our population
chickles, and that makes eighty million jaws. When the time came
to--ahem--float the proposition, after the bonds, there was an issue of
one billion preferred, and two billions of common stock. It did not seem
fitting, Miss Appleby, it did not seem dignified, that Wall Street
should bandy back and forth such an expression as--ahem--'chewing-gum
common.' To the eye, such an expression printed in the financial
columns would seem--would--in short, hence chickle, Miss Appleby, noun
and verb. Never anything else at Arkansopolis. Will you not chickle now?
No? Ah, well. But at least you are with us in the Higher Spelling." His
hand sought the window-sill, and then his mouth; and his jaws resumed
their placid oscillation.

Miss Appleby had gone out upon the broad rear platform of our car; and
there, as she sat alone, I joined her, saying:--

"Shall we talk of the Higher Spelling?"

But she seemed inclined for not much talk upon any subject; and the
nearer Harrisburg drew, the more difficult I found it to engage her
attention.

"There is nothing to see," I assured her when, as our train entered the
station, she left me with something almost like eagerness.

I did not get out during our somewhat long stop, being occupied in my
private stateroom with unpacking and disposing my clothes for the
journey. As we started again, I emerged to find Miss Appleby in bright
conversation with a newcomer.

"Professor Jesse Willows," said Kibosh, "of Paw-paw University, Mountain
Dew City." And as the extraordinarily handsome young man rose, quite
six-feet-two, to greet me, Kibosh continued: "The professor's
Dictionary of Deadly Weapons, as well as his great work on Bowie-Knives
in the Stone Age, makes him a welcome member of our committee."

I felt, I know not why, less glad to see this Professor Willows than
Miss Appleby seemed. His long black coat and black tie were fairly
proper for a man of erudition; but his hat was soft and broad of brim,
and his trousers were of brown corduroy, drawn over high boots.

"And what, sir," I asked him, "may your views be on the Higher
Spelling?"

"Bless yore heart, suh," he gayly responded, "what's spellin', anyway?
Just alphabet lettuhs fixed like some man chose to fix 'em befo' you
an' me were bawn. An' so I say such a man's had his notions more'n long
enough, and it's high time we-all took a whirl at the dictionary."

"I admit, sir," I responded, "that our spelling is but a rag-b