about the beginning of December, 1915, I was sitting by the
open fire in Hempstead, Long Island, a comparatively inoffensive young
man, reading the new edition of Flecker's "The Golden Journey to
Samarkand" issued that October by Martin Secker in London. Mr. Secker,
like many other wise publishers, inserts in the back of his books the
titles of other volumes issued by him. Little did I think, as I turned
to look over Mr. Secker's announcements, that a train of events was
about to begin which would render me, during the succeeding twelve
months, a monomaniac in the eyes of my associates; so much so that when
I was blessed with a son and heir just a year later I received a
telegram signed by a dozen of them: "_Congratulations. Name him
Casuals_!"

It was in that list of Mr. Secker's titles for the winter of 1915-16
that my eyes first rested, with a premonitory lust, upon the
not-to-be-forgotten words.

MCFEE, WILLIAM: CASUALS OF THE SEA.

Who could fail to be stirred by so brave a title? At once I wrote for a
copy.

My pocket memorandum book for Sunday, January 9, 1916, contains this
note:

"Finished reading _Casuals of the Sea_, a good book. H---- still laid up
with bad ankle. In the P.M. we sat and read Bible aloud to Celia before
the open fire."

My first impressions of "_Casuals of the Sea_, a good book" are
interwoven with memories of Celia, a pious Polish serving maid from Pike
County, Pennsylvania, who could only be kept in the house by nightly
readings of another Good Book. She was horribly homesick (that was her
first voyage away from home) and in spite of persistent Bible readings
she fled after two weeks, back to her home in Parker's Glen, Pa. She was
our first servant, and we had prepared a beautiful room in the attic for
her. However, that has nothing to do with Mr. McFee.

_Casuals of the Sea_ is a novel whose sale of ten thousand copies in
America is more important as a forecast of literary weather than many a
popular distribution of a quarter million. Be it known by these presents
that there are at least ten thousand librivora in this country who
regard literature not merely as an emulsion. This remarkable novel, the
seven years' study of a busy engineer occupied with boiler inspections,
indicator cards and other responsibilities of the Lord of Below, was the
first really public appearance of a pen that will henceforth be listened
to with respect.

Mr. McFee had written two books before "Casual