in common! It tickled me to think of Mifflin reading aloud from
"Happiness and Hayseed," and praising it so highly, just before
fighting with the author and giving him a bloody nose. I remembered
that I should have spoken to Andrew about feeding the hens, and
reminded him of his winter undergarments. What helpless creatures
men are, after all!

I finished mending the cap in high good humour.

I had hardly laid it down when I heard a quick step in the road
behind me, and looking back, there was Mifflin, striding along with
his bald pate covered with little beads of moisture. Bock trotted
sedately at his heels. I halted Peg.

"Well," I said, "what's happened to Andrew?"

The Professor still looked a bit shamefaced. "The Sage is a
tenacious person," he said. "We argued for a bit without much
satisfaction. As a matter of fact we nearly came to blows again,
only he got another waft of goldenrod, which started him sneezing,
and then his nose began bleeding once more. He is convinced that
I'm a ruffian, and said so in excellent prose. Honestly, I admire
him a great deal. I believe he intends to have the law on me. I
gave him my Brooklyn address in case he wants to follow the matter
up. I think I rather pleased him by asking him to autograph
'Happiness and Hayseed' for me. I found it lying in the ditch."

"Well," I said, "you two are certainly a great pair of lunatics. You
both ought to go on the stage. You'd be as good as Weber and Fields.
Did he give you the autograph?"