nd do you know what he said to me just now, _me_?
He told me he wanted me to work in Camp One next winter, Thorpe's One.
And he told me I was the first man he ever hired straight into One."

His breath caught with something like a sob.

I had heard of the man and of his methods. I knew he had made it a
practice of recruiting for his prize camp only from the employees of his
other camps, that, as Jimmy said, he never "hired straight into One." I
had heard, too, of his reputation among his own and other woodsmen. But
this was the first time I had ever come into personal contact with his
influence. It impressed me the more in that I had come to know Jimmy
Powers and his kind.

"You deserve it, every bit," said I. "I'm not going to call you a hero,
because that would make you tired. What you did this afternoon showed
nerve. It was a brave act. But it was a better act because your rescued
your enemy, because you forgot everything but your common humanity when
danger----"

I broke off. Jimmy was again looking at me with his ironically quizzical
grin.

"Bub," said he, "if you're going to hang any stars of Bethlehem on my
Christmas tree, just call a halt right here. I didn't rescue that
scalawag because I had any Christian sentiments, nary bit. I was just
naturally savin' him for the birling match next Fourther July."

STEWART EDWARD WHITE

There are some authors whom we think of as bookmen; there are others
whom we think of as men first, and as writers secondarily. Lowell, for
example was a bookman; Roosevelt was a man of action who wrote books.
Stewart Edward White, far more of a literary artist than Roosevelt,
gives like him the impression of a man who has done things, of one who
lives a full life, and produces books as a sort of by-product: very
valuable, but not the chief end of existence.

Mr. White was born in a small town near Grand Rapids, Michigan, March
12, 1873. His parents had their own ideas about bringing up children.
Instead of sending him to school they sent for a teacher to instruct
him, they encouraged him to read, they took him traveling, not only to
cities but to the silent places, the great forests, and to the lumber
camps. He spent four years in California, and became a good horseman,
making many trips in the saddle to the picturesque old ranches. When
finally, he entered high school, at sixteen, he went in with boys of his
own age, and graduated at eighteen, president of his class. And w