I borrowed it." "Oh-- See here.

Can't you say you lost it ?" "I suppose so, if you want it as much as all that." The young artist sat down and began seriously to tear the book to pieces.
"Well, for the love of Mike!" cried the friend.

"Do you hate it like that ?" "I never read more than three pages of it," said the artist, steadily tearing, "but a slumming creature, a girl from uptown came into the 'Pirate's Den' yesterday where I was sitting, and, after staring at me fascinatedly for five minutes, leaned over to me and murmured breathlessly: "'Oh, tell me, _aren't you a Truffler_ ?' I couldn't wring her neck, and so--" Another handful of torn pages fluttered from his hand.
Of course, there are always the faddists and theorists, who take their ideals as hard as mumps or measles.

Because the Village is so kind to new ideas, these flourish there for a time.
Here is a little tale told about a certain talented and charming lady who had a very complete set of theories and wished to try them out on Greenwich.

One of her pet theories was that The People were naturally aesthetic; that The People's own untutored instinct would always unerringly select the best; that it was an insult to the noble idealism of The People to try to educate them; they were, so to speak, born with an education, ready-made, automatic, in sound working order from the beginning.