“Do you mean Mrs. Watson?” asked the credulous help sympathetically. “Yes.... Why, isn’t that just too bad! She went out on a errand. She’ll be right back, I guess. Don’t you want to come in and wait?” “I’ll say I do,” said the instructor, rubbing his hands together and hissing inwards through his teeth in the manner of a real family friend. He went into the living room. “Gee, it’s good to be here again.” The reply of the admiring help was an offer of drinks for him and Edward. With a glass of light beer in his hand the instructor walked about looking at the books on the shelves. “Kipling ... Lawrence ... Hergesheimer ... Hardy ... aw shucks! Say, ma’am, you interested in classical litera_ture_?” Edward, who hated beer, was not happy. The situation seemed to him only evanescently comfortable. Besides, the opening—Say mother, what are you doing for your boy?—was plainly ruled out here. “I’ll say I am,” replied the help. “That is to say—I’m not one of these highbrows, but I get a lot of kick out of a good tale.” “You’ve read all the British classics of course,” continued the instructor. “Say listen, you know it’s a fact that although these Britishers neglect their teeth and don’t know the first thing about sanitation or democracy, their classic authors do surely deliver the goods. Some guys is so darn narrowminded they could pretty near meet their ears at the back of their heads, but I say hand over credit where credit is due. You know any of the dope by this guy they call John Milton?” “Does he write for the movies?” “May have done, for all me,” replied the instructor cautiously. “Anyway, he’s dead now. But his tales certainly are red-meat tales. I’ll ask you to give these books the once over—John Milton put into good peppy American prose and il_lust_rated by one of the swellest artists in Kansas city.” The help at last became suspicious. “What you carrying those books around for?” she asked. “You one of these fresh agent nuts? I thought you said you was a friend of Mrs. Watson.” “I’m a friend of everyone that’s got a taste for classical litera_ture_,” replied the instructor courageously. “I’m a public benefactor. I tell you I’m ready to put into your hands this minute this illustrated Milton Dee Lux for one dollar down. It’s a unique opportunity——” “Now you can just quit right away,” shouted the help, snatching up her O-Cedar mop with a threatening gesture. “You got no business to of came. Ef Mrs. Winton S. Watson was to come into this room and find a coupla two-cent drummers drinking her beer—well, good-night. No, I won’t hear another word, you can just get busy moving, the quicker the better.” Edward led the retreat. The instructor made a heroic stand and Edward, trembling in the garden, heard a sort of duet proceeding from the living room for a few seconds. Then the instructor, humming brazenly, joined him.