turn aside----"

"To get the grub," chuckled Peter, cobbling away.

"Peter, if you make a jest of everything, I'll not waste my time on
you."

Denzil's wild eyes flashed angrily. He shook his long hair. Life was
very serious to him. He never wrote comic verse intentionally.

There are three reasons why men of genius have long hair. One is, that
they forget it is growing. The second is, that they like it. The third
is, that it comes cheaper; they wear it long for the same reason that
they wear their hats long.

Owing to this peculiarity of genius, you may get quite a reputation for
lack of twopence. The economic reason did not apply to Denzil, who could
always get credit with the profession on the strength of his appearance.
Therefore, when street Arabs vocally commanded him to get his hair cut,
they were doing no service to barbers. Why does all the world watch over
barbers and conspire to promote their interests? Denzil would have told
you it was not to serve the barbers, but to gratify the crowd's
instinctive resentment of originality. In his palmy days Denzil had been
an editor, but he no more thought of turning his scissors against
himself than of swallowing his paste. The efficacy of hair has changed
since the days of Samson, otherwise Denzil would have been a Hercules
instead of a long, thin, nervous man, looking too brittle and delicate
to be used even for a pipe-cleaner. The narrow oval of his face sloped
to a pointed, untrimmed beard. His linen was reproachable, his dingy
boots were down at heel, and his cocked hat was drab with dust. Such are
the effects of a love for the Beautiful.

Peter Crowl was impressed with Denzil's condemnation of flippancy, and
he hastened to turn off the joke.

"I'm quite serious," he said. "Butterflies are no good to nothing or
nobody; caterpillars at least save the birds from starving."

"Just like your view of things, Peter," said Denzil. "Good morning,
madam." This to Mrs. Crowl, to whom he removed his hat with elaborate
courtesy. Mrs. Crowl grunted and looked at her husband with a note of
interrogation in each eye. For some seconds Crowl stuck to his last,
endeavoring not to see the question. He shifted uneasily on his stool.
His wife coughed grimly. He looked up, saw her towering over him, and
helplessly shook his head in a horizontal direction. It was wonderful
how Mrs. Crowl towered over Mr. Crowl, even when he stood up in his
shoes. She measured half an inch less.