[Illustration: "'ARE YOU RELATED TO GOVERNOR McKINLEY?'"]

 COFFEE AND REPARTEE

 BY

 JOHN KENDRICK BANGS

 ILLUSTRATED

 NEW YORK AND LONDON HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS

 1899

 Harper's "Black and White" Series. 

 Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, 50 cents each. 

In the Vestibule Limited. Lowell. By G. W. Curtis. By Brander Matthews. George William Curtis. ByThis Picture and That. A John White Chadwick. Comedy. By Brander Matthews. Slavery and the Slave TradeThe Decision of the Court. In Africa. By Henry M. A Comedy. By Brander Matthews. Stanley. 

A Family Canoe Trip. By Whittier: Notes of His Life Florence W. Snedeker. And of His Friendships. By Annie Fields. Three Weeks in Politics. By John Kendrick Bangs. The Japanese Bride. By Naomi Tamura. Coffee and Repartee. By John Kendrick Bangs. Giles Corey, Yeoman. By Mary E. Wilkins. Travels in America 100 Years Ago. By Thomas Twining. Seen From the Saddle. By Isa Carrington Cabell. The Work of Washington Irving. By Charles Dudley BY W. D. HOWELLS. Warner. Farces: A Letter of Introduction. --TheEdwin Booth. By Laurence Albany Depot. --The Garroters. --Five Hutton. O'Clock Tea. --The Mouse-trap. --A Likely Story. --Evening Dress. --ThePhillips Brooks. By Rev. Unexpected Guests. Arthur Brooks, D. D. A Little Swiss Sojourn. The Rivals. By François Coppée. My Year in a Log Cabin. 

 PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. 

Copyright, 1893, by Harper & Brothers. 

_All rights reserved. _

TO F. S. M. 

ILLUSTRATIONS

 PAGE

"'Are you related to Governor McKinley?'" _Frontispiece_

"Alarmed the cook" 5

"'What are the first symptoms of insanity?'" 13

"'Reading Webster's Dictionary'" 17

"'I stuck to the pigs'" 23

The conspirators 25

"'Weren't your ears long enough?'" 33

"'The corks popped to some purpose last night'" 37

"'If you could spare so little as one flame'" 43

The school-master as a cooler 47

"'Reading the Sunday newspapers'" 51

Bobbo 55

Wooing the Muse 67

"'He gave up jokes'" 71

"'A little garden of my own, where I could raise an occasional can of tomatoes'" 75

"'A hind-quarter of lamb gambolling about its native heath'" 77

"'The gladsome click of the lawn-mower'" 80

"'You don't mean to say that you write for the papers?'" 85

"'We wooed the self-same maid'" 87

Curing insomnia 91

"Holding his plate up to the light" 97

"'I believe you'd blow out the gas in your bed-room'" 101

"'His fairy stories were told him in words of ten syllables'" 105

"'I thought my father a mean-spirited assassin'" 109

"'Mrs. S. Brought him to the point of proposing'" 115

"'Hoorah!' cried the Idiot, grasping Mr. Pedagog by the hand" 119

[Illustration: Coffee and Repartee]

I

The guests at Mrs. Smithers's high-class boarding-house for gentlemenhad assembled as usual for breakfast, and in a few moments Mary, thedainty waitress, entered with the steaming coffee, the mush, and therolls. 

The School-master, who, by-the-way, was suspected by Mrs. Smithers ofhaving intentions, and who for that reason occupied the chair nearestthe lady's heart, folded up the morning paper, and placing it under himso that no one else could get it, observed, quite genially for him, "Itwas very wet yesterday. "

"I didn't find it so, " observed a young man seated half-way down thetable, who was by common consent called the Idiot, because of his"views. " "In fact, I was very dry. Curious thing, I'm always dry onrainy days. I am one of the kind of men who know that it is the part ofwisdom to stay in when it rains, or to carry an umbrella when it is notpossible to stay at home, or, having no home, like ourselves, to remaincooped up in stalls, or stalled up in coops, as you may prefer. "

"You carried an umbrella, then?" queried the landlady, ignoring theIdiot's shaft at the size of her "elegant and airy apartments" with anease born of experience. 

"Yes, madame, " returned the Idiot, quite unconscious of what was coming. 

"Whose?" queried the lady, a sarcastic smile playing about her lips. 

"That I cannot say, Mrs. Smithers, " replied the Idiot, serenely, "but itis the one you usually carry. "

"Your insinuation, sir, " said the School-master, coming to thelandlady's rescue, "is an unworthy one. The umbrella in question ismine. It has been in my possession for five years. "

"Then, " replied the Idiot, unabashed, "it is time you returned it. Don'tyou think men's morals are rather lax in this matter of umbrellas, Mr. Whitechoker?" he added, turning from the School-master, who began toshow signs of irritation. 

