"Is there such an angel as the Angel of Laughter?" asked the Tyro.
"Not in any hierarchy that I know," replied Alderson.
"Then there ought to be. Do you know her?"
"Who? The Angel of—"
"Don't guy me, Dr. Alderson. This is serious."
"Oh, these sudden seizures are seldom fatal."
"Do you know her?" persisted the Tyro.
"No."
The Tyro sighed. Meantime there progressed the ceremony of enthroning the queen in one of the most desirable chairs on the deck, while the bodyguard fussed eagerly about, tucking in rugs, handing out candy, flowers, and magazines, and generally making monkeys of itself. (I quote the Tyro's regrettable characterization of these acts of simple courtesy.)
"But I know some of her admirers," continued the other. "The lop-eared youth on the right is young Sperry, son of the famous millionaire philanthropist and tax-dodger, Diedrick Sperry. He'll be worth ten millions one of these days."