"Know him? Know Vance Weston?" they heard Bunty Hayes ring out in megaphone tones. "Why, I should say so. Ever since he was a little kiddie. Why, him and me were raised together, way down on the Hudson River, as the old song says. Born out West?" (This is evident response to the comment of one of his auditors.) "That's so—Illinois, I guess it was, or maybe Arizona. But he came east as a little fellow, to live with his mother's relatives—don't I remember the day he arrived? Why, I met him when he stepped off the train. Even then you could see the little genius in him. 'Bunty,' he says to me, 'where's the public library?" (First thing!). I want to consult the Encyclopaedia Britannica,' he says. Couldn't ha' been more'n sixteen, I guess—thinking of his writing even then! Well, I was on a newspaper in those days myself, and I walked him right round to the office, and I said: "What you want to study isn't encyclopaedias, it's Life.' And I guess, if I do say so, that was the turning point in his career; and I claim it was my advice and help that landed him where he is today: at the head of the world's fiction writers, and in the place of honour at 'Storecraft's' first art exhibit. Proud of it? Well, I guess I've got a right to be… ."

He swung suddenly round, mustering the crowd with an eye trained to the estimation of numbers; and his glance met Vance's. The latter expected to see signs of discomfiture on the orator's compact countenance; but he did not yet know Bunty Hayes. The showman's eye instantly lit up, and he elbowed his way toward Vance with extended hand.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, I see it's time for me to pack up my goods and step down off the platform. Here's the great man himself. Now, then, Mr. Weston, step up here and give your admirers the chance to compare the living features with the artist's inspiration!"