision, a ghostly figure which is to pursue him and have some share in
the final catastrophe, whatever it may turn out to be. What would you
think of such a plot?"

Filled with surprise at his trust and confidence, I managed to stammer a
judgment. "It would depend entirely upon the treatment," I answered.
"The theme is a little like Hawthorne, but I can understand how, under
your hand, it would not be in the least like Hawthorne."

His assent was instant. "You think it not quite like me? You are right.
It does sound a little lurid. I may never write it, but if I do, you
may be sure it will be treated in my own way and not in Hawthorne's
way."

Stubbornly I persisted. "There are plenty who can do the weird kind of
thing, Mr. Howells, but there is only one man who can write books like
_A Modern Instance_ and _Silas Lapham_."

All that the novelist said, as well as his manner of saying it was
wonderfully enriching to me. To have such a man, one whose fame was even
at this time international, desire an expression of my opinion as to the
fitness of his chosen theme, was like feeling on my shoulder the touch
of a kingly accolade.

I went away, exalted. My apprenticeship seemed over! To America's chief
literary man I was a fellow-writer, a critic, and with this recognition
the current of my ambition shifted course. I began to hope that I, too,
might some day become a social historian as well as a teacher of
literature. The reformer was still present, but the literary man had
been reinforced, and yet, even here, I had chosen the unpopular,
unprofitable side!

Thereafter the gentle courtesy, the tact, the exquisite, yet simple
English of this man was my education. Every hour of his delicious humor,
his wise advice, his ready sympathy sent me away in mingled exaltation
and despair--despair of my own blunt and common diction, exaltation over
his continued interest and friendship.

How I must have bored that sweet and gracious soul! He could not escape
me. If he moved to Belmont I pursued him. If he went to Nahant or
Magnolia or Kittery I spent my money like water in order to follow him
up and bother him about my work, or worry him into a public acceptance
of the single tax, and yet every word he