"Where," I asked, tucking my treasure under my pillow, "did you get it?"

"It came in the morning mail," he answered.

I looked at him searchingly.

"There is," I ventured, "some mystery about this Lyric Hour."

Father laughed, and fished once more in his pockets.

"Here is the letter which came with it," he said.

I opened the envelope, which bore the name of father's publisher and good friend, and read:

 New York City June 18th

New York City

Dear Carroll:

I'm sending you your delayed proofs, and by way of apology and distraction, the volume of verse which has created such a sensation in literary and critical circles—those two kingdoms which occasionally overlap—but are not always completely allied. I feel certain that you and 10 Mavis will enjoy Richard Warren. Old and sedate as I have grown with the years, I must confess that he has made my pulses quicken and my heart take on something of its youth again.

10

With warmest remembrances to you both,

 Faithfully yours, John Denton 

John Denton

I gave the letter back to father.

"It must be some book!" I remarked with awe, if slangily.

Father raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

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