"A-a-ah!" sneers his embodiment in one whose crackling voicecannot make up its mind whether to be bass or treble, "A-a-ah,to the show they down't do hay-uf what they is in the pitchers."

A chilling silence follows. A freezing uneasiness strikes into allthe listeners. We are all made wretched by destructive criticism.Let us alone in our ideals. Let us alone, can't you?

"Now . . . now," pursues the crackle-voiced Mephisto, pointing towhere Japanese jugglers defy the law of gravitation and otherexperiences of daily life, "now, they cain't walk up no laddermade out o' reel sharp swords."

"They can so walk up it," stoutly declares one kid. Hurrah! Achampion to the rescue! The others edge closer to him. Theylike him.