"Vulgarity," he announced, with ringing emphasis, "is the most prominent factor in the universe. It is as essential to our existence as the original slime from which we and it emanated. If there is one thing more vulgar than nature, it is civilization. Whatever remnant of innocence nature left in the mind of man civilization has wiped out. It has debased the human intellect—"
"And deformed the human figure," interpolated Mr. Nevins, with a sigh. "Oh, for the days of Praxiteles!"
The emotionless tones of Mr. Paul flowed smoothly on.
"And if there is one thing more vulgar than civilization, it is art."
Mr. Nevins retorted in a voice of storm.
"Sir," he cried, "art is my divinity!"
"A vulgar superstition," commented Mr. Paul, calmly; and he pointed to a poster beside Mr. Nevins's plate. "You call that art, I suppose?"
Mr. Nevins colored, but met him valiantly. "No," he returned; "I call that bread and meat."
As the girl next him rose from her chair she bestowed upon him an approving smile, which he returned with sentimental interest.
"You haven't finished," he remonstrated, in an aside. "My posters aren't only bread and meat; they are pie—principally pie."