.. I have paid you a higher compliment
than merely giving you credit ... instead, I have incorporated your
verse into the very body of our thought and life."
His effrontery struck me silent. I told him sadly that I must now go
away.
"Nonsense," he replied, "this is as good a place in which to develop
your poetic genius as any place in the world. I may say, better. Here
you will find congenial environment, ready appreciation .. come, let us
walk a little further," and we turned aside from the steps of the dining
room and struck down the main street of the town.
"I mean bigger things for you, Razorre, than you can guess.... I will
make you the Eos Poet--look at Gresham, he is the Eos Artist, and, as
such, his fame is continent-wide ... just as yours will become ... and I
will bring out a book of your poetry ... and advertise it in _The
Dawn_."
His eloquence on art and life, genius and literature, had enthralled and
placated me ... his personal wheedling irritated and angered.
"A book of my poems ... without my name on the title page, perhaps," I
cried, impassioned, looking him deep in the eyes. He shifted his glance
from me--
* * * * *
I threw my few belongings together.
Everybody, in saying good-bye, gave me a warm hand-clasp of friendship
(excepting Pfeiler), including Spalton, who assured me--
"Razorre, you'll be back again .
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