From the Desk of T. Allen McQuary

This is the book I was supposed to write some fifty years ago after I completed my renowned trip around the world. Stories about me were reported in every pig-town paper from California to New York and even England and Australia, if you can believe that. You'd be surprised at the number of people who swallowed the whole bamboozle—hook, line, sinker, and bamboo pole, too. Of course, there were doubting Thomases, newspapermen mostly and a reporter who sold his soul to the funny papers to expose me. Among the skeptics, I would also include fathers with young daughters. And that's fair: I've always had a weakness for young daughters.

Some headlines called my journey "The Quest of the Century" and "The Most Romantic Adventure of Our Time." Some of them quoted the title of a pamphlet I sold after my lectures: T. Allen McQuary's Own Story of His Trip Around the World for an Arkansaw Girl and Five Thousand Dollars. My partner Michael Glenn—he usually went by "M.S."—wrote the pamphlet; he also managed my itinerary and wrote articles he sent out to newspapers.

Here's an advertisement Glenn wrote for "my book." I'll type it out for you, so it's easier to read.

T. ALLEN McQUARY'S OWN STORY OF HIS TRIP AROUND THE WORLD FOR

"An Arkansaw Girl"
and Five Thousand Dollars.

Having successfully completed his task starting penniless and honorably earning his expenses over 28,000 miles of land and water Mr. Mc-Quary now tells, for the first time the full story of his varied experiences on the entire trip, as well as all the facts of interest heretofore kept private; also tells how it all ended when he returned to America and visited the old Arkansas plantation again, where he first met the little girl for whom he afterwards virtually STAKED HIS LIFE AND HIS REPUTATION. And all to what end? Read his fascinating story and learn.

"MOST REMARKABLE BOOK OF THE CENTURY."

"The Sensation of the Age"—Rev. H.C. Patterson. Richmond, Ind.
"Outranks all Fiction In Point of Romance"—London Daily News.
"It Has Captivated the Whole World by Its Uniqueness"—Liverpool Post.
"Most Remarkable Adventure in Real Life Ever Known"—Echo de Paris.
"By Far the Most Fascinating Romance of the Age."—Berlin Daily Abenpost.
"An Interesting Story, Full of Romance and Adventure"—California World.

It tells of a young man who fell in love, and of the adventures that befell him. How he went to Arkansas for his health and found his fate; how when the father objected the young man declared he would do anything to win the daughter: how the father took him at his word and drew up a contract compelling him to ride round the world dressed as a knight of the sixteenth century to win his bride; how he rode to Charleston, S. C., embarked for Cuba to obtain the signature of Gomez; how he came back to New Orleans, stowed away aboard an English merchant vessel; how the captain punished him; arrival in Yokohama, Japan, after many adventures; how he worked in a Japanese printing office to earn his passage home; how he arrived at Seattle and rode horseback again across the country, to complete his contract and claim his bride. Kansas City Star, Nov.

First Edition of 10,000 Copies Already Exhausted!

Second Edition will consist of 100,000 copies, and will be supplied direct to purchasers, by mail only, at 50 Cents Per Copy, Postpaid, until the entire edition is exhausted, after which the book will be sold only on subscription, at the Regular Price $1.50 per copy. Address all communications to MICHAEL S. GLENN, Publisher, Mountain Grove, Mo.

If you'd like to see the original ad, so you know I'm not lying, go to the Historical Notes section.

Some newspapers refused to run the ad. They said I had been "discredited," but that's not true. I wasn't "discredited" until I married Maggie and admitted the whole thing was a ruse.

By the way, I asked Glenn why he spelled Arkansas with a "w," and he said that "colloquialisms and idioms of speech" would give our story "homespun credibility," and "homespun credibility" would be necessary to sell our book. He said, and I quote, "The slightest taint of sophistication would give the game away. That's the first principle of good business." Which I thought was a somewhat sophisticated thing for him to say.

Glenn looked like a toad in a cheap suit, but he was a good writer. It's always been easier for me to talk than to write, and I told him that. From the very beginning, I told him that. But Glenn wouldn't listen. The simple truth is, I never promised him I would write a book. Never. But I liked speaking to crowds because of the girls.

But that was then, this is now.

Soon after World War I—thank God, I was too old to be drafted—Naomi and I moved to Galena, Missouri, where my father had bought a resort on the James River, and for thirty years, we have lived a tedious existence of respectability. Like a faithful dog, a beagle, say, or a Pomeranian, I've followed Naomi to luncheons and bridge clubs. I even taught Sunday School at the First Christian Church. For most of those years, my occupation was bookbinding, and you can still see my handiwork in the bound records of the county courthouse if you care to look. Two years ago, I was appointed the postmaster here in Galena. And along the way, I would occasionally get invited to speak about my trip around the world. The girls don't pay attention to me like they did when I was young, but that's true for all of us, am I right? When I speak, I always take along my "book of proofs," a scrapbook full of photos, mementos, and articles that I clipped from newspapers.

All the articles I put in this book came from my scrapbook.

Here's one I clipped just four days ago. The hostess of the event, Vertrude, is my sister, and if you read the list of names, you'll see I was in attendance.

Please believe me when I tell you that I don't make a practice of going to the Ladies Aid meetings at the Christian Church. I don't know what's most annoying—their prattling pieties or their ridiculous hats. But I had resolved to do what I am going to do, and I was feeling lousy for Naomi, Vetrude, and Genevieve—she's my daughter—so I went. Even though my stomach was sour, I sat on the edge of a sofa with a small plate of half-eaten cake on my knee and leaned forward in feigned attention. When Naomi finished reading the lesson, I applauded with feigned fervor and then excused myself with my usual line, "Death and the US government wait for no man." When I got back to the post office, Nanalea had shuttered the lobby window and was crying at her desk.

I walked in, and she said, "Damn you, Mack. I have five children and no man. Who's gonna take care of them?"

"What happened?"

"The inspector from Jefferson City was here. He asked to see you. He also gave me this." I unfolded the paper and saw it was a summons. The inspector was like a goddamned rat crawling over everything and looking for something to eat.

Nanalea said, "You told me we wouldn't get caught."

"Looks like I was wrong." What else could I say?

"You son of a bitch."

Yep, I'm a son of a bitch all right.

So, how did I end up here, in Galena, Missouri, with Nanalea Barnhardt crying and calling me a son of a bitch?

It's good I started this book back in '47 because tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, I'm finishing the goddamned thing.