Louis unwraps them. I was standing by in the basement with Bert Elliott,
who has submitted a modernistic picture of Michigan Avenue, the Wrigley
Building and the sky, called "Up, Straight and Across."
"'The Home of the Muskrat,'" Louis called. Mike wrote it down. "Wanna look
at it, Mike?"
"Yeah, let's see." Time out for critical inspection. "Say, this guy never
saw a muskrat house. That ain't the way."
"'Isle of Dreams,'" called Louis. "Hm! You can't tell which is right side
up. I guess it goes like this."
"No. The other," said Mike. "Try it on its side. There, I told you so.
'Isle of Dreams.' I don't see no isle."
"Here's a cuckoo," called Louis, suddenly. "'Mist.'"
"What?"
"'Mist,' it says, only 'Mist,' Mike. I'll say he missed. It ain't no
picture at all. That's a swell idee. Draw a picture in a fog and have the
fog so heavy you can't see nothing, then you don't have to put any picture
in. Can you beat it?"
"Go on. Try another."
"All right. Here's one. 'The Faithful Friend.' Now there's what I call a
picture. I knowed a guy who owned a dog that looked just like this. A
setter or something."
"Go on. That ain't a setter. It's a spaniel."
"You're cuckoo, Mike. Tell me it's a spaniel! Let's put it up ahead.
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