“The anatomy of anti-melancholy,” murmured Severance. “Valuable.”
“You’re right, it’s valuable,” declared its proponent. “It’s money; that’s what it is. Watch ’em at the movies. When their bellies begin to shake, the picture’s got ’em.”
“How would you produce this desirable effect?” asked Severance.
“No trouble to show goods. I’m dealing with gents, I know. This is all under your shirt for the present, if you don’t take up the scheme.”
From a portfolio which he had set in a corner he produced a sheaf of drawings. They depicted the adventures, mischievous, predatory, or criminal, of a pair of young hopefuls whose physiognomies and postures were genuinely ludicrous.
“Did you draw these?” asked Banneker in surprise, for the draughtsmanship was expert.
“No. Hired a kid artist to do ’em. I furnished the idea.”
“Oh, you furnished the idea, did you?” queried Edmonds. “And where did you get it?”
With an ineffably satisfied air, Mr. Sheffer tapped his bullet head.
“You must be older than you look, then. Those figures of the kids are redrawn from a last-century German humorous classic, ‘Max und Moritz.’ I used to be crazy over it when I was a youngster. My grandfather brought it to me from Europe, and made a translation for us youngsters.”