Huneker

The last phrase reminds me of the way my old friend James Huneker used to date his letters to me from Brooklyn.

I was a clerk in a book store—the retail department, it happened, of the house which publishes Mr. Huneker's books.

Mr. Huneker's close friends have taken occasion since his death to speak warmly of his kindness toward obscure, struggling talent.

Through my connection with the matter of "Casuals" I suppose it was that a correspondence came about between Mr. Huneker and me.

It wasn't "Bookman stuff" at all, all about a couple of "old rounders," as Mr. Huneker called them, taking a stroll.