Part 24 (2/2)

”Don't _tell_ me you write!” she cried dramatically.

”All right, I won't,” protested poor Bob, ”for I don't.”

A slow expression of bewilderment overspread Mrs. Annis's face, and she glanced toward Baker with an arched brow of interrogation.

”I merely wanted Mr. Orde to meet you, Mrs. Annis,” he said impressively, ”and to feel that another time, when he is less exhausted by the strain of a long day, he may have the privilege of explaining to you the details of the great Psychic Movement he is inaugurating.”

Mrs. Annis smiled on him graciously. ”I am home every Sunday to my _intimes_,” she murmured. ”I should be so pleased.”

Bob bowed mechanically.

”You infernal idiot!” he ground out savagely to Baker, as they moved away. ”What do you mean? I'll punch your fool head when I get you out of here!”

But the plump young man merely smiled.

Halfway down the room a group of attractive-looking young men hailed them.

”Join in, Baker,” said they. ”Bring your friend along. We're just going to raid the commissary.”

But Baker shook his head.

”I'm showing him life,” he replied. ”None but Fuzzies in his to-night!”

He grasped Bob firmly by the arm and led him away.

”That,” he said, indicating a very pale young man, surrounded by women, ”is Pickering, the celebrated submarine painter.”

”The what?” demanded Bob.

”Submarine painter. He paints fish and green water and lobsters, and the bottom of the sea generally. He paints them on the skins of kind-faced little calves.”

”What does he do that for?”

”He says it's the only surface that will express what he wants to. He has also invented a waterproof paint that he can use under water. He has a coral throne down on the bottom which he sits in, and paints as long as he can hold his breath.”

”Oh, he does!” said Bob.

”Yes,” said Baker.

”But a man can't see three feet in front of his face under water!” cried Bob.

”Pickering says he can. He paints submarinescapes, and knows all the fishes. He says fishes have individual expressions. He claims he can tell by a fish's expression whether he is polygamous or monogamous.”

”Do you mean to tell me anybody swallows that rot!” demanded Bob indignantly.

”The women do--and a lot more I can't remember. The market for calf-skins with green swirls on them is booming. Also the women clubbed together and gave him money enough to build a house.”

Bob surveyed the little white-faced man with a strong expression of disgust.

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