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he demanded. “I didn’t see a single gag in them, and I got an eye for gags, as anybody in this business’ll tell you. Come on, make me laugh! What’s so funny there?”

“The signatures, for one thing. They’re signed: Pro Bono Publico, Constant Reader, and A Well-Wisher—”

“Well, how else would you sign them?” demanded Ike Humbert, looking at me a little belligerently. “Isn’t that the only way you're allowed to sign an anonymous letter, hey? Sense of humor! You got as much sense of humor as a stage doorkeeper. Now tell me another one.”

I looked at him a little uncertainly, for I couldn’t at the moment make out whether he was kidding me or really meant it.

“Well, never mind, Ike,” I said. “We won’t go any further into that. If you don’t think that’s funny, why, then, the other obvious expressions in these notes won't be funny, either. Just what do you want me to do about this, then?” I asked.

He looked at me in astonishment. “Why I want you to go see the feller that’s sending these notes and tell him that he has to stop it, because I’m too busy to bother with such nonsense now.”

“And will you tell me his name and address?” I asked with a heavy sarcasm which was entirely lost on Ike Humbert.