I got that right
from a fellow that's met him."
"Still, an author's got to go to college and stuff like that."
Mr. Wrenn spoke as though he would be pleased to have the
objection overruled at once, which it was with a universal:
"Oh, rats!"
Crunching oysters in a brown jacket of flour, whose every lump
was a crisp delight, hearing his genius lauded and himself
called Bill thrice in a quarter-hour, Mr. Wrenn was beatified.
He asked the waiter for some paper, and while the four hotly
discussed things which "it would be slick to have the
president's daughter do" he drew up a list of characters on a
sheet of paper he still keeps. It is headed, "Miggleton's
Forty-second Street Branch." At the bottom appear numerous
scribblings of the name Nelly.
{the full page is covered with doodling as well}
"I think I'll call the heroine `Nelly,'" he mused.
Nelly Croubel blushed. Mrs. Arty and Tom glanced at each other.
Mr. Wrenn realized that he had, even at this moment of social
triumph, "made a break.
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