ntly building up a reasonably secure market
for them. In the meantime the moving-picture scenario market had
developed, and he wrote for it. His eyes were also turning toward the
stage, as one completed manuscript and several "starts" turned over to
me after his death proved. One day some one who knew him and me quite
well assured me that L----, having sent out many excellent stories only
to have them returned, had one day cried and then raged, cursing America
for its attitude toward serious letters--an excellent sign, I thought,
good medicine for one who must eventually forsake his hope of material
grandeur and find himself. "In time, in time," I said, "he will eat
through the husks of these other things, the 'M---- complex,' and do
something splendid. He can't help it. But this fantastic dream of
grandeur, of being a popular success, will have to be lived down."

For a time now I heard but little more save once that he was connected
with a moving-picture concern, suggesting plots and making some money.
Then I saw a second series of essays in the same Western critical
paper--that of the editor who had published his book--and some of them
were excellent, very searching and sincere. I felt that he was moving
along the right line, although they earned him nothing. Then one week,
very much to my surprise, there was a very glowing and extended
commentary on myself, concerning which for the time being I decided to
make no comment; and a little later, perhaps three weeks, a telephone
call. Did I recall him? (!) Could he come and see me? (!) I invited him
to dinner, and he came, carrying, of all things--and for him, the
ex-railroad boy--a great armful of red roses. This touched me.

"What's the idea?" I inquired jovially, laughing at him.

He blushed like a girl, a little irritably too, I thought, for he found
me (as perhaps he had hoped not to) examining and critical, and he may
have felt that I was laughing at him, which I wasn't. "I wished to give
them to you, and I brought 'em. Why shouldn't I?"

"You know you should bring them if you want me to have them, and I'm
only too glad to get them, anyway. Don't think I'm criticizing."

He smiled and began at once on the "old days," as he now called them, a
sad commentary on our drifting days. Indeed he seemed able to talk of
little else or fast enough or with too much enthusiasm. He went over
many things and people--M----; K----, the wonderful art-director, now
insane and a w