"Very, " said the Minister, running his finger about his neck to make thecollar which had been sent home from the laundry by mistake set moreeasily--"very lax. At the last Conference I attended, some person, forgetting his high office as a minister in the Church, walked off withmy umbrella without so much as a thank you; and it was embarrassing too, because the rain was coming down in bucketfuls. "

"What did you do?" asked the landlady, sympathetically. She liked Mr. Whitechoker's sermons, and, beyond this, he was a more profitableboarder than any of the others, remaining home to luncheon every day andhaving to pay extra therefor. 

"There was but one thing left for me to do. I took the bishop'sumbrella, " said Mr. Whitechoker, blushing slightly. 

"But you returned it, of course?" said the Idiot. 

"I intended to, but I left it on the train on my way back home the nextday, " replied the clergyman, visibly embarrassed by the Idiot'sunexpected cross-examination. 

"It's the same way with books, " put in the Bibliomaniac, an unfortunatebeing whose love of rare first editions had brought him down fromaffluence to boarding. "Many a man who wouldn't steal a dollar would runoff with a book. I had a friend once who had a rare copy of _ThroughAfrica by Daylight_. It was a beautiful book. Only twenty-five copiesprinted. The margins of the pages were four inches wide, and thetitle-page was rubricated; the frontispiece was colored by hand, and theseventeenth page had one of the most amusing typographical errors onit--"

"Was there any reading-matter in the book?" queried the Idiot, blowingsoftly on a hot potato that was nicely balanced on the end of his fork. 

[Illustration: "ALARMED THE COOK"]

"Yes, a little; but it didn't amount to much, " returned theBibliomaniac. "But, you know, it isn't as reading-matter that men likemyself care for books. We have a higher notion than that. It is as aspecimen of book-making that we admire a chaste bit of literature like_Through Africa by Daylight_. But, as I was saying, my friend had thisbook, and he'd extra-illustrated it. He had pictures from all parts ofthe world in it, and the book had grown from a volume of one hundredpages to four volumes of two hundred pages each. "

"And it was stolen by a highly honorable friend, I suppose?" queried theIdiot. 

"Yes, it was stolen--and my friend never knew by whom, " said theBibliomaniac. 

"What?" asked the Idiot, in much surprise. "Did you never confess?"

It was very fortunate for the Idiot that the buckwheat cakes werebrought on at this moment. Had there not been some diversion of thatkind, it is certain that the Bibliomaniac would have assaulted him. 

"It is very kind of Mrs. Smithers, I think, " said the School-master, "toprovide us with such delightful cakes as these free of charge. "

"Yes, " said the Idiot, helping himself to six cakes. "Very kind indeed, although I must say they are extremely economical from an architecturalpoint of view--which is to say, they are rather fuller of pores than ofbuckwheat. I wonder why it is, " he continued, possibly to avert thelandlady's retaliatory comments--"I wonder why it is that porousplasters and buckwheat cakes are so similar in appearance?"

"And so widely different in their respective effects on the system, " putin a genial old gentleman who occasionally imbibed, seated next to theIdiot. 

"I fail to see the similarity between a buckwheat cake and a porousplaster, " said the School-master, resolved, if possible, to embarrassthe Idiot. 

"You don't, eh?" replied the latter. "Then it is very plain, sir, thatyou have never eaten a porous plaster. "

To this the School-master could find no reasonable reply, and he tookrefuge in silence. Mr. Whitechoker tried to look severe; the gentlemanwho occasionally imbibed smiled all over; the Bibliomaniac ignored theremark entirely, not having as yet forgiven the Idiot for his grossinsinuation regarding his friend's _édition de luxe_ of _Through Africaby Daylight_; Mary, the maid, who greatly admired the Idiot, not so muchfor his idiocy as for the aristocratic manner in which he carriedhimself, and the truly striking striped shirts he wore, left the roomin a convulsion of laughter that so alarmed the cook below-stairs thatthe next platterful of cakes were more like tin plates than cakes; andas for Mrs. Smithers, that worthy woman was speechless with wrath. Butshe was not paralyzed apparently, for reaching down into her pocket shebrought forth a small piece of paper, on which was written in detail the"account due" of the Idiot. 

"I'd like to have this settled, sir, " she said, with some asperity. 

"Certainly, my dear madame, " replied the Idiot, unabashed--"certainly. Can you change a check for a hundred?"

No, Mrs. Smithers could not. 

"Then I shall have to put off paying the account until this evening, "said the Idiot. "But, " he added, with a glance at the amount of thebill, "are you related to Governor McKinley, Mrs. Smithers?"

