Juan Gris Guitar and Music PapeJuan Gris Fantomas Pipe and NewspaperGeorge Bellows The Picnic
much for prediction, he thought. And if they thought so much of him they could at least have hired a decent sculptor. It was disgraceful. The nose was all wrong. Call that a leg? People had been carving their names on it, too. He start.
There was the pedestal, empty. There was a cloud of marble dust over everything. And striding out of it, muttering to himself, was Albert.
The wizards at the back of the crowd started to have it away as quickly and quietly as possible. There wasn't one of them that hadn't, at some time in his jolly youth, put a common bedroom utensil on old Albert's wouldn't be seen dead in a hat like that, either. Of course, if he could help it, he wouldn't be seen dead at all.Albert aimed an octarine thunderbolt at the ghastly thing and grinned evilly as it exploded into dust.'Right,' he said to the Disc at large, 'I'm back.' The tingle from the magic coursed all the way up his arm and started a warm glow in his mind. How he'd missed it, all these years.Wizards came hurrying through the big double doors at the sound of the explosion and cleared the wrong conclusion from a standing