Bob bowed mechanically.

"You infernal idiot!" he ground out savagely to Baker, as they moved
away. "What do you mean? I'll punch your fool head when I get you out of
here!"

But the plump young man merely smiled.

Halfway down the room a group of attractive-looking young men hailed
them.

"Join in, Baker," said they. "Bring your friend along. We're just going
to raid the commissary."

But Baker shook his head.

"I'm showing him life," he replied. "None but Fuzzies in his to-night!"

He grasped Bob firmly by the arm and led him away.

"That," he said, indicating a very pale young man, surrounded by women,
"is Pickering, the celebrated submarine painter."

"The what?" demanded Bob.

"Submarine painter. He paints fish and green water and lobsters, and the
bottom of the sea generally. He paints them on the skins of kind-faced
little calves."

"What does he do that for?"

"He says it's the only surface that will express what he wants to. He
has also invented a waterproof paint that he can use under water. He has
a coral throne down on the bottom which he sits in, and paints as long
as he can hold his breath."

"Oh, he does!" said Bob.

"Yes," said Baker.

"But a man can't see three feet in front of his face under water!" cried
Bob.

"Pickering says he can. He paints submarinescapes, and knows all the
fishes. He says fishes have individual expressions. He claims he can
tell by a fish's expression whether he is polygamous or monogamous."

"Do you mean to tell me anybody swallows that rot!" demanded Bob
indignantly.

"The women do--and a lot more I can't remember. The market for
calf-skins with green swirls on them is booming. Also the women clubbed
together and gave him money enough to build a house."

Bob surveyed the little white-faced man with a strong expression of
disgust.

"The natural man never sits in chairs," the artist was expounding. "When
humanity shall have come into its own we shall assume the graceful and
hygienic postures of the oriental peoples. In society one must, to a
certain extent, follow convention, but in my own house, the House
Beautiful of my dreams, are no chairs. And even now a small group of the
freer spirits are following my example. In time----"

"If you don't take me away, I'll run in circles!" whispered Bob fiercely
to his friend.

They escaped into the open air.

"Phew!" said Bob, straightening his long form. "Is that what you call
the good society here?"