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"Here it is, Chief. No date, no who what when and where, but very litry. Very, very litry." The editor picked up my copy and I could not help but watch him anxiously for some sign of his reaction. It came forth promptly and explosively. "What the ingenious and delightfully painful hell is this, Gootes?" "'As Reported by Our Special Writer, Albert Weener, The Man Who Inoculated the Loony Grass."

"Veil," said T-S, patiently, "you know, I ain't vun o' dese litry fellers." "I'll tell it to you some time," I continued. "It's kind of funny. If he's right, you are going to be the first pope, and sit at the golden gate, holding the keys of heaven." "My Gawd!" said T-S. "And you've made a record in the movies." I added. "You've played Satan and St. Peter, both on the same day!

MORAL: Don't get acquainted too soon. Once there was a Litry Guy who would don his Undertaker's Regalia and the White Satin Puff Tie and go out of an Afternoon to read a Paper to the Wimmen. At every Tea Battle and Cookie Carnival he was hailed as the Big Hero. A good many pulsating Dulcineas who didn't know what "Iconoclast" meant, regarded him as an awful Iconoclast. And cynical? Mercy!

"No," said T-S, "I ain't vun o' dese litry fellers." But he realized that the story was not complimentary to him, and he showed his chagrin. "I tell you vun ting, Mr. Carpenter, if you vas to know me better, you vouldn't call me a devil." And suddenly the other put his hand on the great man's shoulder.

"To what am I indebted for the Honor of this Visit?" asked the Author. "I heard that you was a Litry Mug and I'm around here to see you about a Sketch for me and Miss Fromage. The one I've got now is all right, but in it I've got to eat 8 hard-boiled Eggs, and with 4 shows a Day that's askin' too much of any Artist.

Good seats down in the Observation Rows were not to be had except at the Hotel News Stand. The Litry Guy and the Music-Maker came out of the Rest Cure to learn that they had registered a Hit and could get their names in "Who's Who."

That is, he got soused on about three, and, while snooted, would deride Victor Herbert, thus proving that he was Brilliant, though Erratic. He had a trunkful of Tunes that were too scholarly for the Ikeys who publish Popular Trash. He fitted them on to the Libretto written by the Litry Guy. The Author said the Lines were the best he had ever heard, and the Composer said the Numbers were all Gems.