Jerry flung the gloves into their locker. "Fade!" he said wearily. "Fade!" "Huh?" "Beat it!" "Huh?" Much pastry seemed to have clouded the boy's mind. "Run away." "Don't want to run away." The annoyed pugilist sat down and scrutinised his visitor critically. "You never do anything you don't want to, I guess?" "No," said Ogden simply. "You've got a funny nose," he added dispassionately. "What did you do to it to make it like that?" Mr. Mitchell shifted restlessly on his chair. He was not a vain man, but he was a little sensitive about that particular item in his make-up. "Lizzie says it's the funniest nose she ever saw. She says it's something out of a comic supplement." A dull flush, such as five minutes with the bag had been unable to produce, appeared on Jerry Mitchell's peculiar countenance. It was not that he looked on Lizzie Murphy, herself no Lillian Russell, as an accepted authority on the subject of facial beauty; but he was aware that in this instance she spoke not without reason, and he was vexed, moreover, as many another had been before him, by the note of indulgent patronage in Ogden's voice. His fingers twitched a little eagerly, and he looked sullenly at his tactless junior. "Get out!" "Huh?" "Get outa here!" "Don't want to get out of here," said Ogden with finality. He put his hand in his trouser-pocket and pulled out a sticky mass which looked as if it might once have been a cream-puff or a meringue. He swallowed it contentedly. "I'd forgotten I had that," he explained. "Mary gave it to me on the stairs. Mary thinks you've a funny nose, too," he proceeded, as one relating agreeable gossip. "Can it! Can it!" exclaimed the exasperated pugilist. "I'm only telling you what I heard her say."