ut nothing
ever happened to him. His trips were invariably on glassy seas. He
traveled by himself--he hadn't even one chum whom he cared to have share
his joys; and though he penetrated the jungles of Africa at one time,
the lions remained mysteriously in hiding, and the jaguars didn't even
growl.

I remember that this came out one night at a dinner party he and I went
to at the home of a friend of mine. A Captain Diehart was there--a most
delightful man of fifty or so, who had just returned from a trip around
the world; and he fascinated us all by his lively recounting of certain
dramatic happenings in the Far East. Zulus had captured him once, and he
had come perilously close to death on so many occasions that it was a
miracle that he should be sitting here now, sipping his champagne and
smoking his cigarette.

On the way home--I had a habit of seeing Shelby to his doorstep during
this period--he turned to me and said:

"Isn't it strange, Allison, that nothing of that kind has ever happened
to me? I move about all the while, I look eagerly for excitement, I hope
always for the supreme adventure--and I never find it. Yet I love
romance. Why does it never come to me?"

I was silent for a few paces. I felt so sorry for him. For once he had
told me what was in his heart.

"You're in love with love," I said finally. "That's what's the matter
with your work, Shelby, if you'll let me say so. I wonder if you have
really loved a woman--or a friend, even? If the great thing should come
into your life, wouldn't it illuminate your whole literary expression?
Wouldn't you write eighty per cent better. Wouldn't everything you do be
sharpened splendidly alive? Why don't you meet--Miss Davis?"

"My God, man!" he let out. "Won't you allow me to keep at least one
dream?"

He tried to be tragic right there in the street; but I read him like a
book.

"Don't be an ass, old fellow. You're not a poet, you know--you're a
happy dabbler in prose; but you've got to wake up--you've got to have
some vital experience before you can hope to reach the top. This
vicarious loving isn't worth a tin whistle. You're like a soldier in the
barracks compared to one who's in the thick of the fight. Wake up, shake
yourself, get out of your shell, and see how much greater you'll be!"

He didn't like that. He never liked the truth. How few of us do!

The next thing I knew he was off for Japan, and he sent me pretty
post-cards of geisha-girls, and tr