―Where was that, Myles? Ned Lambert asked with a reflective glance at his toecaps.

―In Ohio! the editor shouted.

―So it was, begad, Ned Lambert agreed.

Passing out, he whispered to J. J. O’Molloy:

―Incipient jigs. Sad case.

―Ohio! the editor crowed in high treble from his uplifted scarlet face. My Ohio!

―A perfect cretic! the professor said. Long, short and long.

O, Harp Eolian!

He took a reel of dental floss from his waistcoat pocket and, breaking off a piece, twanged it smartly between two and two of his resonant unwashed teeth.