Atlanta Georgian. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, 1913-02-21

culiarly gaunt and thin, with a hawk nose
and gray hair that had need cutting some
Tune ago. The eyes were concealed be-
hind glasses so heavy, and thick that they
reminded one of the horn spectacles of
the Tibetan lamasseries. The hair stood
out like ruff under the brim of an old
black SLOUGH hat. He wore an army over
coat with the military cape. and these,
with as much of his trousers as showed
beneath, had apparently never known the
pressing iron since they had left the
tailor's hands. Very heavy and i'll shapen
shoes and a heavy silver headed cane,
with which he constantly gesticulated,
completed the grotesque apparition.
Howell was the first to find his voice
after the scarecrow had dumped into the
general range of vision.
Look who's here!" he exclaimed joy
ously. Little Nemoi'
The thick glasses were leveled at him
like the twin searchlights of a man-of
war.
Don't call me little Nemo!" snapped
the noted author in a Earring. whining
voice Il tell you l don't like it.
"All right" grinned Howell. Send it
back and let the cook warm il over"
Mr.. Clave~ing gulped and glared Mr.
Howell grinned more joyously.
You're that fresh reporter that came
TO my house last week to write me up
for the Sunday edition." he charged
Howell looked utterly happy.
"a Always Get the Freaks"
Yes he admitted. "They always
hand me the freaks"
We'll" rasped Mr.. Clavering savagely,
you misrepresented both me and my
work. l have a good mind to sue you
for calling me old Grape Nuts. That
paper of yours is no good anyway"
With which he dumped a heavy arm
full of books that he carried on to Miss
Towne's desk and generally over her
work.
II know it," conceded Howell, cheerful
ly; I'VE print your stories"
Yes. and they're the only good things
in the rotten sheet" retorted Mr.. Claver-
ing. Il hope some day soon they'll print
your obituary! I'll write it, too-for moth
ing
Howell was having bully time. but he
observed with regret that MIR. Christopher
was edging up to the firing line.
Then are harsh words, Bertha he
said. solemnly
Don't call me Bertha" ragged the iras-
chile author.
"Oh, very Well" sighed Howell, and,
turning to the superintendent. he added,
gravely:
Mr.. Christopher, the first picture on
your left is that Of Old Hawkshaw, the
Boy Sleuth.''
"Old Hawkshaw" sputtered and struck
the floor SO violently that the professor
jumped in his seat, but made no de-
mand for silence Before the angry man
could think Of any retort, Mr.. Christie
pher interposed gently with: well, what
can do for you, sir?''
Mr. Clavering eyed him Inadvertently
You don't look as IL you could do any
thing" he retorted, graciousy, and Mr.
Christopher's spine stlffened My name
is Clavering Winthrop Clavering Read
any Of my stories?"
NO" was the curt response.
"You ought to-they aid digestion"
Howell chlmed in. Mr. Clayering elected
to ignore him, ana leyeled his cane at
Miss Towne.
rs this the girl that wants 10 work for
me-" he demanded.
NO" she replied, with visible dlspleus-
ure
Glad u &c." Rrunted Mr. Clsycring
You wouldn't do al an no Imagination
"Nothiug could induce me- to take "a
position with sou, declared Miss Towne.
Indignantly