"I am not, " she returned, sharply. "My mother was a Partington. "

"I only asked, " said the Idiot, apologetically, "because I am very muchinterested in the subject of heredity, and you may not know it, but youand he have each a marked tendency towards high-tariff bills. "

And before Mrs. Smithers could think of anything to say, the Idiot wason his way down town to help his employer lose money on Wall Street. 

II

"Do you know, I sometimes think--" began the Idiot, opening and shuttingthe silver cover of his watch several times with a snap, with theprobable, and not altogether laudable, purpose of calling his landlady'sattention to the fact--of which she was already painfully aware--thatbreakfast was fifteen minutes late. 

"Do you, really?" interrupted the School-master, looking up from hisbook with an air of mock surprise. "I am sure I never should havesuspected it. "

"Indeed?" returned the Idiot, undisturbed by this reflection upon hisintellect. "I don't really know whether that is due to your generallyunsuspicious nature, or to your shortcomings as a mind-reader. "

"There are some minds, " put in the landlady at this point, "that are sosmall that it would certainly ruin the eyes to read them. "

"I have seen many such, " observed the Idiot, suavely. "Even our friendthe Bibliomaniac at times has seemed to me to be very absent-minded. Andthat reminds me, Doctor, " he continued, addressing himself to themedical boarder. "What is the cause of absent-mindedness?"

"That, " returned the Doctor, ponderously, "is a very large question. Absent-mindedness, generally speaking, is the result of the projectionof the intellect into surroundings other than those which for want of abetter term I might call the corporeally immediate. "

"So I have understood, " said the Idiot, approvingly. "And isabsent-mindedness acquired or inherent?"

Here the Idiot appropriated the roll of his neighbor. 

"That depends largely upon the case, " replied the Doctor, nervously. "Some are born absent-minded, some achieve absent-mindedness, and somehave absent-mindedness thrust upon them. "

"As illustrations of which we might take, for instance, I suppose, " saidthe Idiot, "the born idiot, the borrower, and the man who is knockedsilly by the pole of a truck on Broadway. "

"Precisely, " replied the Doctor, glad to get out of the discussion soeasily. He was a very young doctor, and not always sure of himself. 

"Or, " put in the School-master, "to condense our illustrations, if theIdiot would kindly go out upon Broadway and encounter the truck, weshould find the three combined in him. "

The landlady here laughed quite heartily, and handed the School-masteran extra strong cup of coffee. 

"There is a great deal in what you say, " said the Idiot, without atremor. "There are very few scientific phenomena that cannot bedemonstrated in one way or another by my poor self. It is the exceptionalways that proves the rule, and in my case you find a consistentconverse exemplification of all three branches of absent-mindedness. "

"He talks well, " said the Bibliomaniac, _sotto voce_, to the Minister. 

"Yes, especially when he gets hold of large words. I really believe hereads, " replied Mr. Whitechoker. 

[Illustration: "'WHAT ARE THE FIRST SYMPTOMS OF INSANITY?'"]

"I know he does, " said the School-master, who had overheard. "I saw himreading Webster's Dictionary last night. I have noticed, however, thatgenerally his vocabulary is largely confined to words that come betweenthe letters A and F, which shows that as yet he has not dipped verydeeply into the book. "

"What are you murmuring about?" queried the Idiot, noting the loweredtone of those on the other side of the table. 

"We were conversing--ahem! about--" began the Minister, with adespairing glance at the Bibliomaniac. 

"Let me say it, " interrupted the Bibliomaniac. "You aren't used toprevarication, and that is what is demanded at this time. We weretalking about--ah--about--er--"

"Tut! tut!" ejaculated the School-master. "We were only saying wethought the--er--the--that the--"

"What _are_ the first symptoms of insanity, Doctor?" observed the Idiot, with a look of wonder at the three shuffling boarders opposite him, andturning anxiously to the physician. 

"I wish you wouldn't talk shop, " retorted the Doctor, angrily. Insanitywas one of his weak points. 

"It's a beastly habit, " said the School-master, much relieved at thisturn of the conversation. 

"Well, perhaps you are right, " returned the Idiot. "People do, as arule, prefer to talk of things they know something about, and I don'tblame you, Doctor, for wanting to keep out of a medical discussion. Ionly asked my last question because the behavior of the Bibliomaniac andMr. Whitechoker and the School-master for some time past has worried me, and I didn't know but what you might work up a nice little practiceamong us. It might not pay, but you'd find the experience valuable, andI think unique. "

"It is a fine thing to have a doctor right in the house, " said Mr. Whitechoker, kindly, fearing that the Doctor's manifest indignationmight get the better of him. 

