at the unresponsive back of his
roommate, planted himself in front of him and said angrily:

"Say, what in tarnation is biting you, anyhow?"

Part of the pleasure which Skippy derived from his periodic application
of ostracism was in the immediate success it achieved on his roommate's
impressionable temperament. At present, being in an exceedingly grouchy
mood, he drew forth a pad and pencil and tendered them with a plain
intimation that only thus would he receive any communications.

"What are you sore about?" said Snorky, flaring up at once. "Just
because I took a crack at your old Souvenir Toothbrush? Is that it?"

Skippy drew forth a handy literal translation and ostensibly began to
apply it to the baffling text.

"My lord, you act like a sick girl! You're a pleasant roommate, you are!
How long are you going to sulk like this?"

Skippy began to whistle softly to himself:

"You can't play in my backyard;
I don't love you any more."

Whereupon Snorky, having slammed a book on the table, advanced with
doubled fists, exclaiming:

"You stop that, do you hear! You stop that or--or--I'll--"

Skippy, whose calm was delightfully reinforced by this show of temper,
again, but without looking up, indicated the pad and pencil.

"I can lick you!" said Snorky hoarsely.

This was too much. Skippy sprang up, fists ready, and glowered his
defiance. For a long moment they held this bellicose attitude, a
collision imminent. But a resort to primitive methods is a serious
affair between roommates. Each hesitated, seeking a dignified evasion of
the crisis.

"Well, go on with your baby act, if you enjoy it," said Snorky
scornfully. "Lord, I'd hate to have your disposition!"

The status quo having been restored, Skippy discarded Caesar's "Gallic
Perplexities" and returned to boyhood's first heroine, while Snorky in a
rage retreated to his side of the room and pondered.

"I certainly riled him that time," said Skippy joyfully to himself.
"Wonder what he'll do now?"

After a few moments Snorky began to whistle, meditating to himself,
which in boyhood is always a signal that the imagination is working.

"What's the big idea now?" said Skippy, following from the corner of his
eye.

Snorky rose briskly and, repairing to his closet, disappeared on all
fours. A moment later he returned, with a box of large and juicy
chocolate eclairs and a bottle of ginger pop, and, establishing himself
at the opposite e