I told about his sea-chest better than I have told it here, but the Abbot's eyes didn't bulge. Presently, however, he began to grow that way.... His Saturdays and Sabbaths now are spent, not in Morningside Heights, but down among the shipping and across the harbour, where the big world tramps hang out. You will see these things in his letters. I have several of his yarns here, but I am not going to run any of them in this book. They are good yarns, but too intrinsically big yet for the handling of a boy of seventeen. He has too much calibre for his brain so far to carry ten thousand words to superb consummation. I want to spring a big tale presently. I have a lapful of his random letters from days spent down on the water front, and nights under the study lamp: DEAR OLD WASP: Morning mists over the lake, the _Pelee_ coming up out of them. Just had a night with John and a corking good run of work. We've been watching the sun go down from Lynster's[15] back lately, and breathing the planetary heave under the stars, with the milky way dipping to the lake before us. This inland place is heavy to take. The weight of agriculture is like a blanket over all. It takes three or four pages to bore up through the cuticle. Me for a get-away to the world soon--to feed up on the hum of feet and voices and cars.... Blackbirds are beginning to blacken the mornings and nights again; touch of Fall and Pine-smoke this morning. Real itchings in the ankles--to you! A wonderful synthesis for us all when we meet up again.... I'd like to roam the world with John. He is a grand pal. Could joke over an oven made out of a tomato-can, as well as eat from a banquet table.... [15] The saddle horse. A day or two later: ... Black forces strong around Stonestudy last night.... About eight-thirty I rode over on Lynt, to sleep with John. Decided to have a debauch with tea. While I worked on, he gathered the cups and tea and electric tea-kettle together and got things going. He called for me to come and make the tea. He was seated in the big chair with a tableleaf in front of him, and on that was the tea-kettle, boiling.... One leg slipped, and the whole boiling collection went in his lap.... A prince, the way he stood it. The bunch was just coming back from town. Penel' rushed over, and the next was a turmoil right, cries, olive oil, lint, rags, confusion of voices and footsteps--too many people and the little guy sort o' lost his control--but it all came back again. Almost any minute I am looking for the laugh from him. All night I was with him. Penelope, the finished heroine as always. One could see the shades of pain pass over John's face time and again. His nerves jump--but his mouth and eyes are certainly getting a grand hue of steel.... Yours right along. Another: