He left. Sparks turned to Isobar, grinning.
"Well," he said, "one man's fish—hey, Jonesy? Too bad you can't play your doodlesack any more, but frankly, I'm just as glad. Of all the awful screeching wails—"
But Isobar Jones, generally mild and gentle, was now in a perfect fury. His pale eyes blazed, he stomped his foot on the floor, and from his lips poured a stream of such angry invective that Riley looked startled. Words that, to Isobar, were the utter dregs of violent profanity.
"Oh, dagnab it!" fumed Isobar Jones. "Oh, tarnation and dingbust! Oh—fiddlesticks!"
II
"And so," chuckled Riley, "he left, bubbling like a kettle on a red-hot oven. But, boy! was he ever mad! Just about ready to bust, he was."
Some minutes had passed since Isobar had left; Riley was talking to Dr. Loesch, h
