"Well, sir, you are more unchristian than I supposed--but go on! Some
day you'll write a poem, and I'll handle it without gloves. Don't
expect any mercy."

"When I write any of your versified stuff, called poetry, I give you
leave to handle it in any way you choose," said the Judge, as we may
call him, following the example of Mr. Roundjacket. "Poetry is a thing
for school-boys and bread and butter Misses, who fancy themselves in
love--not for men!"

Roundjacket groaned.

"There you are," he said, "with your heretical doctrines--doctrines
which are astonishing in a man of your sense. You prefer law to
poetry--divine poetry!" cried Roundjacket, flourishing his ruler.

"Roundjacket," said Mr. Rushton.

"Judge?"

"Don't be a ninny."

"No danger. I'm turning into a bear from association with you."

"A bear, sir?"

"Yes sir--a bear, sir!"

"Do you consider me a bear, do you?"