while at The Players, Brett, the head of Macmillans, came up
to me and said, "Why don't you let me take over your _Main Traveled
Roads_, _Prairie Folks_, and _Rose of Dutcher's Coolly_? I will do this
provided you will write two new books for me, one to be called _Boy Life
on the Prairie_ and the other a Klondike book based on your experiences
in the North."

This offer cleared my sky. It not only gave direction to my pen--it
roused my hopes of having a home of my own, for Brett's offer involved
the advance of several thousand dollars in royalty. I began to think of
marriage in a more definite way. My case was not so hopeless after all.
Perhaps Zulime Taft----

Taking a room on Twenty-fifth street I set to work with eager intensity
to get these five books in shape for the Macmillan press, and in two
weeks I had carefully revised _Rose_ and was hard at work on the record
of my story of the Northwest which I called _The Trail of the Gold
Seekers_. I was done with "milling." I was headed straight for a home.

In calling upon Howells soon after my arrival I referred to our last
meeting wherein I had lightly remarked (putting my finger on the map),
"I shall go in here at Quesnelle and come out there, on the Stickeen,"
and said, "I am now able to report. I did it. In spite of all the
chances for failure I carried out my program."

He asked about the dangers I had undergone, and I replied by saying, "A
trailer meets his dangers and difficulties one by one. In the mass they
are appalling but singly they are surmountable. We took each mile as it
came."

"What do you intend to do with your experiences?" he asked.

"I don't know, but I _think_ they will take the form of a chronicle, a
kind of diary, wherein each chapter will be called a camp. Camp One,
Camp Two, and the like."

"That sounds original and promising," he said, and with his
encouragement I set to work.

Israel Zangwill was often in the city and we met frequently during
January and February. I recall taking him to see Howells whom he greatly
admired but had never met. They made a singularly interesting contrast
of East and West. Howells was serious, almost sad for some reason,
unassuming, self-unconscious and yet masterly in every word. Zangwill on
the contrary overflowed with humor, emitting a shower of epigrams
concerning America and the things he liked and disliked, and soon had
Howells smiling with pleased interest.

As we were leaving the house Zangwil