During the while she had been away that day who should Harold meet but the head poet of the limerick class from the school of poetry and they had been to have a quick one together. Falling into talk as men will they had begun to exchange the latest tales, some not too nice, and indeed most of what Harold had brought with him from the lower world but he thought that the limerick poet would not mind as poets always like low life. He had told him a couple of good ones, and as it happened they were both about sport. “I thought something was up” moaned the unhappy man, “for he gave me a very funny look. And as we were to come out, as we stood with our toothpicks on the step, he made a fishy excuse to pop off for a minute. When he came back he said there was a man he would like me to meet, so we went in the new car. It was a house out of Oxford St., which I thought strange, still as I was having a sigar I thought perhaps it was that made me a bit nervy. Imagine my woe when we entered and I then found myself alone and defenseless with ... what do you think?” “Lie down dear Harold and dont get excited” Selia said altho she was all agogg herself. “What was it? Cardsharpers?” “Oh, no” sighed he, “it was the smell that told me almost before I was within, like floor-polish and cough-drops mixed and a bit of gin thrown in for sport. No, it was a doctors, one of the costly kind with carpets on the floor and carving instruments in glass cases.” “A doctor!” screamed Selia. “Have you then an ilness?” And she rapidly mopped odor cologne on to his brow cuasing him to sneze which eased him. “Well it is a kind of ilness but very odd and you will not catch it” he said. “And I think it was a trick tho’ meant well by the limerick-poet as you will see.” “How so?” said Selia very bold for she would have tore his enemys in half. “Well to cut a long story short, I have got a kind of hidden passion which is nawing at my heart, and that is why I cannot write any more poems.” “What did the Doctor do to you” urged she eager to get to the point and hear the worst, “did he operate?” “No he was very kind” said Harold propping himself up a bit against his pillows “and it took me a long while to get the hang of it all. He told me I have been under a strane and feared I was ill and wished to ask me a few questions. Said he leaning back and making cats cradles on his pink fingers, “have you anything on your mind?” So of course says I, “No.” At that he shot me a serpentine glance. “Now my good man” said he “just let your mind ease out and answer me at random.” “As I was feeling a bit mad I thought it best to humor him as I feared otherwise I might give him a smartish tap for you know what I am when roused.” “Bat” said he to me, simple like. “Ball” said I to humour him. “Out” says he cunning.