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 Squash said the dinner was in his honor, and it would be improper for him to leave the room before the guests. He seemed to be determined to remain.

“What do you care!” I said, “If this is a farewell dinner, make it like one. Look at those fellows; they're just like the inmates of a lunatic asylum. Let’s go.”

And having forced hesitating Hubbard Squash to his feet, we were just leaving the room, when Clown, marching past, brandishing the broom, saw us.

“This won’t do for the guest of honor to leave before us,” he hollered, “this is the Sino-Japanese negotiations. Can’t let you off.” He enforced his declaration by holding the broom across our way. My temper had been pretty well aroused for some time, and I felt impatient.

“The Sino-Japanese negotiation, eh? Then you’re a Chink,” and I whacked his head with a knotty fist.