"I can't help it," said W.E. Grim, resignedly, "if you haven't any soul. Yes, I'll come. I've got Merishall's work."
There was a coolness that night between the two friends as they sat at the opposite sides of their common table doing their work for Merishall, and Wilson was determined to find out what was disturbing their accustomed peace. He had soon done his modicum of prose and forthwith broached matters.
"Let's have this business out, Grim. It will do you a lot of harm if you keep it in."
"The fact is——" began Grim, hesitating.
"Allez! houp-la!" said Wilson, encouragingly.
"I'm going in strong for poetry."
For reply Wilson laughed as though his life depended on the effort, and Grim turned a rich rosy hue. Wilson finally blurted out—
"Grim, you're an utter idiot."
"What do you think about it?"
"Nothing."