Morbus O’ Somebody? A’ Quite. Szer- day’s Son? A satyr in weddens. And how olid of him? He was sbuffing and sputing, tussing like anisine, whip- ping his eyesoult and gnatsching his teats over the most folliagenous till there came down with ninepins gaelic with sixpenny- 549 hapennies for his tuckish armenities. Ouhr Former 530 who erred in having down to three longly lurking iPbstarts. Fair instents the Will Woolsley Wellaslayers. Pet her, pink him, play pranks with them. She will nod ampro- perly smile. He may be odd-eyed,