"Yes, I will! What does a poet want with a knowledge of the world, in the common, sordid sense? Let him keep his mind unsullied, and be an inspiration to others. When we were children, we used to keep birds in the nursery, in a very fine cage with golden bars, and we fed them with every bird delicacy we could find. They lived for a little time, and tried to sing, poor brave things! We threw away the cage in a fury, after finding one soft dead thing after another lying huddled up in a corner. No one shall cage Ronald, if I can prevent it! It's no use pretending to be cold-blooded and middle-aged, Jack, for I know you are with us at heart. This means every bit as much to Ron as your business troubles do to you." Jack drew in his breath with a wince of pain. "Well, what is it you wish me to do? I am afraid I have very little influence in the literary world, and I have always heard that introductions do more harm than good. An editor would soon ruin his paper if he accepted all the manuscripts pressed upon him by admiring relatives." "But you see I don't ask you for an introduction. It's just a piece of information I want, which I can't get for myself. You know the _Loadstar Magazine_?" "Certainly I do." "Well, the _Loadstar_ is--the _Loadstar_! The summit of Ron's ambition. It's the magazine of all others which he likes and admires, and the editor is known to be a man of great power and discernment. It is said that if he has the will, he can do more than any man in London to help on young writers. It is useless sending manuscripts, for he refuses to consider unsolicited poetical contributions. He shuts himself up in a fastness in Fleet Street, and the door thereof is guarded with dragons with lying tongues. I know! I have made it my business to inquire, but I feel convinced that if he once gave Ron a fair reading, he would acknowledge his gifts. There is no hope of approaching him direct, but I intend to get hold of him all the same." Jack Martin looked up at that, his thin face twitching into a smile. "You little baggage! and you expect me to help you. I must hear some more about this before I involve myself any further. What mischief are you up to now?" "Dear Jack, what can I do; a little girl like me?" cried Miss Margot, mightily meek all of a sudden, as she realised that she had ventured a step too far. "I wouldn't for the whole world get you into trouble. It's just a little, simple thing that I want you to find out from some one in the office." "I don't know any one in the office." "But you could find out some one who did? For instance, you know that Mr Oliver who illustrates? I've seen his things in the _Loadstar_. You could ask him in a casual, off-hand manner without ever mentioning our name." "What could I ask him?" "Such a nice, simple little question! Just the name of the place where the editor proposes to spend this summer holiday, and the date on which he will start."