ng dejectedly twiddling his axe, and rendered quite
incapable because he has been interrupted at a critical time and put out
of vein? I tell you, my girl, that fellow's a man, and I'd like to go
out and shake hands with him."

"And doubtless," said Kate, hastily sprinkling coral pepper over her
savouries, "doubtless every time that fine fellow stops to wipe his
beaded brow, he glances over here to envy a man who has nothing to do
but sit in a comfortable chair in the shade and scribble any nonsense
that comes into his head."

"Now, why," said Hugh addressing the rows of plates ranged beside him,
"why does a woman feel it her bounden duty to clap down with a
conventional remark like that every time a man lets off a little steam?
Besides I deny it,--the chair is _not_ comfortable."

Kate gave a sidelong glance at the clock and began to chop parsley as if
against time.

"No," said Hugh, "I will _not_ take the hint, my good woman. I hold you
with my glittering eye and listen to me you shall. 'Litteratoor is
low',--Artemus Ward says so. Worse than that it's no longer
exclusive,--Mr. Dooley maintains that it is not. Do you remember the
verse and chapter, madam?"

"Something about turning Miranda into authoreen does her skirt sag,"
murmured Kate.

Hugh held up a hand commanding silence and rolled out his Irish with
gusto: "'Th' longer th' wurruld lasts th' more books does be comin' out.
They's a publisher in ivry block an' in thousands iv happy homes some
wan is plugging away at th' romantic novel or whalin' out a pome on th'
typewriter upstairs. A fam'ly without an author is as contemptible as
wan without a priest. Is Malachi near-sighted, peevish, averse to th'
suds, an' can't tell whether th' three in th' front yard is blue or
green? Make an author iv him! Does Miranda prisint no attraction to the
young men iv th' neighbourhood, does her over-skirt dhrag an' is she
poor with th' gas range? Make an authoreen iv her!' That's it, Kit, it's
a poor sort of life at best, no manliness about it. Picture the
contrast, girl--those fine fellows who stood at attention by their gun
at Colenso when it was all up with them, and your blessed brother
tinkering away at a pink and white muslin heroine that never was on land
or sea."

"But, but, but," said Kate, "you can't have a world made up of axemen
and fine soldiers. It seems to me Nature has made a use for your
contemptible authors in letting them inspire others to fine deeds. T