A more recent story that secures its chief interest from character portrayal is Mr. Arthur Russell Taylor's _Mr. Squem_. Mr. Squem is a traveling man who sells Mercury rubber tires. He wears clothes that arrest attention--broad striped affairs that seemed stripes before they were clothes; his talk is profusely interlarded with vulgar but picturesque slang; he is far removed from the academy. Brought into direct contrast with the Reverend Allan Dare and Professor William Emory Browne, his crudity is the more grossly apparent. It is later enhanced by the glimpse we get of his room--'extremely dennish, smitingly red as to walls, oppressive with plush upholstery. A huge deerhead, jutting from over the mantel, divided honors with a highly-colored September Morn, affrontingly framed. On a shelf stood a small bottle. It contained a finger of Mr. Squem, amputated years before, in alcohol.' But in the midst of a railroad wreck, we lose all thought of these banalities and crudities; we take Mr. Squem for what he really is--a genuine, large-hearted, efficient minister unto his fellow men. The impression he creates dominates the entire situation. Of the classic stories which admirably illustrate this method of securing a unity of impression through concentrated character interest, we like to revert to Bret Harte's _Tennessee's Partner_. It is of small moment that we do not know this man's name--of small moment indeed that he seems, throughout his mining career at Sandy Bar, to have been content to have his personality dimmed by the somewhat more luminous aura of Tennessee. But when Tennessee's repeated offences bring him to trial before Judge Lynch, and finally to his doom on the ominous tree at the top of Morley's Hill, Tennessee's partner comes suddenly upon the scene and overpoweringly dominates the situation. We close our reading of the story completely impressed by the devoted loyalty of Tennessee's partner--the loyalty that creates the unified impression. And this same unity of impression thus secured in _The Clearest Voice_, _The Wealth of Timmy Zimmerman_, _Mr. Squem_, and _Tennessee's Partner_ by concentrated interest in character, is easily discernible, in scores of other stories. The method is artistically employed by Hawthorne in _The Great Stone Face_, in Maxim Gorky's _Tchelkache_, Turgenef's _A Lear of the Steppes_, J. M. Barrie's _Cree Queery_ and _Myra Drolby_, Thomas Nelson Page's _Marse Chan_, Henry James's _The Real Thing_, Joseph Conrad's _The Informer_, and such well-known Atlantic stories as Anna Fuller's _The Boy_, Esther Tiffany's _Anna Mareea_, Florence Gilmore's _Little Brother_, Ellen Mackubin's _Rosita_, Charles Dobie's _The Failure_, Clarkson Crane's _Snipe_, and Christina Krysto's _Babanchik_. Indeed the list is well-nigh inexhaustible, and is constantly being increased by the many gifted writers who, enriching our current literature, see in personal character the germ of story-interest.