"And for the third?" queried the Poet.

"Don't have a third," said the Idiot. "A third is always
superfluous--but if you must have it, make up some kind of a vaudeville
show and stick it in between the first and second."

"Tush!" said the Bibliomaniac. "That would make a gay comic opera."

"Of course it would, Mr. Bib," the Idiot agreed. "And that's what we
want. If there's anything in this world that I hate more than another
it is a sombre comic opera. I've been to a lot of 'em, and I give you my
word of honor that next to a funeral a comic opera that lacks gaiety is
one of the most depressing functions known to modern science. Some of
'em are enough to make an undertaker weep with jealous rage. I went to
one of 'em last week called 'The Skylark' with an old chum of mine, who
is a surgeon. You can imagine what sort of a thing it was when I tell
you that after the first act he suggested we leave the theater and come
back here and have some fun cutting my leg off. He vowed that if he ever
went to another opera by the same people he'd take ether beforehand."

"I shouldn't think that would be necessary," sneered the Bibliomaniac.
"If it was as bad as all that why didn't it put you to sleep?"

"It did," said the Idiot. "But the music kept waking us up again. There
was no escape from it except that of actual physical flight."

"Well--about this collaboration of ours," suggested the Poet. "What do
you think we should do first?"

"Write an opening chorus, of course," said the Idiot. "What did you