The uncle was disappointed and a trifle vexed. He said that when the owners of hunting forests put out fodder for the deer in winter, the creatures got the habit of coming to the place and thereafter didn't scuffle so hard for themselves. Lanny smiled and said he had observed it in the forests of Silesia; but when it was a question of scuffling or starving, doubtless they would resume scuffling.
“Well,” said the painter, “if you happen to meet your friend, give him these.” He took a little roll of papers from the breast pocket of his coat. “These are samples of the leaflets we have printed. I've marked on each one the number of copies distributed, so he can see that none of his fodder has been wasted.”
“All right,” said Lanny. “I'll give them to him if I see him.” He put the papers into his own pocket, and sought for another topic of conversation. He told of visiting Stef and how Stef had a cold. He repeated some of the muckraker's stories about espionage on the Reds.
“I, too, have tried the plan of chatting with the flics,” said the painter. “But I've found no idealism in their souls.”
Lanny repeated the question he had asked of Stef. “How do you recognize a flic?”
“I wouldn't know how to describe them,” replied the other. “But when you've seen a few you know the type. They are always stupid, and when they try to talk like one of us it's pathetic.”
There was a pause. “Well, I'll get along,” said Jesse. “Robbie may be coming and I don't want to annoy him. No need to tell him that I called.”
“I won't unless he asks me,” replied the nephew.
“And put those papers where he won't see them. Of course you can read them if you wish, but the point is, I'm not giving them to you for that purpose.”
“I get you,” said Lanny, with a smile.