nd delight the heart of Tom Sawyer
himself; and how his mother used to sigh and add to it all, "If only he
had _ever_ come home on time to his meals!" (And he has one son just
like him. Carl's brothers tell me: "Just give up trying to get Jim home
on time. Mamma tried every scheme a human could devise to make Carl
prompt for his meals, but nothing ever had the slightest effect. Half an
hour past dinner-time he'd still be five miles from home.")

One article that recently appeared in a New York paper began:--

"They say of him that when he was a small boy he displayed the same
tendencies that later on made him great in his chosen field. His family
possessed a distinct tendency toward conformity and respectability, but
Carl was a companion of every 'alley-bum' in Vacaville. His respectable
friends never won him away from his insatiable interest in the
under-dog. They now know it makes valid his claim to achievement."

After the British Columbia mining days, he took what money he had saved,
and left for Idaho, where he was to meet his chum, Hal Bradley, for his
first Idaho trip--a dream of theirs for years. The Idaho stories he
could tell--oh, why can I not remember them word for word? I have seen
him hold a roomful of students in Berlin absolutely spellbound over
those adventures--with a bit of Parker coloring, to be sure, which no
one ever objected to. I have seen him with a group of staid faculty folk
sitting breathless at his Clearwater yarns; and how he loved to tell
those tales! Three and a half months he and Hal were in--hunting,
fishing, jerking meat, trailing after lost horses, having his dreams of
Idaho come true. (If our sons fail to have those dreams!)

When Hal returned to college, the _Wanderlust_ was still too strong in
Carl; so he stopped off in Spokane, Washington, penniless, to try
pot-luck. There were more tales to delight a gathering. In Spokane he
took a hand at reporting, claiming to be a person of large experience,
since only those of large experience were desired by the editor of the
"Spokesman Review." He was given sport, society, and the tenderloin to
cover, at nine dollars a week. As he never could go anywhere without
making folks love him, it was not long before he had his cronies among
the "sports," kind souls "in society" who took him in, and at least one
strong, loyal friend,--who called him "Bub," and gave him much
excellent advice that he often used to refer to,--who was the owner of
the