KIPPS
one of 'em. You couldn't have a better name than that. Euphemia indeed! What next?. . . Good Lord!. . . That isn't one of my collars there, is it, under your bed?". . .
Kipps got him the collar.
"I don't see no great 'arm in Euphemia," he said as he did so.
After that he became reckless. "I'm a good mind to write that letter," he said, and then, finding Buggins preoccupied wrapping his washing up in the "half sox," added to himself, "a thundering good mind."
So he got his penny bottle of ink, borrowed the pen from Buggins and with no very serious difficulty in spelling or composition, did as he had resolved.
He came back into the bedroom about an hour afterwards, a little out of breath and pale. "Where you been?" said Buggins, who was now reading the Daily World Manager, which came to him in rotation from Carshot.
"Out to post some letters," said Kipps, hanging up his hat.
"Crib hunting?"
"Mostly," said Kipps.
"Rather," he added with a nervous laugh; "what else?"
Buggins went on reading. Kipps sat on his bed and regarded the back of the Daily World Manager thoughtfully.
"Buggins," he said at last.
Buggins lowered his paper and looked.
"I say, Buggins, what do these here advertisements
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