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Wilson, Harry Leon, 1867-1939

"Bunker Bean"

Then was he sorely beset.
They would perhaps talk about him over his head, discuss his points as
if he were some new beast from the stables.
"I tell you, he's over an inch taller than I am," announced the flapper.
"U-u-mm!" replied Grandma, measuring Bean's stature with narrowed eye.
"U-u-mm!"
"You show her!" commanded flapper, in a louder voice, as if she believed
him deaf. She grasped his arm and whirled him about to stand with his
back to hers.
"There!" said the flapper tensely, her eyes staring ahead. "There!"
"You're scrooching!" accused the Demon.
"Not a bit!--and see how square his shoulders are!" She turned to point
out this grace of the animal.
"Ever take any drugs? Ever get any habits like that?" queried the Demon.
Plainly Bean's confession to an unusual virtue had aroused her
suspicion. He might be a drug fiend!
He faltered wretchedly, wishing Breede would send for him.
"I--well, I used to be made to take sulphur and molasses every
spring ... but I never kept it up after I left home."
"Hum!" said the old lady, looking as if he could tell a lot more if he
chose.
She gripped one of his biceps. He was not ashamed of these. The night
and morning drill with that home exerciser had told, even though he was
not yet so impressive as the machine's inventor, who, in magazine
advertisements, looked down so fondly upon his own flexed arm.
"For goodness' sake!" exclaimed the Demon respectfully.


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