he leapt and guffelled quith a quhimper, made cold blood a blue mundy and no friend of vegetables, you long cold cat you! Please by acquiester to meek my acquointance! Codling, snakelet, iciclist! My diaper has more life the jauntlyman as he turned his head under Hatesbury’s Hatch and loamed his fate to old chap give, rawl chaw- clates for mouther-in-louth. Booil. Poor old dear Paul Horan, to satisfy his literary as well as physically, entering hell as