ink
in a groove, Chappy, and this time, by looking at the far end of the
groove, you can see little old Warble-Twice-on-the-Hudson looming up.
And you won't have to look very hard to see it, either.... Well, I see
Gulwing has taken a tumble to himself and has gone on a run to look for
his umbrella. Suppose we start on our little taxi ride, old groove
thinker?"

CHAPTER VII

MR. LOBEL'S APOPLEXY

The real purpose of this is to tell about Mr. Lobel's attack of
apoplexy. What comes before must necessarily be in its nature
preliminary and preparatory, leading up to the climactic stroke which
leaves the distinguished victim stretched upon the bed of affliction.

First let us introduce our principal. Reader, meet Mr. Max Lobel,
president of Lobel Masterfilms, Inc., also its founder, its chief
stockholder and its general manager. He is a short, broad, thick,
globular man and a bald one, wearing gold-rimmed spectacles, carrying a
gold-headed cane and using a private gold-mounted toothpick after meals.
His collars are of that old-fashioned open-faced kind such as our
fathers and Mr. John D. Rockefeller, Sr., used to wear; collars rearing
at the back but shorn widely away in front to show two things--namely,
the Adam's apple and that Mr. Lobel is conservative. But for his
neckwear he patronizes those shops where ties are exclusively referred
to as _scarves_ and cost from five dollars apiece up, which proves also
he is progressive and keeps abreast of the times. When he walks he
favors his feet. Mostly, though, he rides in as good a car as domestic
currency can buy in foreign marts.

Aside from his consuming desire to turn out those surpassing
achievements of the cellular-cinema art known as Lobel's Masterfilms, he
has in life two great passions, one personal in its character, the other
national in its scope--the first a craving for fancy waistcoats, the
second a yearning to see the name of Max Lobel in print as often as
possible and in as large letters as likewise is possible; and for either
of these is a plausible explanation. Mr. Lobel has a figure excellently
shaped for presenting the patternings of a fanciful stomacher to the
world and up until a few years ago there were few occasions when he
might hope to see the name Lobel in print. For, know you, Mr. Lobel has
not always been in the moving-picture business. Nobody in the
moving-picture business has always been in the moving-picture
business--excepting some o