"That, " returned the Idiot, "is an assertion, Mr. Whitechoker, that isboth true and untrue. There are times when a physician is an ornament toa boarding-house; times when he is not. For instance, on Wednesdaymorning if it had not been for the surgical skill of our friend here, our good landlady could never have managed properly to distribute thelate autumn chicken we found upon the menu. Tally one for theaffirmative. On the other hand, I must confess to considerable loss ofappetite when I see the Doctor rolling his bread up into little pills, or measuring the vinegar he puts on his salad by means of a glassdropper, and taking the temperature of his coffee with his pocketthermometer. Nor do I like--and I should not have mentioned it save byway of illustrating my position in regard to Mr. Whitechoker'sassertion--nor do I like the cold, eager glitter in the Doctor's eyes ashe watches me consuming, with some difficulty, I admit, the cold pastrywe have served up to us on Saturday mornings under the whollytransparent _alias_ of 'Hot Bread. ' I may have very bad taste, but, inmy humble opinion, the man who talks shop is preferable to the one whosuggests it in his eyes. Some more iced potatoes, Mary, " he added, calmly. 

[Illustration: "'READING WEBSTER'S DICTIONARY'"]

"Madame, " said the Doctor, turning angrily to the landlady, "this isinsufferable. You may make out my bill this morning. I shall have toseek a home elsewhere. "

"Oh, now, Doctor!" began the landlady, in her most pleading tone. 

"Jove!" ejaculated the Idiot. "That's a good idea, Doctor. I think I'llgo with you; I'm not altogether satisfied here myself, but to desert socharming a company as we have here had never occurred to me. Together, however, we can go forth, and perhaps find happiness. Shall we put onour hunting togs and chase the fiery, untamed hall-room to the deaththis morning, or shall we put it off until some pleasanter day?"

"Put it off, " observed the School-master, persuasively. "The Idiot wasonly indulging in persiflage, Doctor. That's all. When you have knownhim longer you will understand him better. Views are as necessary to himas sunlight to the flowers; and I truly think that in an asylum he wouldprove a delightful companion. "

"There, Doctor, " said the Idiot; "that's handsome of the School-master. He couldn't make more of an apology if he tried. I'll forgive him if youwill. What say you?"

And strange to say, the Doctor, in spite of the indignation which stillleft a red tinge on his cheek, laughed aloud and was reconciled. 

As for the School-master, he wanted to be angry, but he did not feelthat he could afford his wrath, and for the first time in some monthsthe guests went their several ways at peace with each other and theworld. 

III

There was a conspiracy in hand to embarrass the Idiot. The School-masterand the Bibliomaniac had combined forces to give him a taste of his ownmedicine. The time had not yet arrived which showed the Idiot at adisadvantage; and the two boarders, the one proud of his learning, andthe other not wholly unconscious of a bookish life, were distinctlytired of the triumphant manner in which the Idiot always left thebreakfast-table to their invariable discomfiture. 

It was the School-master's suggestion to put their tormentor into thepit he had heretofore digged for them. The worthy instructor of youthhad of late come to see that while he was still a prime favorite withhis landlady, he had, nevertheless, suffered somewhat in her estimationbecause of the apparent ease with which the Idiot had got the better ofhim on all points. It was necessary, he thought, to rehabilitatehimself, and a deep-laid plot, to which the Bibliomaniac readily lentear, was the result of his reflections. They twain were to indulge in adiscussion of the great story of _Robert Elsmere_, which both wereconfident the Idiot had not read, and concerning which they felt assuredhe could not have an intelligent opinion if he had read it. 

So it happened upon this bright Sunday morning that as the boarders satthem down to partake of the usual "restful breakfast, " as the Idiottermed it, the Bibliomaniac observed:

"I have just finished reading _Robert Elsmere_. "

"Have you, indeed?" returned the School-master, with apparent interest. "I trust you profited by it?"

"On the contrary, " observed the Bibliomaniac. "My views are muchunsettled by it. "

"I prefer the breast of the chicken, Mrs. Smithers, " observed the Idiot, sending his plate back to the presiding genius of the table. "The neckof a chicken is graceful, but not too full of sustenance. "

"He fights shy, " whispered the Bibliomaniac, gleefully. 

"Never mind, " returned the School-master, confidently; "we'll land himyet. " Then he added, aloud: "Unsettled by it? I fail to see how any manwith beliefs that are at all the result of mature convictions can beunsettled by the story of _Elsmere_. For my part I believe, and I havealways said--"

"I never could understand why the neck of a chicken should be allowed ona respectable table anyhow, " continued the Idiot, ignoring thecontroversy in which his neighbors were engaged, "unless for the purposeof showing that the deceased fowl met with an accidental rather than anatural death. "

"In what way does the neck demonstrate that point?" queried theBibliomaniac, forgetting the conspiracy for a moment. 

