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Updated: May 14, 2025
They carried a huge hose, and in ten seconds a six-inch stream of cold water was being poured upon the bewildered psychic tipplers. Quimbleton and Bleak, seizing the girl's helpless form, escaped by a door at the back of the platform. "Heaven help us," cried Bleak, distraught. "What shall we do? This means the firing squad unless we can escape." Theodolinda feebly opened her eyes.
From his pocket he took a card and laid it on the desk. Bleak seized it. 1316 Caraway Street Virgil Quimbleton, Associate Director He stared at the pasteboard, stupefied, and handed it to the city editor. Meanwhile the three reporters had drawn near.
Bleak peeped cautiously through a leafy screen, and then beckoned the girl to his side. They looked down into a warm sandy hollow, overgrown and sheltered by a large rhododendron with knotted branches and dry, shiny leaves. Curled up on the sand bank, in the unconsciously pathetic posture of sheer exhaustion, lay Quimbleton, asleep. A droning snore buzzed heavily from where he lay.
This terribly ingenious machine, which had just been invented by the pan-antis, records the vibrations of any alcoholic breath within five miles, and indicates on a sensitive dial the exact direction and distance of the breath. It was only too evident that the search for Quimbleton was going forward with fierce system.
"I've shaved off my mustache. I'm Jerry Purplevein. When I was turned down in that election I thought this would be the next best thing. As a matter of fact, it's better. I don't really care for the stuff; I just like to see it around. Miss Absinthe felt the same way. She's head stewardess up to the Hostess House." "It seems to me I used to see you somewhere in New York," said Quimbleton.
To abolish, prohibit, banish, and remove, at one swoop, the chief preoccupation of mankind! The simple and high-minded felicity of still having something prohibitable subject to your omnipotent legislation! But there, I dare say I am wrong. Probably you are weary of prohibiting things." Quimbleton made a motion to his companions as though to leave the room.
This unpleasant gesture caused a tingle to pass along Bleak's sensitive spine, already strained to painful nervous tension. The office of the Perpetual Souse hung in the balance. "Look here," said Bishop Chuff, "If I let you have your way about the the Permanent Exhibit, will you tell me what it is I have forgotten to prohibit?" "With pleasure," said Quimbleton.
He had never permitted himself the luxury of making enemies: except for a few ex-reporters who had once worked on the Balloon he had not a foe in the world. Quimbleton had been eager to import a covey of gunmen from other cities, but when these arrived there was really nothing for them to do.
Bleak, the children and the horse at a quiet soda-fountain in the suburbs. After repeated application over the wireless telephone, the terrible Bishop the Prohibishop, as Quimbleton called him had agreed to grant them an audience, and had accorded them safe-conduct through the chuff troops. Even so, their progress was difficult.
Bleak with distinct asperity, "is to become of me and the children if Mr. Bleak is elected to this preposterous office?" "I was coming to that," said Quimbleton eagerly.
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