"I'm paying for the goods, not for gobbling, you infernal old turkey!
Come out with the facts!"

"Facts is that the whole thing is completely gooly-washed up," stated
Mr. Orne, with an oracle's decisiveness.

But that declaration in Mr. Orne's political terminology did not convey
much information to the candidate. Britt, thoroughly incensed by what
seemed to be evasion, leaped up, twitched the toothpick from Orne's
lips, and flung it away. "I've paid for the English language, and I want
it straight and in short words, and not trigged by a toothpick."

"All right! You're licked before you start."

It was a bit too straight from the shoulder--that piece of news! Britt
blinked as if he had received a blow between the eyes. He sat down and
stared at Orne, elbows on the arms of the chair, hands limply hanging
from lax wrists.

"It's this way!" Mr. Orne started, briskly, with upraised forefinger;
but he shook his head and put down his hand. He turned away. "I forgot.
You ordered plain facts."

"You hold on!" Britt thundered. "How do you dare to tell me that you can
go out and in fifteen minutes come back with information of that sort?"

Mr. Orne glanced reproachfully from his detractor to the clock; he had
not the same reasons as Mr. Britt had for finding the hours of the day
fleeting. "Mr. Britt, a man doesn't need to make a hoss of himself and
eat a whole head of cabbage by way of sampling it." Britt winced at the