such a high flier.

_L.E._ You may well say so. In the first place he discards all the old
artistic formulæ.

_P.E._ I know; you write a solid slab of purple prose, scissor it into a
jig-saw puzzle, serve it with a dazzle dressing and call it the New Poetry.

_L.E._ Have your joke, if you will. But, more important still, Applecart is
a rebel against humanity and all its fetishes, social, ethical and
political.

_P.E. (startled)._ A Bolshie, I suppose you mean?

_L.E._ The artist is proof against all these vulgar terms of abuse, culled
from the hustings. Call him a Pussyfoot as well; you cannot shake him from
his pinnacle.

_P.E._ Yes, but look here--he's just the sort of pernicious agitator we're
out against in _The Crisis_--at least in my department. My special article
this morning--three thickly-leaded columns--actually revealed the existence
of a most insidious plot to undermine the restraining influence of the
House of Lords by the spread of Bolshevik propaganda masquerading as
literature. You see, there's a certain section of the Lords, mainly new
creations who've only recently been released from various employments, who
now for the first time in their lives have leisure for reading; then
there's the spread of education among the sporting Peers. Well, these
people are ready to succumb to all sorts of poisonous doctrines, if they're
served up in what I presume to be the fashionable mode of the moment; and I
expect your precious Applecart is one of the Bolsh agents who are laying