"Dear Garry:

"The purpose of this letter is primarily a favor. Therefore without
pretense I'll have done with it at once. You'll find in the studio a
scrapbook of clippings which represent my ebullitions in print.
Whitaker wants them, I believe, for purposes of conference. It will
save him running through his files.

"I've been on the road for weeks, tramping myself into blessed
weariness at night. More often than not I sleep in the open. I'm
writing this with the aid of a pocket searchlight. Mine host, old
Gaffer Moon, smiles down upon the ashes of my camp fire, full-faced and
silver. An excellent host! Never once has he grumbled about light or
pay and he grants me a roof without question. Ah! it's a blessed old
Tavern of Stars, Garry! Ramshackle enough in all faith, for there are
gaps in the tree-walls and Dame Wind's a-sweeping night and day, but
luckily I've a blanket I carry by day and need by night.

"I've a road-mate. I think in time he'll be my friend, though he isn't
yet. And thereby hangs a tale.

"I camped to-night in a wood by a river and turned in early, feeling
tired. Voices drifted hazily into my slumber after a while and I awoke
to find the moon riding high above the wood. My fire was out, my room
in the Tavern of Stars still carpeted in shadow. Beyond in the
moonlight two people had halted, a boy who was denouncing someone in a
hard and bitter voice and, clinging to his arm, a girl in a cloak, whom
I judged to be his sister. Her eyes were like pools of ink and tragic
with imploring, Laughter would have made her lovely. As it was, with