him the human jelly-fish."

Emma McChesney was regarding her son with a little puzzled frown.
Suddenly she reached out and tapped the topmost of the scribbled
sheets strewn the length of Jock's side of the table.

"What's all this?"

Jock tipped back his chair and surveyed the clutter before him.

"That," said he, "is what is known on the stage as 'the papers.'
And it's the real plot of this piece."

"M-m-m--I thought so. Just favor me with a scenario, will you?"

Half-grinning, half-serious, Jock stuck his thumbs in the armholes
of his waistcoat, and began.

"Scene: Offices of the Berg, Shriner Advertising Company. Time,
the present. Characters: Jock McChesney, handsome, daring,
brilliant--"

"Suppose you--er--skip the characters, however fascinating, and
get to the action."

Jock McChesney brought the tipped chair down on all-fours with a
thud, and stood up. The grin was gone. He was as serious as he had
been in the midst of his tirade of five minutes before.

"All right. Here it is. And don't blame me if it sounds like cheap