it? But you may call me that, since we're to be friends."

"Then you do like it outside your shell."

"It's exhilarating. But I suppose I should find it too rough for my
highly sensitized skin in the long run.... Are you going to write to me
if I write to you?"

"What about? That Number Six came in making bad steam, and that a
west-bound freight, running extra, was held up on the siding at Marchand
for half a day?"

"Is that all you have to write about?"

Banneker bethought himself of the very private dossier in his office.
"No; it isn't."

"You _could_ write in a way all your own. Have you ever written anything
for publication?"

"No. That is--well--I don't really know." He told her about Gardner and
the description of the wreck.

"How did you happen to do that?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, I write a lot of things and put them away and forget them."

"Show me," she wheedled. "I'd love to see them."

He shook his head. "They wouldn't interest you." The words were those of