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I stared at him curiously. He was smoking a cigarette and watching me
with shrewd, observant eyes. He was a blond, blue-eyed, cherubic youth,
with a whimsical mouth that seemed to alternate between seriousness and
fun.

He laughed merrily at my look of dismay.

"Oh, you think it's a josh, but it's not. I've been a 'ghost' ever since
I could push a pen. You know Will Wilderbush, the famous novelist? Well,
Bill died six years ago from over-assiduous cultivation of John
Barleycorn, and they hushed it up. But every year there's a new novel
comes from his pen. It's 'ghosts.' I was Bill number three. Isn't it
rummy?"

I expressed my surprise.

"Yes, it's a great joke this book-faking. Wouldn't Thackeray have
lambasted the best sellers? A fancy picture of a girl on the cover,
something doing all the time, and a happy ending--that's the recipe. Or
else be as voluptuous as velvet. Wait till my novel, 'Three Minutes,'
comes out. Order in advance."

"Indeed I will," I said.

He suddenly became grave.

"If I only could take the literary game seriously I might make good. But
I'm too much of a 'farceur.' Well, one day we'll see. Maybe the North
will inspire me. Maybe I'll yet become the Spokesman of the Frozen
Silence, the Avatar of the Great White Land."

He strutted up and down, inflating his chest.

"Have you framed up any dope lately?" asked the Prodigal.

"Why, yes; only this morning, while I was eating my beans and bacon, I
dashed off a few lines. I always write best when I'm eating. Want to
hear them?"

He drew from his pocket an old envelope.

"They were written to the order of Stillwater Willie. He wants to
present them to one of the Labelle Sisters. You know--that fat lymphatic
blonde, Birdie Labelle. It is short and sweet. He wants to have it
engraved on a gold-backed hand-mirror he's giving her.

"I see within my true love's eyes
The wide blue spaces of the skies;
I see within my true love's face
The rose and lily vie in grace;
I hear within my true love's voice
The songsters of the Spring rejoice.
Oh, why need I seek Nature's charms--
I hold my true love in my arms.

"How'll that hit her? There's such a lot of natural beauty about
Birdie."

"Do you get much work?" I asked.

"No, it's dull. Poetry's rather a drug on the market up here. It's just