It was unadulterated Con. The Gusher
should have been in the Diplomatic Service. One of his hot Specialties
was to get up at Dinner Parties and propose Toasts. He would hot-air
the Ladies until they flushed Crimson from the Joy of being hot-aired.
Even if the Speech was known to be cut-and-dried Blarney, it never
failed to swell the Adorable Creatures, as he called them.
[Illustration: _The Gusher._]
He had a pump-handle Shake for every Man he met, and after the second
Day he called him Old Fellow and inquired as to his Health in a Tone
of trembling Solicitude and picked little pieces of Lint off his Coat.
"I know it's Guff," the Man would say after the Gusher had passed on,
"but my Stars! He can ladle out that Soothing Syrup and never spill a
Drop."
The Grouch, on the other Hand, gave a correct Imitation of a Bear with
a Sore Toe. His Conversation was largely made up of Grunts. He carried
a Facial Expression that frightened little Children in Street Cars
and took all the Starch out of sentimental Young Ladies. He seemed
perpetually to carry the Hoof-Marks of a horrible Nightmare. Some
said that he had been Blighted in Love and had soured on the Universe.
Others imagined that his Liver was out of Whack. At any rate, he was
shy on Sweetness and Light. His Dial suggested a Map of the Bad Lands
and he was just out of Kind Words. He could Knock better than he could
Boost.
When the Gusher would arise at the Dinner Table to blow Bubbles and
distribute Candy, the Grouch would slide down in his Chair until he
was resting on his Shoulder Blades.
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