characterizes that book of his--that deft little dip into
degeneracy--something about a frozen wedding! Oh, slush! Percy,
pass the cigarettes!"

"There must be a certain class of people who read that kind of
criticism," Bunch said.

"That windy stuff Stale hands out is supposed to be criticism,
Bunch, but it isn't--it's typewritten egotism."

"Yes, but it's useless for you to go after him, John; he'll only
hand you another javelin."

"Well, the next time that dub throws the gaff into me I'll know he
has a reason for it. Hereafter, every time he bats an eye in my
direction it's me for a swift get-back, I'll tell you those!"

"You should bear the ills of the flesh with Christian fortitude,"
grinned Bunch.

"Nix," I said. "I'm tired holding up something fat for a mutt like
that to paddle with a slapstick!"




CHAPTER IV.

JOHN HENRY GETS A SHOCK.