cated?" I asked him.

"Surracuse, Noo Yorruk," he responded; and he blew his large nose.

"And now, dear friends," Masticator was saying, "I leave you. Remember
the poor foreigners, remember the little children. It is for them that
the English language exists; and for them we must, therefore, smooth our
spelling's cruel path. I expect results, dear friends." So saying, he
was gone.

"Yes, there is a dollar-sign in his jaw," repeated Miss Appleby.

"Suggestions are now in order," said Kibosh, taking the chairman's seat.

Three profound scholars stood up. "The only way----" they began, with
one voice.

"Professor Flawless Nathan Maverick has the floor," said Kibosh. "I
presume the Professor will think no change in pecan nuts necessary." And
the chairman smiled sociably at the scholar.

"The only way," said Maverick, "is to abolish all words that foreigners
cannot spell."

"You mean cut 'em out of the language, suh?" inquired Jesse Willows.

"I do."

"Phew!" whistled Willows.

"Order, gentlemen," smiled the chairman. "Professor Camillo Cottsill has
the floor."

"The only way," said this scholar, "is to abolish all words that
children cannot spell."

"Phew!" repeated Willows.

"Order, gentlemen, please," said the chairman, gently tapping an
inkstand with a pencil. But he was not heeded.

"Who are you whistling at?" demanded Camillo Cottsill.

"Can't yore children spell?" retorted Willows.

"Can yours?" shouted Cottsill.

At this Jesse Willows blushed a deep red, and so did Miss Appleby.

"He is not married, Professor," said Kibosh, tapping the inkstand
soothingly.

"My little daughter Zola B. can spell everything," said Maverick.

"How about the others?" demanded Cottsill.

"My salary only affords me one," stated Maverick, with resignation.

"Then how can you judge?" said Cottsill. "Receive, and believe, and
bereave should be cut out at once."

"They should not," said Maverick.

"Oh, cut everything out," sighed Willows.

"Hup, hup, hup, hup," began Professor Egghorn.

"The author of Mustard Plasters has the floor," said Kibosh, with
civility.

"The only way," continued Egghorn, "is to hup, hup, hup."

"Start the organ, please," said Kibosh to an assistant; and while the
gasoline music played, "My spelling 'tis of thee," Kibosh walked round
the table and gave every one an individual box of chickle. We chewed in
silence, waiting for the voice of Professor Egghorn to go again.

"Hup, hup