Now we’d better scram.”

“And remember, now. Stick to it. We never came down here and we haven’t seen you today,” said Bud. “So long!”

Buck and Bud ascended the steps, moving with a rather absurd degree of caution. “You’d better get that … that thing covered up,” Buck said over his shoulder.

Left alone, the Doctor sat down on an empty box, holding his head with both hands. He was still sitting like this when the porch door slammed again. This time he did not start. He listened. The house door opened and closed. A voice cried, “Yoo-hoo! Yoo-hoo! I’m back.”

The Doctor rose slowly to his feet. “I’m down here, Irene!” he called.

The cellar door opened. A young woman stood at the head of the steps. “Can you beat it?” she said. “I missed the damn train.”

“Oh!” said the Doctor. “Did you come back across the field?”

“Yes, like a fool,” she said. “I could have hitched a ride and caught the train up the line. Only I didn’t think. If you’d run me over to the junction, I could still make it.”

“Maybe,” said the Doctor. “Did you meet anyone coming back?”

“Not a soul,” she said. “Aren’t you finished with that old job yet?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to take it all up again,” said the Doctor. “Come down here, my dear, and I’11 show you.”

 

EVENING PRIMROSE

In a pad of Highlife Bond, bought by Miss Sadie Brodribb at Bracey’s for 25c

MARCH 21 Today I made my decision. I would turn my back for good and all upon the bourgeois world that hates a poet. I would leave, get out, break away—

And I have done it. I am free! Free as the mote that dances in the sunbeam! Free as a house-fly crossing first-class in the largest of luxury liners! Free as my verse! Free as the food I shall eat, the paper I write upon, the lamb’s-wool-lined softly slithering slippers I shall wear.

This morning I had not so much as a car-fare. Now I am here, on velvet. You are itching to learn of this haven; you would like to organize trips here, spoil it, send your relations-in-law, perhaps even come yourself. After all, this journal will hardly fall into your hands till I am dead. I’ll tell you.

I am at Bracey’s Giant Emporium, as happy as a mouse in the middle of an immense cheese, and the world shall know me no more.

Merrily, merrily shall I live now, secure behind a towering pile of carpets, in a corner-nook which I propose to line with eiderdowns, angora vestments, and the Cleopatraean tops in pillows. I shall be cosy.

I nipped into this sanctuary late this afternoon, and soon heard the dying footfalls of closing time. From now on, my only effort will be to dodge the night-watchman. Poets can dodge.

I have already made my first mouse-like exploration.