Utterly repeated his account of the finding of Basil Everman's stories and his estimate of his genius. He expressed in even more realistic phrase his admiration for the insight of the younger generation of writers. He said that modern literature was finding material in thieves, drunkards, in what had hitherto been considered bottomless pits. Even Keats had said that truth was beauty. He recounted with witty embroidery how he had asked the brakeman and the conductor and the person whom he called "mine host" about Basil Everman and how none of them could tell him anything. "But the little tavern gave the whole thing away. The heroine of 'Bitter Bread' takes refuge in just such a place; there is the identical worn doorstep and the fly-blown bottles and the print over the bar which pictures exactly her own arrival. There, at least, Basil Everman must have been long enough to have a photographic impression printed on his sensitive brain." Dr. Lister's hands, lying upon the arms of his chair, straightened themselves as though, using them as a fulcrum, he meant to rise with a mighty spring. The tavern was not a place for Mary Alcestis's brother to be connected with! But he looked at Mrs. Lister and sat still. Her face was a little whiter, but it was unruffled. Now that he had been so unwise as to let her see this creature, the interview had better be conducted as she chose. "Then I went to the house of the Professor of English and he knew nothing. If it hadn't been for the tavern, I should have despaired entirely. Will you"--Utterly, looking at Mrs. Lister decided that so Victorian a person could not possibly understand or appreciate her brother. "Will you tell me about Basil Everman? Will you not tell me everything?" Mrs. Lister began in a smooth voice as though she were reciting a well-conned lesson. Not a quiver betrayed her spinning world. "Basil was born here in this house. My father was president of the college before Dr. Lister. Basil was his only son and I his only daughter. He had no other children. Basil was only twenty-five years old when he died. He died of diphtheria." Mrs. Lister had evidently concluded. "In Baltimore," she added as though that put a period to her sentence. "Yes?" said Utterly. Mary Alcestis smiled a meaningless little smile and said nothing. "That isn't all, Mrs. Lister!" cried Utterly. "Yes." "Oh, but Mrs. Lister!" Utterly was delighted to see that suddenly her eyes burned and her hands twitched. "What was he like? Do you remember him distinctly? What did he look like?" "_Remember him!_" said Mrs. Lister's heart. "_Remember Basil!_" Aloud she said steadily and clearly, "He was quite tall and slender. He had black hair, curly hair. His eyes were large and bright." "You have photographs of him, of course?"