Gud realized that purchasing these words was probably illegal in this world. But it wasn't his world, so he said: "I should like to look at them." The Critic led Gud into the rear room of a perfectly respectable place and opened up his wallet. Here, in a secluded corner, he emptied the contents upon a table. Gud began fingering over the verbal gems. "Look at this," the Critic cried, picking up a brilliant one. "Too scintillating for the quiet setting I have in mind," replied Gud. Then after examining a few more, he asked: "What will you take for the lot?" "My price for the lot," said the Critic, "is the gift of power to speak myself such words of genius as I have been defaming to please the people, for I am weary of being a mere word picker and moral scavenger." Gud answered: "I can give a Critic the power to walk down the street and spill words but I can not make a Genius pick them up." "Sold!" said the Critic, pushing the verbal gems across the table--and immediately he began to babble words. But Gud noted that they were only words of great talent. As he looked over the verbal gems he had purchased, Gud decided that he had no use for them, and so he called to the departing Critic: "Where can I sell these words?" "Go to Hell," shouted the Critic over his shoulder. So Gud went to Hell, and reaching the gate thereof he knocked and cried: "Is this the place where one brings the words of Genius?" As Gud knew all things he knew the answer to his question before he asked it, but he thought it best to ask anyway in order to verify his omniscience. In this case it was wrong. "No," said the gate keeper, and he gave Gud the correct address. The way took Gud past seven more hells, for the people of this sphere, being a righteous people, were amply helled. Reaching at last the bottom-most vault beneath the deepest hell, Gud came upon a junk shop. As he entered, the proprietor, who looked both old and young, asked; "Comest thou to buy or to sell?" "I have a few words which I might sell," said Gud. "I am not much interested in words," replied the proprietor, who looked both old and young, "for I am a dealer in sin, and the sinfulness of words is much over-rated." "But the words I have are the words of Genius." "Is the genius dead?" asked the dealer. "Not yet, but he is being hounded by a critic." "I'll take them in trade," suggested the dealer. "What do you offer?" asked Gud. "Anything you wish. I have a very complete catalog on crimes." "I am interested in sin in a sort of professional way," admitted Gud, "let me see your goods." Very graciously the dealer escorted Gud through the chambers where his stock of sins was stored.