Melbourne, when he broke in upon Dick and me, a sunburnt wild man from
out the Australian bush. It seems he'd been making original researches
in anthropology, or folk-lore-ology, or something like that. Dick had
known him years before in Paris, and Dick assured him, if he ever
drifted back to America, of food and shelter. So here he is."

"And the poet?" Graham asked, glad that she must still talk for a
while, enabling him to study the quick dazzlement of smile that played
upon her face.

"Oh, Theo--Theodore Malken, though we call him Leo. He won't work,
either. His people are old Californian stock and dreadfully wealthy;
but they disowned him and he disowned them when he was fifteen. They
say he is lunatic, and he says they are merely maddening. He really
writes some remarkable verse... when he does write; but he prefers to
dream and live in the jungle with Terrence and Aaron. He was tutoring
immigrant Jews in San Francisco, when Terrence and Aaron rescued him,
or captured him, I don't know which. He's been with us two years now,
and he's actually filling out, despite the facts that Dick is absurdly
generous in furnishing supplies and that they'd rather talk and read
and dream than cook. The only good meals they get is when they descend
upon us, like to-night."

"And the Hindoo, there--who's he?"

"That's Dar Hyal. He's their guest. The three of them invited him up,
just as Aaron first invited Terrence, and as Aaron and Terrence
invited Leo. Dick says, in time, three more are bound to appear, and
then he'll have his Seven Sages of the Madroño Grove. Their jungle
camp is in a madroño grove, you know. It's a most beautiful spot, with