"By its twist or by its length, of course, " returned the Idiot. "Achicken that dies a natural death does not have its neck wrung; nor whenthe head is removed by the use of a hatchet, is it likely that it willbe cut off so close behind the ears that those who eat the chicken areconfronted with four inches of neck. "

[Illustration: "'I STUCK TO THE PIGS'"]

"Very entertaining indeed, " interposed the School-master; "but we arewandering from the point the Bibliomaniac and I were discussing. Is oris not the story of _Robert Elsmere_ unsettling to one's beliefs?Perhaps you can help us to decide that question. "

"Perhaps I can, " returned the Idiot; "and perhaps not. It did notunsettle my beliefs. "

"But don't you think, " observed the Bibliomaniac, "that to certain mindsthe book is more or less unsettling?"

"To that I can confidently say no. The certain mind knows nouncertainty, " replied the Idiot, calmly. 

"Very pretty indeed, " said the School-master, coldly. "But what was youropinion of Mrs. Ward's handling of the subject? Do you think she wassufficiently realistic? And if so, and Elsmere weakened under the stressof circumstances, do you think--or don't you think--the production ofsuch a book harmful, because--being real--it must of necessity beunsettling to some minds?"

[Illustration: THE CONSPIRATORS]

"I prefer not to express an opinion on that subject, " returned theIdiot, "because I never read _Robert Els_--"

"Never read it?" ejaculated the School-master, a look of triumph in hiseyes. 

"Why, everybody has read _Elsmere_ that pretends to have read anything, "asserted the Bibliomaniac. 

"Of course, " put in the landlady, with a scornful laugh. 

"Well, I didn't, " said the Idiot, nonchalantly. "The same ground wasgone over two years before in Burrows's great story, _Is It, or Is ItNot?_ and anybody who ever read Clink's books on the _Non-Existent asOpposed to What Is_, knows where Burrows got his points. Burrows's storywas a perfect marvel. I don't know how many editions it went through inEngland, and when it was translated into French by Madame Tournay, itsimply set the French wild. "

"Great Scott!" whispered the Bibliomaniac, desperately, "I'm afraidwe've been barking up the wrong tree. "

"You've read Clink, I suppose?" asked the Idiot, turning to theSchool-master. 

"Y--yes, " returned the School-master, blushing deeply. 

The Idiot looked surprised, and tried to conceal a smile by sipping hiscoffee from a spoon. 

"And Burrows?"

"No, " returned the School-master, humbly. "I never read Burrows. "

"Well, you ought to. It's a great book, and it's the one _RobertElsmere_ is taken from--same ideas all through, I'm told--that's why Ididn't read _Elsmere_. Waste of time, you know. But you noticedyourself, I suppose, that Clink's ground is the same as that covered in_Elsmere_?"

"No; I only dipped lightly into Clink, " returned the School-master, withsome embarrassment. 

"But you couldn't help noticing a similarity of ideas?" insisted theIdiot, calmly. 

The School-master looked beseechingly at the Bibliomaniac, who wouldhave been glad to fly to his co-conspirator's assistance had he knownhow, but never having heard of Clink, or Burrows either, for thatmatter, he made up his mind that it was best for his reputation for himto stay out of the controversy. 

"Very slight similarity, however, " said the School-master, in despair. 

"Where can I find Clink's books?" put in Mr. Whitechoker, very muchinterested. 

The Idiot conveniently had his mouth full of chicken at the moment, andit was to the School-master who had also read him that they all--thelandlady included--looked for an answer. 

"Oh, I think, " returned that worthy, hesitatingly--"I think you'll findClink in any of the public libraries. "

"What is his full name?" persisted Mr. Whitechoker, taking out amemorandum-book. 

"Horace J. Clink, " said the Idiot. 

"Yes; that's it--Horace J. Clink, " echoed the School-master. "Veryvirile writer and a clear thinker, " he added, with some nervousness. 

"What, if any, of his books would you specially recommend?" asked theMinister again. 

The Idiot had by this time risen from the table, and was leaving theroom with the genial gentleman who occasionally imbibed. 

The School-master's reply was not audible. 

"I say, " said the genial gentleman to the Idiot, as they passed out intothe hall, "they didn't get much the best of you in that matter. But, tell me, who was Clink, anyhow?"

"Never heard of him before, " returned the Idiot. 

"And Burrows?"

"Same as Clink. "

"Know anything about _Elsmere_?" chuckled the genial gentleman. 

"Nothing--except that it and 'Pigs in Clover' came out at the same time, and I stuck to the Pigs. "

And the genial gentleman who occasionally imbibed was so pleased at theplight of the School-master and of the Bibliomaniac that he invited theIdiot up to his room, where the private stock was kept for just suchoccasions, and they put in a very pleasant morning together. 

IV

The guests were assembled as usual. The oatmeal course had been eaten insilence. In the Idiot's eye there was a cold glitter of expectancy--aglitter that boded ill for the man who should challenge him tocontroversial combat--and there seemed also to be, judging from sundrywinks passed over the table and kicks passed under it, an understandingto which he and the genial gentleman who occasionally imbibed wereparties. 

