The cup of Finnegan's bitterness was not yet filled. Stover's first act of administration was to forbid the privileges of the cold-air flues and the demon cigarette to all members of the House who had not attained, according to his judgment, either a proper age or a sufficient display of bodily stature. Among the proscribed was Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan, whose legs, clothed in new dignity, fairly quivered under the affront, as he tearfully protested:
"I say, Dink, it's an outrage!"
"Can't help it. It's for your own good."
"But I'm fifteen."
"Now, see here, Dennis," said Stover firmly, "your business is to grow and to be of some use. No one's going to know about it unless you yell it out, but I'm going to see that you turn out a decent, manly chap and not another Slops Barnett."
"But you went with Slops yourself."
"I did—but you're not going to be such a fool."
"Why, you're a regular tyrant!"
"All right, call it that."
"And I elected you," said Dennis, the aggrieved and astounded modern politician. "This is Goo-gooism!"