But poets are a footloose
class and are often found with lame and halting feet. You don't seem to be
a poet."
"Never said I was," retorted Iva, shortly, and Warble said, "Stop this
nonsense, it makes too much kicking. Now we're going to play the game I
learned in Buda Pesth."
She led them to the picture gallery which had been prepared for the game
by having many sheets of fly-paper placed on the floor, sticky side up.
"It's Fly-paper Tag," she said.
It _was_ Fly-paper Tag--she was quite right.
"You're it!" screamed Mrs. Givens as she pushed the minister over onto a
sheet of fly-paper.
"It yourself," shrieked Leathersham adroitly shoving a sheet where he saw
Mrs. Givens would light next.
* * * * *
Warble was certain she was a great reformer.
Yet would these reformed people stay reformed?
True, they were now in the spirit of her party, Mack Sennett himself
couldn't have asked a better interpretation of his own vital principles.
But had they come to realize that this after all was the real thing, the
true ideal?
Warble feared.
* * * * *
They were a stuck-up lot. The fly-paper had intrigued them all. Not only
were they all half-soled with it but the merry wags had decorated the
ladies' bare backs and the men's coated backs, until all looked like
sandwich men or peripatetic ragpickers.
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