But their "works" were, displayed in profusion all about the little ratty studio.

Cannon to the right of them, cannon to the left of them, cannon in front--it was Balaclava come again.
"Here's the uncontented hackman, Tracy.

Buckle to--deepen the sea-green to turf, turn the ship into a hearse.

Let the boys have a taste of your quality." The artists arrived just as the last touch was put on.

They stood transfixed with admiration.
"My souls but she's a stunner, that hearse! The hackman will just go all to pieces when he sees that won't he Andy ?" "Oh, it is sphlennid, sphlennid! Herr Tracy, why haf you not said you vas a so sublime aartist?
Lob' Gott, of you had lif'd in Paris you would be a Pree de Rome, dot's votes de matter!" The arrangements were soon made.