PERADVENTURE, A LANCELET.
Wandering aimlessly through the halls of Old Main
one evening, the Critic chanced to pause in front of
the Free Lance room and, thinking he heard voices inside,
entered,—to find it empty. This seemed very strange, for
he was sure he heard someone. But glancing around the
room, he began to realize it was all an illusion, when the
mystery was solved by a remark from Shears.
"Now Pastepot," he remarked, "as I have often said
before, I can't see why they don't publish a little exchange
verse in the LANCP, once in a while. There was a time when
they did it every month, and I hear the readers were very
much pleased; but now, well they don't do anything now.
Why, I have lain unused here on the Critic's desk for so long
that I have the rheumatism so in my joints, they squeak
whenever I move, and I feel so dull that I couldn't make a
pointed remark if I tried."
"That's so," said Pastepot, "I feel a little thick on top
myself. But I heard the Editor tell the Critic that he would
have to get out something for this issue, and in fact for ev
ery remaining issue."
"Good for him," exclaimed Shears.
"Yes, that is what I say," continued Pastepot. "It
does seem good after a whole year of idleness. But I sup
pose that the poor Critic won't think so when he wades
through a whole year's exchanges," he added thoughtfully.
"Snip, snip," replied Shears, "I don't agree with you
there. It is not necessary for him to go through them all.
What we want is this year's exchanges. Why, it is absurd
to think of putting in stuff that is a year old."