"Now," he continued, "there is no use in that. Say what you have to say, that's all that's necessary. What's the good of all those ad-ject-ives?" He pronounced the last word in three syllables with a very decided accent on the second. "That is done, now," he concluded, "by people who are, well—abrupt. Ain't that right, now? It's abrupt, that's what it is; it's abrupt.
"Most assuredly," he said, answering himself.
III
AS TO OFFICE BOYS
MR. MACCRARY is in the real estate business. It is incident to Mr. MacCrary's business that he has to employ an office boy. This position as factotum in the office of Mr. MacCrary is subject to much vicissitude.
The first of the interesting line of boys successively employed by Mr. MacCrary was an office boy by profession; by natural talent and inclination he was a liar. He was a gifted liar, a brilliant and a versatile liar; a liar of resource, of imagination. He was a liar of something very near to genius. He lied for the love of lying. With him a lie was a thing of art. An artist for art's sake, he, and for art's sake alone. Like an amateur in short, a distinguished amateur, who is too proud to sell his lies, but willingly gives one away, now and then to some highly valued and much admiring friend. This boy would start with a little lie, then, as he progressed in his story, the wonderful possibilities of the thing would open up before him; he would grasp them and contort them, twist them into shape, and produce, create, a thing magnificent, stupendous, a thing which fairly made one gasp. He, a mere boy! It was wonderful.
On the last day he came into the office and said: "Runaway down the street, Mr. MacCrary."
"Is that so?" said Mr. MacCrary.
"Yes," said the boy, "ran over a woman, killed her dead."
"You don't say!" exclaimed Mr. MacCrary.