Diary, Dr. Denton brought the Penny-man to see me today. Perhaps as a flesh-and-blood flag of truce. At all events, it was more than an amusing experience. I was out-of-doors, propped up in my now very ambitious position, feeding Wiggles tea biscuits, and reading The Lyric Hour for the millionth time. When the two men appeared, I was declaiming aloud, slightly drunk by the most marvellously blue-hazy day, and feeling tremendously strong and happy. After the introductions,
"I've brought you good medicine, Miss Carroll," said Dr. Denton, indicating his embarrassed friend. "A real live poet! The only one in captivity! Eats out of the hand. But—I warn you he is modest. The proverbial violet is brazen compared to Wright. And he won't lionize worth a nickel, and I am sworn to silence concerning his prowess with the pen, and even his nom-de-guerre."
Mr. Penny—isn't it a dreadful name!—and combined with Wright, too!—sat down limply in the chair beside me.
"Please," he said, pleasantly and plaintively, "don't pay any attention to him."
"I never do," I said in my sugariest tones.
Dr. Denton lowered his inches to the ground, and there, sprawled like a starfish, regarded me brightly.
"She's truthful," he assured his friend. "She never does. And you've no idea how she dislikes me. That handicaps you at the start, Wright, old fellow. Doesn't it, Miss Carroll?"
I considered Mr. Penny's amiable, blonde countenance judicially.
"It might," I agreed.
"You see?" This from the Creature in a piercing stage whisper.