The Humorist
"Bottling means collecting," my wife explained hastily.
I gazed at Drusilla in amazement. She had apparently taken these disreputable players to her heart as warmly as Georgie had done. In our absence the comedienne had evidently poured out her life's history and had drawn from Drusilla a life's sympathy. A soft heart was all very well, I thought, but there were limits.
And then Georgie burst in.
"Look here!" he cried. "That beggar Lappin's been seen at Cymmer. I'm going over to look for him."
"Georgie!" Drusilla stared at him.
"But what can you do if you find him?" Georgie grinned.
"I'll teach him things if I find him," said he. "I don't suppose I shall have much trouble. I expect he's a soft, flabby brute—the kind of man who doubles up when you look at him."
He stretched out a muscular arm and smiled at it.
"Don't lose your head," said I with
99
