off by the yard. Why, in his essay on "Small Change" in the Wherewithal Series, they're as thick as spatters. The very title is a metaphor, and he does not make any more of them than a carpenter does of shavings.
I talked on in this strain for some time, till at last John burst out with a fine display of impatience.
"Don't talk bosh any more, Dick. I'm going to write my answer and be done with it. Come, get out of that!" With which he coolly turned me out of my own chair, and sat down at my desk, where he immediately fell to scratching away for dear life.
"I hope the other Lilian has better manners than you," I remarked, but I am afraid it was lost upon him.
Before he got through the rascal had torn up three or four sheets of my best Crane's Distaff note-paper, to which he was helping himself, with admirable assurance. Not that I minded the paper, though writing paper does happen to be
