erfect?"

"That is a perilous assertion," Monsieur chuckled, "since there is a
Persian proverb that 'to be perfect is to be damned.'"

"Well, she'd rather be damned than ugly, if I know anything about
girls--and I do!" Tommy declared. "Isn't that right, gezabo?"

"Isn't what right? That you know so much about girls? Bah! It is a young
rooster's foolish talk! Woman, my boy, is as the law of
gravity--difficult to understand, and I may add difficult to disobey.
But to comprehend her she must first be stripped----"

"Why, you wicked old thing," Tommy, in mock astonishment, gasped at him.

"You do not let me finish," he blushingly protested. "What I mean is
stripped of her inexplicable----"

"Oh, come off," his tormentor burst out laughing. "That's as transparent
as a girl buying cigarettes for her brother! I didn't know you were so
curious."

"Please--you shame me! I am curious of nothing, and you will someday
learn that curiosity is the root of tragedy."

"There's an epigram worthy of you: 'Curiosity is the root of
tragedy'--and the blossom of delight!"

"I said nothing of delight," the professor blushed. "I said tragedy!
And--ah, I see! You are cut-upping! I will not talk. Your conscience
should hurt you!"

"Not conscience, old fellow! The wages of conscience is _ennui_, and the
gods know how I hate that. Give me your epigrams on delight and love,
and the Princess of Azuria!"

"Love! Bah!" Monsieur now stormed in disgust. "A mythical invention of
diseased minds to explain away our follies!"

"Wait till she hears that," Tommy warned, "and your head's as good as in
the sawdust. I hope to heaven she makes me her lord high executioner,
and darned if I don't lop it off with a single whack!"

"And I hope you have a chance to tell her, so smart!"

"I'll have a chance, all right, never you fear. I'm the only one who
will, for after you're disposed of, and Jack has gone moony, this
expedition will need a clear thinker. There's where your uncle Tom comes
in."

"He understands himself so well," the professor indulgently smiled.

"It requires no concentration, really," I murmured.

"Ah, Mr. Brutus," Tommy grinned at me over a fork-load of buckwheat
cakes, "can it be your cooling blade I feel?"

"It is; and you'll get it in the neck, good and properly, if you don't
leave me out of your silly nonsense," I warned.

"Here's a touchy one for you, gezabo! Yachting with royalty the other
night made him too good for u