send someone down here to
give me money, you damned philanthropist.... Connor ain't the real name,
so there. When I die (soon) they'll find Third Avenue written on my
heart, if I still have one...."

It is interesting to recall that the MS. of his poems "Pavements, and
Other Verses" was bought by a private collector for $250 last winter.

Will not some literary agent think over this idea?

A MORNING IN MARATHON

One violet throbbing star was climbing in the southeast at half-past
four, and the whole flat plain was rich with golden moonlight. Early
rising in order to quicken the furnace and start the matinsong in the
steampipes becomes its own reward when such an orange moon is dropping
down the sky. Even Peg (our most volatile Irish terrier) was plainly
awed by the blaze of pale light, and hopped gingerly down the rimy back
steps. But the cat was unabashed. Cats are born by moonlight and are
leagued with the powers of darkness and mystery. And so Nicholas Vachel
Lindsay (he is named for the daring poet of Illinois) stepped into the
moonshine without a qualm.

There are certain little routine joys known only to the servantless
suburbanite. Every morning the baker leaves a bag of crisp French rolls
on the front porch. Every morning the milkman deposits his little
bottles of milk and cream on the back steps. Every morning the furnace
needs a little grooming, that the cheery thump of rising pressure may
warm the radiators upstairs. Then the big agate kettle must be set over
the blue gas flame, for hot water is needed both for shaving and cocoa.
Our light breakfast takes only a moment to prepare. By the time the Nut
Brown Maid comes singing downstairs, cocoa, rolls, and boiled eggs are
ready in the sunny little dining room, and the Tamperer is bathed and
shaved and telephoning to Central for "the exact time." The 8:13 train
waits for no man, and it is nearly a mile to the station.

But the morning I think of was not a routine morning. On routine
mornings the Tamperer rises at ten minutes to seven, the alarm clock
being set for 6:45: which allows five minutes for drowsy head. The day
in question was early February when snow lay white and powdery on the
ground, and the 6 o'clock train from Marathon had to be caught. There is
an express for Philadelphia that leaves the Pennsylvania Station at 7:30
and this the Tamperer had to take, to make a 10 o'clock appointment in
the Quaker City. That was why the alarm clock r