that Mr. Holliday's first book was that
volume "Booth Tarkington," one of the liveliest and soundest critical
memoirs it has been our fortune to enjoy.

Like all denizens of Indianapolis--"Tarkingtonapolis," Mr. Holliday
calls it--our subject will discourse at considerable volume of his youth
in that high-spirited city. His recollections, both sacred and profane,
are, however, not in our present channel. After a reputable schooling
young Robert proceeded to New York in 1899 to study art at the Art
Students' League, and later became a pupil of Twachtman. The present
commentator is not in a position to say how severely either art or Mr.
Holliday suffered in the mutual embrace. I have seen some of his black
and white posters which seemed to me robust and considerably lively. At
any rate, Mr. Holliday exhibited drawings on Fifth avenue and had
illustrative work published by _Scribner's Magazine_. He did commercial
designs and comic pictures for juvenile readers. At this time he lived
in a rural community of artists in Connecticut, and did his own cooking.
Also, he is proud of having lived in a garret on Broome street. This
phase of his career is not to be slurred over, for it is a clue to much
of his later work. His writing often displays the keen eye of the
painter, and his familiarity with the technique of pencil and brush has
much enriched his capacity to see and to make his reader see with him.
Such essays as "Going to Art Exhibitions," and the one-third dedication
of "Walking-Stick Papers" to Royal Cortissoz are due to his interest in
the world as pictures.

While we think of it, then, let us put down our first memorandum upon
the art of Mr. Holliday:

First Memo--Mr. Holliday's stuff is distilled from life!

CHAPTER III

(IN WHICH OUR HERO DARTS OFF AT A TANGENT)

It is not said why our hero abandoned bristol board and india ink, and
it is no duty of this inquirendo to offer surmise. The fact is that he
disappeared from Broome street, and after the appropriate interval might
have been observed (odd as it seems) on the campus of the University of
Kansas. This vault into the petals of the sunflower seems so quaint that
I once attempted to find out from Mr. Holliday just when it was that he
attended courses at that institution. He frankly said that he could not
remember. Now he has no memory at all for dates, I will vouch; yet it
seems odd (I say) that he did not even remember the numerals of the
class in