“But the other people,” asked Diana, “what is going to happen to them if you let them go in free and browse among the books?”
“They are less important,” answered the Academic Lion. “Besides we expect soon to establish a cranial, neurological, and psychopathic examination which will determine the subliminal, temperamental needs of every applicant. Then we classify the readers in groups, and the books in lists, and the whole thing works with automatic precision.”
“And I am going to make the book-lists!” said the Magazine Lion, ecstatically wagging his tail, and half-unconsciously putting his paw around the lady's waist in a spirit of pure comradeship.
But she gently slipped away, stood up, and gracefully covered a yawn with her hand.
“I am ever so much obliged to you Literary Lions for not eating me,” said she. “Probably I should have disagreed with you even more than your conversation has with me. I am quite sleepy. And the moon has almost disappeared. I must be going where I can bid it good night.”
So Diana rose, with shining limbs, above the housetops, and vanished toward her Garden Tower. The Lions looked disconcerted. “Old-fashioned, Victorian prude!” said one, “Brazen hussy!” said the other. And they climbed back on their Pedestals, resuming their supercilious expression. There I suppose they will stay, no matter what Diana may think of them.
THE HERO AND TIN SOLDIERS
On December twenty-fifth, 1918, that little white house in the park was certainly the happiest dwelling in Calvinton. It was simply running over with Christmas.
You see, there had come to it a most wonderful present, a surprise full of tears and laughter. Captain Walter Mayne reached home on Christmas Eve.