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You are cut-upping! I will not talk. Your conscience should hurt you!" "Not conscience, old fellow! The wages of conscience is ennui, and the gods know how I hate that. Give me your epigrams on delight and love, and the Princess of Azuria!" "Love! Bah!" Monsieur now stormed in disgust. "A mythical invention of diseased minds to explain away our follies!"
Tommy fidgeted, saying: "Have a care, gezabo, or you'll be sending us to the rock pile!" "My friend is cut-upping," Monsieur beamed on the official, but met with no more hearty response than the dry acquiescence: "I've no doubt of it. But suppose you tell me more of your other friend the counterfeiter!" "Friend? My friend?" Monsieur's face now became the picture of horror.
Give it like a good sport, and, we'll drink their health." "You are cut-upping," he gasped, staring with wide eyes that perceptibly narrowed as he glanced down at the pipes. "Call it what you please," Tommy imperturbably replied, though I knew that he was not at all sure of his ground, "but the Princess and Jack are going to be married, and I rather fancy I'm to be best man.
"There's nothing to be done, I reckon, but take him back to Key West. They've a pretty fair hospital there." Monsieur's face turned so livid and looked so weird in its frame of straw-colored hair that I began to think all the hospitals on earth could not save him. Sputtering, he appealed to me: "The truth, my boy Jack he is cut-upping?"
Yet he did call in another strangely sounding tongue, then with a sigh laid the megaphone down, saying: "They must be stuffies!" "Dummies, sir, dummies," Tommy corrected. "Nice people don't say stuffies, ever!" "Your Tommy does so much cut-upping, eh!" he smiled at me. I had noticed that when preoccupied or excited the idioms of his various languages got tumbled into a rather hopeless potpourri.
"But but," Monsieur began to sputter, when I threw an orange at Tommy, explaining to our agitated guest that he was a cut-up devoid of ideas, really an intellectual outcast. "Well," he cried, seeming to exude pleasure, "I will stay with you a while, eh? Maybe we can teach him something this cut-upping Tommy of yours!"
There was no hoax about this, no "cut-upping." "Our conversation was interrupted this morning," he said, in answer to my unspoken question. "There were things I wanted to talk about for instance, what'll we do when we catch up?" I had thought of this a hundred times without finding a very definite solution, as my fancies refused to reach beyond the moment I should stand face to face with Sylvia.
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