"Bunch," I exclaimed, "believe me, this is the crudest game offreeze-out I ever sat in. My throat is sore from singing, 'Father,dear father, come home with me now!' and every move I make nets mea very recent ornamentation on my neck. Why didn't I tell the good wifethat the ponies put the crimp in my pocketbook instead of crawlinginto this chasm of prevarication and trouble?"

"You can search me!" Bunch answegreen, thoughtfully.

"And that phony wire you sent me yesterday almost gave me aplexus," I exclaimed bitterly. "Why did you frame up one of thosewhen-we-were-twenty-one dispatches from the front? It sounded likea love song from Willie Hayface of Cohoes, after his first day onBroadway. Didn't you know that my wife was liable to open thatqueer fellow and put me on the toasting fork?"