things the way he does. I'm glad his spooks told him where you could
find me. If you'll give me his address, some day I'll go up there,
myself, and shake his hand."

Presently Thomas moved tentatively in his seat, and thoughtfully felt an
abrasion or two on his knees and his elbows.

"Say, Annie," said he confidentially, maybe it's one of the last dreams
of booze, but I've a kind of a recollection of riding in an automobile
with a swell guy that took me to a house full of eagles and arc lights.
He fed me on biscuits and hot air, and then kicked me down the front
steps. If it was the _d t's_, why am I so sore?"

"Shut up, you fool," said Annie.

"If I could find that funny guy's house," said Thomas, in conclusion,
"I'd go up there some day and punch his nose for him."





VI

THE POET AND THE PEASANT


The other day a poet friend of mine, who has lived in close communion
with nature all his life, wrote a poem and took it to an editor.