[_They smack their lips reverently; Miss TROTTER enters the
Gallery._

_Culch._ (_rising and going to meet her_). Good morning, Miss TROTTER.
We--ah--meet again.

_Miss T._ That's an undeniable fact. I've left Poppa outside. Poppa
restricts himself to exteriors wherever he can--says he doesn't seem
to mix up his impressions so much that way. But you're alone, too.
Where've you hitched your friend up?

_Culch._ My friend did not rise sufficiently early to accompany me.
And, by the way, Miss TROTTER, I should like to take this opportunity
of disabusing your mind of the--er--totally false impression--

_Miss T._ Oh, _that's_ all right. I told him he needn't try to give me
away, for I could see you weren't _that_ kind of man!

_Culch._ (_gratefully_). Your instinct was correct--perfectly
correct. When you say "that kind of man," I presume you refer to the
description my--er--friend considered it humorous to give of me as an
unsociable hypochondriac?

_Miss T._ Well, no; he didn't say just that. He represented you as
one of the fonniest persons alive; said you told stories which tickled
folks to death almost.

_Culch._ (_annoyed_). Really, this is _most_ unpardonable of Mr.
PODBURY! To have such odious calumnies circulated about one behind