As the School-master sampled his coffee the genial gentleman whooccasionally imbibed broke the silence. 

"I missed you at the concert last night, Mr. Idiot, " said he. 

"Yes, " said the Idiot, with a caressing movement of the hand over hisupper lip; "I was very sorry, but I couldn't get around last night. Ihad an engagement with a number of friends at the athletic club. Imeant to have dropped you a line in the afternoon telling you about it, but I forgot it until it was too late. Was the concert a success?"

"Very successful indeed. The best one, in fact, we have had this season, which makes me regret all the more deeply your absence, " returned thegenial gentleman, with a suggestion of a smile playing about his lips. "Indeed, " he added, "it was the finest one I've ever seen. "

"The finest one you've what?" queried the School-master, startled at theverb. 

"The finest one I've ever seen, " replied the genial gentleman. "Therewere only ten performers, and really, in all my experience as anattendant at concerts, I never saw such a magnificent rendering ofBeethoven as we had last night. I wish you could have been there. It wasa sight for the gods. "

"I don't believe, " said the Idiot, with a slight cough that may havebeen intended to conceal a laugh--and that may also have been the resultof too many cigarettes--"I don't believe it could have been any moreinteresting than a game of pool I heard at the club. "

"It appears to me, " said the Bibliomaniac to the School-master, "thatthe popping sounds we heard late last night in the Idiot's room may havesome connection with the present mode of speech these two gentlemenaffect. "

"Let's hear them out, " returned the School-master, "and then we'll takethem into camp, as the Idiot would say. "

"I don't know about that, " replied the genial gentleman. "I've seen agreat many concerts, and I've heard a great many good games of pool, butthe concert last night was simply a ravishing spectacle. We had a Cubanpianist there who played the orchestration of the first act of_Parsifal_ with surprising agility. As far as I could see, he didn'tmiss a note, though it was a little annoying to observe how he used thepedals. "

"Too forcibly, or how?" queried the Idiot. 

"Not forcibly enough, " returned the Imbiber. "He tried to work them bothwith one foot. It was the only thing to mar an otherwise marvellousperformance. The idea of a man trying to display Wagner with two handsand one foot is irritating to a musician with a trained eye. "

[Illustration: "'WEREN'T YOUR EARS LONG ENOUGH?'"]

"I wish the Doctor would come down, " said Mrs. Smithers, anxiously. 

"Yes, " put in the School-master; "there seems to be madness in ourmidst. "

"Well, what can you expect of a Cuban, anyhow?" queried the Idiot. "TheCuban, like the Spaniard or the Italian or the African, hasn't the vigorwhich is necessary for the proper comprehension and rendering ofWagner's music. He is by nature slow and indolent. If it were easier fora Spaniard to hop than to walk, he'd hop, and rest his other leg. I'veknown Italians whose diet was entirely confined to liquids, because theywere too tired to masticate solids. It is the ease with which it can beabsorbed that makes macaroni the favorite dish of the Italians, and thefondness of all Latin races for wines is entirely due, I think, to thefact that wine can be swallowed without chewing. This indolence affectsalso their language. The Italian and the Spaniard speak the languagethat comes easy--that is soft and dreamy; while the Germans andRussians, stronger, more energetic, indulge in a speech that even tous, who are people of an average amount of energy, is sometimesappalling in the severity of the strain it puts upon the tongue. So, while I do not wonder that your Cuban pianist showed woful defects inhis use of the pedals, I do wonder that, even with his surprisingagility, he had sufficient energy to manipulate the keys to thesatisfaction of so competent a witness as yourself. "

"It was too bad; but we made up for it later, " asserted the other. "There was a young girl there who gave us some of Mendelssohn's Songswithout Words. Her expression was simply perfect. I wouldn't have missedit for all the world; and now that I think of it, in a few days I canlet you see for yourself how splendid it was. We persuaded her to encorethe songs in the dark, and we got a flash-light photograph of two ofthem. "

"Oh! then it was not on the piano-forte she gave them?" said the Idiot. 

"Oh no; all labial, " returned the genial gentleman. 

Here Mr. Whitechoker began to look concerned, and whispered something tothe School-master, who replied that there were enough others present tocope with the two parties to the conversation in case of a violentoutbreak. 

