those who care for him most has always been at issue." Although Stevenson could not fail to make use of his great knowledge of Dumas for his own ends, being a man of originality in talent, we seem to find traces of the great Frenchman here, there, and everywhere in his admirer's stories—subtle effects, twists of the plot, picturesque situations, chivalric touches, gusts of breezy freshness—all Stevenson, and yet instinctively familiar to the lover of Dumas.
To our master of narrative, those literary adornments of which nowadays we are so disproportionately proud were not entirely lacking. He possessed in supreme degree a third quality—wit. It was this which rendered his dialogue "brilliant" and unapproachable"—dialogue "of which the quantity would be the most remarkable point, if its quality were not equally remarkable." Echoing Professor Saintsbury, Brander Matthews adds, "dialogue such as none but Dumas could write.... He was witty without effort and without end." This gift, as we have seen, made the quadroon the king of Paris and the most delightful companion, the causeur par excellence in print; it made comedy-writing easy to him, and the telling of short stories a delight to reader and writer.
But the companion quality of wit, which is yet so rarely found in conjunction with it, was Dumas's
