"He's been on a hell of a high-class drunk, all up and down the coast, for the last week or so. Spilled some funny talk at a dinner, that got into print. But he put up such a heavy bluff of libel, afterward, that the papers shied off. Just the same, I believe they had it right, and that there was to have been a wedding-party on. Find the girl: that's the stunt now." "I don't think you're likely to find her around here." "Maybe not. But there's something. Holmesley has beaten it for the Far East. Sailed yesterday. But the story is still in this country, if the lady can be rounded up.... Well, I'm going to the village to make inquiries. Want to put me up again for the night if there's no train back?" "Sure thing! There isn't likely to be, either." Banneker felt greatly relieved at the easy turn given to the inquiry by the distorted tip. True, Gardner might, on his return, enter upon some more embarrassing line of inquiry; in which case the agent decided to take refuge in silence. But the reporter, when he came back late in the evening disheartened and disgusted with the fallibility of long-distance tips, declared himself sick of the whole business. "Let's talk about something else," he said, having lighted his pipe. "What else have you written besides the wreck stuff?" "Nothing," said Banneker. "Come off! That thing was never a first attempt." "Well, nothing except random things for my own amusement." "Pass 'em over." Banneker shook his head. "No; I've never shown them to anybody." "Oh, all right. If you're shy about it," responded the reporter good-humoredly. "But you must have thought of writing as a profession." "Vaguely, some day." "You don't talk much like a country station-agent. And you don't act like one. And, judging from this room"--he looked about at the well-filled book-shelves--"you don't look like one. Quite a library. Harvey Wheelwright! Lord! I might have known. Great stuff, isn't it?" "Do you think so?" "Do I think so! I think it's the damndest spew that ever got into print. But it sells; millions. It's the piety touch does it. The worst of it is that Wheelwright is a thoroughly decent chap and not onto himself a bit. Thinks he's a grand little booster for righteousness, sweetness and light, and all that. I had to interview him once. Oh, if I could just have written about him and his stuff as it really is!" "Why didn't you?" "Why, he's a popular literary hero out our way, and the biggest advertised author in the game. I'd look fine to the business office, knocking their fat graft, wouldn't I!" "I don't believe I understand." "No; you wouldn't. Never mind. You will if you ever get into the game. Hello! This is something different again. 'The Undying Voices.' Do you go in for poetry?" "I like to read it once in a while."