arold Hersey."

"What of it?" he said, and turned to adjust a kerosene lamp. Then he
came forward and extended his hand. "I will not say I am glad to meet
you until I find out that I am."

"Your name?" I inquired.

"Dan Spain."

"That sounds like a nom de plume," I ventured.

"It is."

Feeling that there was nothing further that I could say, I pulled out my
pipe and seated myself before the fire.

Dan Spain settled into a chair nearby. "The fact that your name is
Harold Hersey means nothing to me," he remarked, "but as I presume that
you will spend the night here, I might be able to make it less
disagreeable for you if I knew your trade or occupation."

I have always been a little sensitive about revealing my profession to
strangers, because, unfortunately, some men do not regard it highly; so
I replied: "What would you judge me to be from my appearance?"

"A cigar salesman."

I hastened to controvert him. "Looks are deceiving," I said, "I am a
writer."

So I read him the following. There was a curious silence afterwards:

_When the limpid highbrows chatter
And their candlelights are low;
When their purple souls are bitter
From discussing thus and so,
And the Lucy Stoners twitter
In some frowsy studio;_

_When the fat-legged mantees mutter
And you see their eyeballs twitch;
When the parlor wobblies hover
Around the newly rich,
And the men of bread-and-butter
Get the "art-for-art's-sake" itch...._

_Then I don't regret the making
Of this idle verse of mine,
And my pickling by the Poohbahs
In their literary brine,
Nor the gesture of a Burdash
For not hewing to the line._

_My humor is the laughter
From life's tickled ribs. It's rough,
For it's written from the raw
Where I like to get my stuff,
And it ought to rise in letters:
Goodness knows it's light enough._

"It is nothing to be ashamed of," said Dan Spain, "I once worked in a
slaughter house."

"What books have you had published?" I asked after a time.

"None."

Having had a number of books published myself, I felt that I might be
of some service to this hermit scholar who had evidently not adjusted
himself to the practical exigencies of the publishing business. "It is
just possible," I suggested, "that my experiences and acquaintances
might enable me to help you get some of your work in print--that is, if
you would care to tell me what y