"I'd be very glad to see the photographs, " replied the Idiot. "Can't Isecure copies of them for my collection? You know I have the completerendering of 'Home, Sweet Home' in kodak views, as sung by Patti. Theyare simply wonderful, and they prove what has repeatedly been said bycritics, that, in the matter of expression, the superior of Patti hasnever been seen. "

"I'll try to get them for you, though I doubt it can be done. The artistis a very shy young girl, and does not care to have her efforts giventoo great a publicity until she is ready to go into music a little moredeeply. She is going to read the 'Moonlight Sonata' to us at our nextconcert. You'd better come. I'm told her gestures bring out thecomposer's meaning in a manner never as yet equalled. "

[Illustration: "'THE CORKS POPPED TO SOME PURPOSE LAST NIGHT'"]

"I'll be there; thank you, " returned the Idiot. "And the next time thosefellows at the club are down for a pool tournament I want you to come upand hear them play. It was extraordinary last night to hear the ballsdropping one by one--click, click, click--as regularly as a metronome, into the pockets. One of the finest shots, I am sorry to say, I missed. "

"How did it happen?" asked the Bibliomaniac. "Weren't your ears longenough?"

"It was a kiss shot, and I couldn't hear it, " returned the Idiot. 

"I think you men are crazy, " said the School-master, unable to containhimself any longer. 

"So?" observed the Idiot, calmly. "And how do we show our insanity?"

"Seeing concerts and hearing games of pool. "

"I take exception to your ruling, " returned the Imbiber. "As my friendthe Idiot has frequently remarked, you have the peculiarity of a greatmany men in your profession, who think because they never happened tosee or do or hear things as other people do, they may not be seen, done, or heard at all. I _saw_ the concert I attended last night. Our musicalclub has rooms next to a hospital, and we have to give silent concertsfor fear of disturbing the patients; but we are all musicians ofsufficient education to understand by a glance of the eye what you wouldfail to comprehend with fourteen ears and a microphone. "

"Very well said, " put in the Idiot, with a scornful glance at theSchool-master. "And I literally heard the pool tournament. I was diningin a room off the billiard-hall, and every shot that was made, with theexception of the one I spoke of, was distinctly audible. You gentlemen, who think you know it all, wouldn't be able to supply a bureau ofinformation at the rate of five minutes a day for an hour on a holiday. Let's go up-stairs, " he added, turning to the Imbiber, "where we maydiscuss our last night's entertainment apart from this atmosphere ofrarefied learning. It makes me faint. "

And the Imbiber, who was with difficulty keeping his lips in properform, was glad enough to accept the invitation. "The corks popped tosome purpose last night, " he said, later on. 

"Yes, " said the Idiot; "for a conspiracy there's nothing so helpful aspopping corks. "

V

"When you get through with the fire, Mr. Pedagog, " observed the Idiot, one winter's morning, noticing that the ample proportions of theSchool-master served as a screen to shut off the heat from himself andthe genial gentleman who occasionally imbibed, "I wish you would let ushave a little of it. Indeed, if you could conveniently spare so littleas one flame for my friend here and myself, we'd be much obliged. "

"It won't hurt you to cool off a little, sir, " returned theSchool-master, without moving. 

"No, I am not so much afraid of the injury that may be mine as I amconcerned for you. If that fire should melt our only refrigeratingmaterial, I do not know what our good landlady would do. Is it true, asthe Bibliomaniac asserts, that Mrs. Smithers leaves all her milk andbutter in your room overnight, relying upon your coolness to keep themfresh?"

"I never made any such assertion, " said the Bibliomaniac, warmly. 

"I am not used to having my word disputed, " returned the Idiot, with awink at the genial old gentleman. 

"But I never said it, and I defy you to prove that I said it, " returnedthe Bibliomaniac, hotly. 

"You forget, sir, " said the Idiot, coolly, "that you are the one whodisputes my assertion. That casts the burden of proof on your shoulders. Of course if you can prove that you never said anything of the sort, Iwithdraw; but if you cannot adduce proofs, you, having doubted my word, and publicly at that, need not feel hurt if I decline to accept all thatyou say as gospel. "

"You show ridiculous heat, " said the School-master. 

"Thank you, " returned the Idiot, gracefully. "And that brings us back tothe original proposition that you would do well to show a littleyourself. "

"Good-morning, gentlemen, " said Mrs. Smithers, entering the room atthis moment. "It's a bright, fresh morning. "

"Like yourself, " said the School-master, gallantly. 

