"Well, it would be in a great cause," he grinned. "Got to help dear old Roumania!" And humming a musical-comedy tune, he left me. But I am still conscious of a dread lest Fred, in some moment of irresistible magnificence, should commit poor little Salmon and Byrd to the devil or the deep. *CHAPTER IX* To-day is a red-letter day for me. The red letter came from Dibdin. As a matter of fact his brief scrawl in the peculiar, heavy, unadorned script which I love is written on the minutely ruled paper and in the violet ink of the Hotel de France at Papeete. But it was so delightfully cheering to see his dear old fist again—almost like seeing the man himself. The sheet is dated more than two months ago, and postmarked San Francisco six days ago. I wonder what brute intrusted with mailing it has carried it about in his pocket. Without a word of preamble it begins in Dibdin’s abrupt manner. "I’ve got you on my mind. How are the kids prospering—and you, old bookworm? I’ve picked up something for you even out here—a first edition of Balzac’s ’Père Goriot’, somewhat fly-blown and the worse for wear, but intact all the same. I won’t intrust it to the mails. I’ll bring it to you. "I am enclosing a check for a thousand dollars. Now don’t be an idiot, however difficult that may prove. I know all you can say, and believe me it isn’t worth a damn. Use it in some way for the kids and make me feel happy out here among the wrecks and loafers of white humanity. I wish you could come out here some day and see to what creatures that once were white men will stoop just to avoid a little work. However, that’s by the way. I count on you to do as I ask or you’ll make me sore. "The blessed old tub I came out in sails for Suva in three days. And from Suva I go to the Marquesas. You’ll hear from me again before long. If you want to take a chance and write me, the Hotel de France, Papeete, is still the best address I can offer you. Yours, Dibdin." That was all—after months of waiting. I wish the old fellow enjoyed writing letters a little more than he seems to. Nevertheless I was delighted. The irrepressible tramp! He speaks of the Marquesas as if they were around the corner. As to his check, my first impulse was to destroy it immediately. I shall keep it, however, as a memento of Dibdin’s absurd generosity of spirit. It would have to be some desperate need that would ever compel me to use it. Dibdin little dreams of Salmon and Byrd. I called in the children to show them the letter. And though they were less excited about it than I was, they seemed delighted at the fact that after a day in the office I should appear gay and cheerful instead of weary and careworn. Care is the badge of incomplete lives. And what I needed was a letter from Dibdin.