Annan nodded: "He works hard enough for it."

"He works all the time," grumbled Burleson, "but, does he work _hard_?"

"A cat scrambling in a molasses barrel works hard," observed Ogilvy--"if
you see any merit in that, John."

Burleson reared his huge frame and his symmetrical features became more
bovine than ever:

"What the devil has a cat in a molasses barrel to do with the subject?"
he demanded.

Annan laughed: "Poor old honest, literal John," he said, lazily.
"Listen; from my back window in the country, yesterday, I observed one
of my hens scratching her ear with her foot. How would you like to be
able to accomplish that, John?"

"I wouldn't like it at all!" roared Burleson in serious disapproval.

"That's because you're a sculptor and a Unitarian," said Annan, gravely.

"My God!" shouted Burleson, "what's that got to do with a hen scratching
herself!"

Ogilvy was too weak with laughter to continue the favourite pastime of
"touching up John"; and Burleson who, under provocation, never exhibited
any emotion except impatient wonder at the foolishness of others,
emptied his claret bottle with unruffled confidence in his own