"I coped somehow," he answered sturdily. "Later he learned--after I squeezed him on the liver a few times just to show him how--to switch to a lovely shade of ochre, which was delightful on pale green or pink paper. Why, what's the matter, Judy?" "Go on," she choked. "Go go go!" He beamed. "I write my letters with him too. Every day I wrote with him, first in red, and then in ochre to give him a rest. He seemed to love to write more than to sketch. He would jump into my hand with tail happily pointed downward as I sat down to my writing desk. And when I later saw his dark green stripes turning pastel and knew that anemia was imminent, and started to lay him down for a earned rest, he would stiffen himself as if to say, 'Oh, come, come! I'm good for half a page yet!'" "It sounds as though he was a willing worker, but I still can't see why his malfunction makes our marriage impossible." "I haven't gotten to his career as a novelist yet. There lies the heart of the tragedy." "Please proceed to the heart of the tragedy." * * * * * "It all began when I found him arched up one morning, writing by himself--with difficulty, it is true. His first message to the world was, '_I hold that the supine viewpoint is seldom downward!_'" "I don't see how he could stand up on end to write for very long, even with such a magnificent philosophy to bolster him." "What a terrible pun," Jean groaned. "He couldn't stand up very long at first. But I saw he had talent. I gladly learned the skill of holding him upright in a relaxed manner so that he could express himself on paper. In no time at all, he had written what was to be his first, sensational, best-selling shocker, _Naked Bellies in the Grass_." "That does sound sensational." "Not for snakes. He neglected to mention his characters were snakes. _I Fang You Very Much_ followed swiftly afterward and was just as successful. Mothers were amused with its lispy title and got it for the children." "Sounds like a story with some meat in it." "Yes! Something you can get your teeth into. However, his next offering, _A Snake Pit Full of Love_, was by far the topper. It was banned in Boston." "You haven't mentioned anything tragic so far," she observed. "In fact, you have made a pot of money." "Right. After my snake had filed his income tax returns, we still had enough money to purchase this house and to support us for a couple of years. The only trouble is, his royalties have stopped coming in and that money is all used up. I still haven't been able to sell any of my landscape paintings. So we haven't any income, and that's why you and I can't marry for a long time yet--if ever!" Her exquisite brows wrinkled with concentration. "I don't understand. Has Droozle written himself out?" "Far from it," answered Jean, seating himself and parking Droozle on his knee. "He's writing more than ever." "The quality is gone, then?" Jean shook his head. "No, he's writing superlatively."