"Be Coufal," said the bald Disciple, looking Ott from behind the Schwartz Page, "Cozzl those Lions McLeaned up on Hobart."
"McCandless burning at both ends," said the lowly disciple, grovelling before the Sage of the Age. "It never rains but
"Loh and behold!" exclaimed the Sage of the Age. "Sotear, but don't Phillip your glass any more. Frank-ly, you've had
"What the Hill is Condon off around Hair?" asked the Sage of the Age, observing his Green assistant. "Pastuzac," sneezed
"McKenna believe it," screeched the Sage of the Age, fumbling his Ming stein. "Did you Reed that Mother Nature will
"Frasca matter?" queried the Sage of the Age, observing his peaked disciple. "My Cook can't even Boyle an egg," replied
Hu Flung Truncellito wine and with a muffled Schreck passed the Brown jug to his assistant. "I must Sarno. Isbey-cause
"Great Scottl" cried the Peer of the Era, "I think if we Lunn Shelly fast we'll beat Detar out of
"Karas your rabbit's foot and Lockwood," quots the venerable sage of the age. "All right, Olson," jibed his youthful neophyte.
"Liebert to Bingham" exulted the wizened savant, "he'll Mead no Finical help today. This will Sella million tickets. People are