"See here, have you a copy of 'The Trufflers'?"
"Not guilty," swore the surprised friend. "Why on earth do you want——"
But the young artist had dashed forth again, hot upon his quest. A few houses down the street, he made another spectacular entrance with the same cry;—at another and still another. One friend frankly confessed he had never heard of the book, another expressed indignation that he should be suspected of owning a copy. But not until the temperamental, brown-eyed artist had visited several acquaintances was he able to get what he wanted.
When the long-sought volume was in his grasp, he heaved a sigh of something more emphatic than relief.
"How much did you pay for this thing?" he demanded.
"I didn't. I borrowed it."
"Oh—— See here. Can't you say you lost it?"
"I suppose so, if you want it as much as all that."
The young artist sat down and began seriously to tear the book to pieces.
"Well, for the love of Mike!" cried the friend. "Do you hate it like that?"