I write and write. People who stop writing for a time disgust me, and if I were to run into them on the street not writing I should like to beat them into the gutter except that I am busy. Writing!— Leo "Leo" Toasty speaking red-faced to undergraduate students at Bell College in 1893, with a pen in one hand and a moist wad of vellum in the other shortly before heaving the lectern into the audience. It was Mr Toasty's last formal speaking engagement. His compensation was reduced proportional to the theatre repairs and an estimation of the insult suffered by the attending students whose evening was cut short but who nevertheless received full credit for having witnessed the bitter end. The young man who took the brunt of the lectern with his forearm had earlier in the evening, quite coincidentally, shown a writing sample to Mr. Toasty, but the already agitated speaker read only the first sentence and thrust the papers back at the boy saying, "False." The boy's parents lobbied the college to take punitive action against the man for the two-pronged effrontery in hopes of restoring their son's excellent potential, but the timid faculty merely offered the boy a visit to the nurse and a three-week reprieve from cafeteria duties.