hopeless together. However, I'm no judge. Five minutes of
concentration on their present problems fuddles my brain beyond the
point of intelligent logic.

"I must warn you that O'Neill senior is roving Heaven-knows-where in
search of your uncle's farm. Knowing him fairly well I am convinced
that he'll rove most of the way in a Pullman, though he distinctly said
not. He hopes to find at your farm a letter from your brother that
will furnish a clue. Whereupon, I take it, he'll rove forth again to
seek his son and patch up a regular ballyhoo of a quarrel that almost
disrupted the Holbein Club. You see, everybody insisted upon taking
both sides, with terrifying results.

"I pray Heaven that O'Neill senior may not find O'Neill junior, but
from now on I shall have a nervous conviction of the pair of them
quarreling all over the state of Pennsylvania. In view of a certain
sentimental indiscretion of mine in permitting O'Neill to read his
son's letter to me and find the postmark, I feel guilty and
apprehensive.

"Your brother, I should say, is just a little safer with Brian than he
would be anywhere else in the confines of the universe.

"I enclose a newspaper article on Kennicott O'Neill, written just after
he had acquired one of the medals that fly up at him wherever he goes.
It's fairly accurate.

"Sincerely,

"Garry Rittenhouse."