y sweet but later the taste turned bitter in his mouth. Gud looked
again at the staff which he had picked from the heap of discarded
theories, and Gud saw that he held in his hand the theory of conquest.
In horror he hurled it from him, and it struck the Underdog, who gave
forth a great howl of pain.

Gud felt compassion for the Underdog and picked him up and nursed his
wound, and the Underdog licked Gud's hands. Then he sat the Underdog
down and started on his way, and the Underdog followed at Gud's heels
along the Impossible Curve.

Chapter VIII

The Gogs are good, the Gogs are great,
They rule a realm of real estate.
Their greedy little eyes are slits
That vision beauty torn to bits,
And when the night's aglow with stars
They stagger through the lupinars.
The Gogs are good, the Gogs are great
We slave to rent their real estate;
We toil in their behalf like fools,
Obey their customs, creeds and rules,
Because each intellectual hog
Would like to be, and is a Gog!

Chapter IX

So they trudged along very happily until they met some one.

Gud was dumbfounded. "What can you be doing on this Impossible Curve?"
he cried, "for I destroyed everything and my dog has eaten nothing.
Speak up, sir, and tell me what you are before I annihilate you again."

"I am Cruickshank, the bookkeeper," replied the some one.

"Ah ha," exclaimed Gud, "and so you are another of those living things
that evolved out of the ooze and slime of that little sphere that got
the valences of its carbon atoms so dreadfully entangled!"

"I am a man," said Cruickshank, the bookkeeper.

"But," said Gud, quite exasperated, "I told you I destroyed everything."

"And so you did," agreed Cruickshank, the bookkeeper, "but do you not
recall those that escaped and floated down on the star dust to wait for
the day of judgment?"

"I certainly remember them very well," said Gud, "but I would have you
to know that this is not the day of judgment but the day after eternity,
and what is more, you did not escape on the star dust as you claim, for
I chased after that bunch and destroyed them quite utterly."

"In a way," said Cruickshank, the bookkeeper, "you did, but we saved our
souls by losing them."

"But," cried Gud, "you are not a soul, for see--" and Gud poked
Cruickshank, the bookkeeper, gingerly in the ribs--"you are a material
man with ribs and life and a liver and much orthodox an