ready to make the advance, "that certainly was hard luck. I feel just as
bad as--" Here he stopped before the sudden majestic indignation which
confronted him.

"Green!" said Skippy, frowning.

"Oh, I say--"

"Green, when you thought I was going to be a rich man," continued Skippy
icily, "there was nothing you wouldn't do for me. You fawned on me. But
when I had to face defeat--at the first test--you deserted me with
sneers and gibes. That is not friendship. Green, you are not capable of
true friendship, and you have proved it. I shall never forget and I
shall never forgive!"

"Oh, shucks, Skippy!" said Snorky. "What's the use of rubbin' it in? I'm
not as bad as all that!"

"Green," said Skippy, working himself into the scene which he had
rehearsed a dozen times as he had long debated whether to address the
offender as Mr. Green, "Green, we will have to go on rooming together
but I wish you to understand that nothing you can ever do or say will
change my feelings now towards you. Nothing! Whatever communication is
necessary from now on between us, will be in _writing_--"

"What's that?"

"In writing," said Skippy firmly.

"Oh, well, if that's the way you're going to take it you can go to
blazes!" said Snorky wrathfully. "But before you climb on your high
horse, suppose you restore my red choker tie, my agate cuff buttons, my
silver-rimmed fountain pen and a few pairs of fancy socks--"

"_This_ is unworthy of even you," said Skippy, who rose and with a
perfect social manner took the articles in question from the bureau on
the south side of the room and gingerly placed them on the bureau in the
western corner. "The socks are in the wash. I prefer to return them as I
received them." After which he disrobed and, somewhat consoled, watched
from the coverlets the indignant and bewildered Snorky Green sitting on
his bedside, halfway out of his trousers, glaring at him in rage.

* * * * *

For a week, a miserable, lonely week, Skippy held to this irreconcilable
attitude. During this time he touched the bottom of depression--he even
doubted himself! Would he ever invent anything again? Had it been just a
flash in the pan? Was it all a false start? What had become of the
imagination which had blazed up so brilliantly? Perhaps after all he was
no different from the rest--just an average mind fit only for such
vulgar things as banking and trade. Then one morning through the gloom
clouds