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'Longrush, she said with conviction, 'we must have Longrush. 'Isn't he rather tiresome? I suggested. 'He is tiresome, she agreed, 'but then he's so useful. He never lets the conversation drop." "Why is it?" asked the Minor Poet. "Why, when we meet together, must we chatter like a mob of sparrows? Why must every assembly to be successful sound like the parrot-house of a zoological garden?"

If forgetful for a moment as an Englishman may be excused for being whether it be summer or winter, one may assure oneself by waiting to see whether Longrush is enthusing over cricket or football. He is always up-to- date. The last new Shakespeare, the latest scandal, the man of the hour, the next nine days' wonder by the evening Longrush has his roller ready.

Each paragraph began with 'That. I wrote the column because I wanted the thirty shillings. Why anybody ever read it, I fail to understand to this day; but I believe it was one of the popular features of the paper. Longrush invariably brings back to my mind the dreary hours I spent penning that fatuous record." "I think I know the man you mean," said the Philosopher. "I had forgotten his name."

"There is a man I know," I said; "you may have met him, a man named Longrush. He is not exactly a bore. A bore expects you to listen to him. This man is apparently unaware whether you are listening to him or not. He is not a fool. A fool is occasionally amusing Longrush never. No subject comes amiss to him. Whatever the topic, he has something uninteresting to say about it.

The dishonest trustee of laughter, on the other hand, robbing the world of wit bestowed upon him for public purposes, becomes a brilliant conversationalist." "But," added the Minor Poet, turning to me, "you were speaking of a man named Longrush, a great talker." "A long talker," I corrected. "My cousin mentioned him third in her list of invitations.