We talked a good deal about the little Indian boy, and I got to love White Weasel long before he appeared in print as John Ermine.

The book came out after we had left New Rochelle--but I received a copy from him, and wrote him my opinion of it, which was one of unstinted praise.

But it did not surprise me to learn that he did not consider it a success from a financial point of view.
"You see," he said a year afterwards, "that sort of thing does not interest the public.

What they want,"-- here he began to mimic some funny old East Side person, and both hands gesticulating--"is a back yard and a cabbage patch and a cook stove and babies' clothes drying beside it, you see, Mattie," he said.

"They don't want to know anything about the Indian or the half-breed, or what he thinks or believes." And then he went off into one of his irresistible tirades combining ridicule and abuse of the reading public, in language such as only Frederic Remington could use before women and still retain his dignity.