shot out accusing.

"That greasy little cur over there. Van Goor, the agent. _Stop him!_"

The controller stopped him. "Zis," he observed, "zis is mos'
op-propriate!"...

* * * * *

And Alfred Poynter Tunstal, recovering as he went, continued his journey
eastward as soon and as fast as ever he could make it until East became
West again. He brought home few records of his travels, and, curiously,
he had not collected a single globe-trotting tale of wickedness and
mystery. But one result of his voyaging was marked. He carried a
scar--acquired in some slight accident--which ran from each corner of
his mouth in a thin line and which transformed his original cheerful
chubbiness into an expression quite grim and taciturn. He had lost his
cherubic smile.

JETSAM

It is likely that at some time in his extreme youth Junius Peabody was
introduced to those single-minded creatures, the ant and the bee.
Doubtless he was instructed in the highly moral lessons they are
supposed to illustrate to the inquiring mind of childhood. But it is
certain he never profited by the acquaintance--indeed, the contemplation
of such tenacious industry must have afflicted his infant consciousness
with utter repugnance. By the time he was twenty-seven the only living
thing that could be said to have served him as a model was the
jellyfish.

Now the jellyfish pursues a most amiable theory of life, being harmless,
humorous, and decorative. It derives much enjoyment from drifting along
through the glitter and froth, as chance may direct. It does no work to
speak of. It never needs to get anywhere. And it never, never has to go
thirsty. But some day it may get itself stranded, and then the poor
jellyfish becomes an object quite worthless and fit only to be shoveled
out of sight as soon as possible--because it lacks the use of its legs.

Thus it was with Junius Peabody, who awoke one morning of his
twenty-eighth year on the roaring coral beach at Fufuti below
Bendemeer's place to find that all the chances had run out and that the
glitter had faded finally from a prospect as drab as the dawn spread
over a butternut sea before him....

Mr. Peabody sat up and looked about from under a corrugated brow and
yawned and shivered. His nerves had been reduced to shreds, and even the
fiercest heat of tropic suns seemed never to warm him, a symptom
familiar enough to brandy drunkards. But he had had such awakenings
befo