"The  ordinary  surveyor's  no  use,"  broke  in  the  Lexicographer,
pursuing  his  own  line  of  thought.     "What  you  want  is  a  drainage

expert."

"I  know  these  good,  honest,  middle-aged  couples,"  cried  the  Iron
King  with  the  bitterness  of  an  oft-defrauded  widower.  "The
woman  always  drinks,  and  the  man  always  steals  the  cigars  .  .  ."
"I  have  nothing  but  gas  in  my  place,"  said  the  decorous  voice  of
the  Private  Secretary,  "and  I  have  it  on  pretty  good  authority  tliat
there'll  be  a  great  coal  shortage  this  winter.  I  don't  want  that  to
go  any  furtlier,  tliough  .  .  ."

The  Millionaire  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  yawn.
"He  must  get  an  experienced  woman-friend  to  help  him  with
things  like  carpets  and  curtains,"  he  ordained  with  mellow  benevo-
lence.    "Wlien  my  wife  comes  back  from  Wales  .  .  .  How  soon
do  you  have  to  turn  out,  Poet?"

The  Poet  woke  with  a  start  and  looked  at  the  clock.     The  time
was  a  quarter  to  two,  and  he  still  wanted  to  go  to  bed.
"Ten  days,"  he  murmured  drowsily.
"Jove!     You  haven't  much  time,"  said  the  Millionaire.     "Now,
look  here;  the  one  thing  not  to  do  is  to  be  in  a  hurry.     Any  place


72  DEFENDERS  OF  DEMOCRACY

you  take  now  will  probably  have  to  serve  you  for  several  years,  and
you'll  find  moving  a  lot  more  expensive  tlian  you  think.  If  you
can  get  some  kind  of  shake-down  for  a  few  days, — "  he  turned
expansively  to  his  friends — "we  may  be  able  to  give  you  a  few
hints."

The  Poet  became  suddenly  wakeful  and  alert.
"Do  I  understand  that  you're  offering  me  a  bed  until  you  fiiid
me  permanent  quarters?"  he  enquired  with  slow  precision.
"Er — yes,"  said  the  Millionaire  a  little  blankly.
