"The strong tail of the alligator," he flowed on easily, "by a lashing movement assists it in swimming, during which exercise it emits a loud bellowing."
"Do alligators bellow?" asked Mr. Pottle with open skepticism.
"I wish I had a dollar for every time I've heard them bellow," answered Mr. Deeley pugnaciously. "Apparently, Mr. Puddle, you are not familiar with the works of Ahn."
Mr. Pottle maintained a blank black silence.
"Oh, who was he?" put in Mrs. Gallup.
"Johann Franz Ahn, born 1796, died 1865, was an educationalist," said Mr. Deeley in the voice of authority. "His chief work, of which I am very fond, is a volume entitled, 'Praktischer Lehrgang zur Schnellen und Leichten Erlergung der Französischen Sprache.' You've read it, perhaps, Mr. Pobble?"
"No," said Mr. Pottle miserably. "I can't say I ever have." He felt that his case grew worse with every minute. He rose. "I guess I'd better be going," he said. Mrs. Gallup made no attempt to detain him.
As he left her presence with slow steps and a heart of lead he heard the high voice of Mr. Deeley saying, "Now, take alcohol: That's rather a specialty of mine. Alcohol is a term applied to a group of organic substances, including methyl, ethyl, propyl, butyl, amyl——"
Back in his bachelor home the heartsick Mr. Pottle flung his new tie into a corner, slammed his ultra shoes on the floor, and tossed his trousers, heedless of rumpling, at a chair, sat down, head in hand, and thought of a watery grave.
For that he could not hope to compete conversationally or otherwise with the literary Deeley of Xenia was all too apparent. Mrs. Gallup—he had called her Blossom but a few brief hours ago—said she wanted a literary man, and here was one literary to his manicured finger tips.