"Fancy living in Kentucky without knowing about the first and greatest of our pioneers! He was a daft old creature--an innocent, as the kind phrase goes--who used to wander away from the settlement where he lived into the wilderness, scattering apple seeds. All over this Ohio Valley he journeyed, sowing his orchards for the benefit of those who were to follow. The Indians let him pass, the wild animals did not harm him; only his friends locked him up whenever they could catch him, because it seemed such a silly thing to do. Friends are that way ... Years later, when the pioneers fought their way at last over the mountains to stay, they found here and there apple-trees blossoming and fruiting in the great, lonely wilderness; and wherever that happened their wives made them build cabins and settle down, for of all things that grow an apple-tree most suggests home. So mad old Johnny Appleseed was the founder of many cities." "And yet there is no monument to him!" "Except the cities...." Here a young man appeared to claim Joan for the next dance--the blond young man with whom she had commenced her dancing career, and who had formed quite a habit of looking for her whenever the music played. She rose with reluctance. "I wish _you'd_ come in and dance with me," she said to her new friend. "I'm sure you could!" "I'm sure I could, too," he replied, "if I hadn't my body with me. As it is, I'll just sit out here and make believe I'm dancing with you--In a starlit glade. With the other young nymphs and dryads..." the whimsical voice followed her. The blond young man stared. "Of all the assorted nuts!" he remarked, when they were out of earshot. "Yes--but who is he?" demanded Joan eagerly. "Something on the stock exchange. I see him there every day." "The stock exchange!" "Yes. Oh, he writes poems and things for the papers, too, I think. Quite a literary guy." He mentioned the name. It is a name known and remembered wherever there are moonrises and fireflies, smoke against the sunset, apple-trees in bloom--all the everyday lovely things people forget to see unless there are poets to remind them... It gave Joan quite a new zest in living to realize that at any moment, even at Country Clubs, it is possible to run across a poet. CHAPTER IX