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Updated: May 14, 2025
Purplevein, who was rather a decent sort, hastened to Bleak's hotel to offer his congratulations. Bleak, who was sitting quietly with Mrs. Bleak, Quimbleton and Theodolinda, greeted him calmly. Poor Purplevein was very much broken up, and Quimbleton and Theodolinda, in the goodness of their hearts, arranged a quiet little seance for his benefit.
You've alienated her from her father, and reduced my husband from managing editor of a leading paper to managing jew's-harpist of a gang of psychic bootleggers." She burst into angry tears. Quimbleton groaned, and turned a ghastly fade upon Bleak. "It's quite true," he said. In the excitement Miss Chuff had turned very pale. "Virgil," she said faintly, "I believe I feel a trance coming on."
Quimbleton saw the excursionists, a thousand or so, hastening through the park on foot and in huge sight-seeing cars where men with megaphones were roaring comments. One group of pedestrians bore a large banner lettered EGG NOG MEMORIAL ASSOCIATION OF CAMDEN, N. J. "Poor Mr. Bleak!" said Theodolinda. "On top of all that Scotch!"
This morning they began to seize people who THINK about drinking. Any one who is guilty of thinking, in an affirmative way, about liquor, is to be interned in the Federal Home for a course in mental healing." "But how can they tell?" asked Bleak, nervously. "I don't know," said Quimbleton.
Bleak began to entertain a new respect for this common flower of which he had been unduly inappreciative. Although the trellis screened them from observation, Quimbleton seemed ill at ease. He kept an alert gaze roving about him, and spoke only in whispers.
Monkbones of Caraway Street is the same as Virgil Quimbleton of the Happiness Corporation, my life wouldn't be worth well, a glass of gooseberry brandy. Speaking of that, Have a little of the dandelion wine." He pointed to the decanter. Bleak poured himself a glass, and watched his host carefully resume the hoary wig and whiskers.
Quimbleton glided gently downward, intending to skim low over the treetops so that his bride might enjoy the rich loveliness of the view. Suddenly the great plane dipped sharply, tilted, and very nearly fell into a side-slip. Quimbleton was just able to pull her up again and climbed steeply to a safer altitude. He looked at his dashboard dials and indicators with a puzzled face.
Bleak," said Quimbleton, as he hoisted his betrothed into the saddle and the pilgrims began to move, "I know of a great deal of good old Kentucky stock that has had a far worse fate than that in these tragic years." Through the sullen streets of the terrorized city Miss Chuff, Quimbleton and Bleak proceeded toward the great building where the Pan-Antis had their headquarters. They had left Mrs.
"Give it a name," "Set 'em up again," "Here's luck," and such archaic phrases were faintly audible. Miss Chuff kept her gaze fastened on the empty tumbler. Suddenly her rigid pose relaxed. She drooped forward in her chair, with her head sunk and hands limp. Tenderly and reverently Quimbleton bent over her. Then, his face shining with triumph, he spoke to the hushed watchers.
"We can't go on like this indefinitely," continued Bleak. "I don't mind being a mountebank, but mountebanks don't pay much interest. I'd rather be a safe deposit somewhere out of Chuff's reach. There's too much drama in this way of living." "I can stand the drama as long as I get the drams," said the unrepentant Quimbleton. "Well, I won't stand it!" exclaimed Mrs. Bleak, shrilly.
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