"What's a bad habit to get into?" demanded Danny, bristling up resentfully.
"That suit of clothes you have on," said Stubbs, whimsically. "It's a miserable fit."
"Well, you'll have a bad fit if I get after you!" exclaimed Griswold, hotly. "You're a base fraud and an impostor! You are trying to steal my thunder by reading the same comic papers that I do. If you keep this up you'll use up all of my original jokes."
"Oh, well," said Stubbs, "cough up a cigarette and I'll let you forgive me. I'm dying for a whiff."
Griswold hesitated, and then flung a package of cigarettes at Bink, who skillfully caught them, extracted one, closed the package, and tossed it back. A moment later the little chap had lighted the cigarette, and, as
he deposited himself at full length on a tiger-skin rug, he puffed out a great whiff of smoke, and murmured:
"Now I have something to blow about, as the cyclone said when it lifted a house and barn into the next State."
"Speaking about clothes," said Browning, languidly, "did you see Goldstein, the tailor, to-day, Rattleton?"
"Yes, I saw him," nodded Harry.
"And did you tell him I said I would settle that little bill?"