sville, Wisconsin, I took the manuscript with
me, intending to do the final work of revision on the train.

All went well on the journey, the lecture had been given with no special
tokens of disapproval on part of the audience, and I was on board the
early morning train that leaves for Chicago. And as my mind is usually
fairly clear in the early hours, I began work retouching the good
manuscript. We were nearing Beloit when I bethought me to go into the
Buffet-Car for a moment.

When I returned the manuscript was not to be seen. I looked in various
seats, and under the seats, asked my neighbors, inquired of the
brakeman, and then hunted up the porter and asked him if he had seen my
manuscript. He did not at first understand what I meant by the term
"manuscript," but finally inquired if I referred to a pile of dirty,
dog-eared sheets of paper, all marked up and down and over and
crisscross, ev'ry-which-way.

I assured him that he understood the case.

He then informed me that he had "chucked the stuff," that is to say, he
had tossed it out of the window, as he was cleaning up his car, just as
he always did before reaching Chicago.

I made a frantic reach for the bell-cord, but was restrained. A
sympathetic passenger came forward and explained that five miles back he
had seen the sheets of my precious manuscript sailing across the
prairie. We were going at the rate of a mile a minute and the wind was
blowing fiercely, so there was really no need of backing up the train to
regain the lost goods.

"I hope dem scribbled papers was no 'count, boss!" said the porter
humbly, as I stood sort of dazed, gazing into vacancy.

I shook myself into partial sanity. "Oh, they were of no value--I was
looking for them so as to throw them out of the window myself," I
answered.

"Brush?" said he.

"Yes," said I.

I placed the expected quarter in his dusky palm, still pondering on what
I should do.

To reproduce the matter was impossible, for I have no verbal
memory--something must be written, though. I decided to leave Chicago in
an hour by the Lake Shore Railroad, and have the copy ready for the
Roycroft boys when I reached home.

This I did, and as I had no reference-books, maps or memoranda to guide
me, the matter seems to lack synthesis. I say seems to lack--but it
really doesn't, for the facts will all be found to be as stated. Still
the form may be said to be slightly colored by the environment, so some
explanation is