"Yes, " added the Idiot, with a glance at the clock, which registered8. 45--forty-five minutes after the breakfast hour--"very like Mrs. Smithers--rather advanced. "

To this the landlady paid no attention; but the School-master could notrefrain from saying, "Advanced, and therefore not backward, like some persons I might name. "

"Very clever, " retorted the Idiot, "and really worth rewarding. Mrs. Smithers, you ought to give Mr. Pedagog a receipt in full for the pastsix months. "

"Mr. Pedagog, " returned the landlady, severely, "is one of the gentlemenwho always have their receipts for the past six months. "

"Which betrays a very saving disposition, " accorded the Idiot. "I wish Ihad all I'd received for six months. I'd be a rich man. "

[Illustration: "'IF YOU COULD SPARE SO LITTLE AS ONE FLAME'"]

"Would you, now?" queried the Bibliomaniac. "That is interesting enough. How men's ideas differ on the subject of wealth! Here is the Idiotwould consider himself rich with $150 in his pocket--"

"Do you think he gets as much as that?" put in the School-master, viciously. "Five dollars a week is rather high pay for one of his--"

"Very high indeed, " agreed the Idiot. "I wish I got that much. I mightbe able to hire a two-legged encyclopædia to tell me everything, andhave over $4. 75 a week left to spend on opera, dress, and the poor buthonest board Mrs. Smithers provides, if my salary was up to the $5 mark;but the trouble is men do not make the fabulous fortunes nowadays withthe ease with which you, Mr. Pedagog, made yours. There are, no doubt, more and greater opportunities to-day than there were in the olden time, but there are also more men trying to take advantage of them. Labor inthe business world is badly watered. The colleges are turning out moremen in a week nowadays than the whole country turned out in a year fortyyears ago, and the quality is so poor that there has been a generalreduction of wages all along the line. Where does the struggler forexistence come in when he has to compete with the college-bred youthwho, for fear of not getting employment anywhere, is willing to work fornothing? People are not willing to pay for what they can get fornothing. "

"I am glad to hear from your lips so complete an admission, " said theSchool-master, "that education is downing ignorance. "

"I am glad to know of your gladness, " returned the Idiot. "I didn'tquite say that education was downing ignorance. I plead guilty to thecharge of holding the belief that unskilled omniscience interferes verymaterially with skilled sciolism in skilled sciolism's efforts to make aliving. "

"Then you admit your own superficiality?" asked the School-master, somewhat surprised by the Idiot's command of syllables. 

"I admit that I do not know it all, " returned the Idiot. "I prefer to gothrough life feeling that there is yet something for me to learn. Itseems to me far better to admit this voluntarily than to have it forcedhome upon me by circumstances, as happened in the case of a collegegraduate I know, who speculated on Wall Street, and lost the hundreddollars that were subsequently put to a good use by the uneducated me. "

"From which you deduce that ignorance is better than education?" queriedthe School-master, scornfully. 

"For an omniscient, " returned the Idiot, "you are singularlynear-sighted. I have made no such deduction. I arrive at the conclusion, however, that in the chase for the gilded shekel the education ofexperience is better than the coddling of Alma Mater. In thesatisfaction--the personal satisfaction--one derives from a liberaleducation, I admit that the sons of Alma Mater are the better off. Inever could hope to be so self-satisfied, for instance, as you are. "

[Illustration: THE SCHOOL-MASTER AS A COOLER]

"No, " observed the School-master, "you cannot raise grapes on a thistlefarm. Any unbiassed observer looking around this table, " he added, "andnoting Mr. Whitechoker, a graduate of Yale; the Bibliomaniac, a son ofdear old Harvard; the Doctor, an honor man of Williams; our legal friendhere, a graduate of Columbia--to say nothing of myself, who wasgraduated with honors at Amherst--any unbiassed observer seeing these, Isay, and then seeing you, wouldn't take very long to make up his mind asto whether a man is better off or not for having had a collegiatetraining. "

"There I must again dispute your assertion, " returned the Idiot. "Theunbiassed person of whom you speak would say, 'Here is this gray-hairedAmherst man, this book-loving Cambridge boy of fifty-seven years of age, the reverend graduate of Yale, class of '55, and the other two learnedgentlemen of forty-nine summers each, and this poor ignoramus of anIdiot, whose only virtue is his modesty, all in the same box. ' And thenhe would ask himself, 'In what way have these sons of Amherst, Yale, Harvard, and so forth, the better of the unassuming Idiot?'"

"The same box?" said the Bibliomaniac. "What do you mean by that?"

"Just what I say, " returned the Idiot. "The same box. All boarding, alleschewing luxuries of necessity, all paying their bills with difficulty, all sparsely clothed; in reality, all keeping Lent the year through. 'Verily, ' he would say, 'the Idiot has the best of it, for he isyoung. '"

And leaving them chewing the cud of reflection, the Idiot departed. 

"I thought they were going to land you that time, " said the genialgentleman who occasionally imbibed, later; "but when I heard you use theword 'sciolism, ' I knew you were all right. Where did you get it?"

"My chief got it off on me at the office the other day. I happened in amad moment to try to unload some of my original observations on himapropos of my getting to the office two hours late, in which it was myendeavor to prove to him that the truly safe and conservative man wasalways slow, and so apt to turn up late on occasions. He hopped aboutthe office for a minute or two, and then he informed me that I was an18-karat sciolist. I didn't know what he meant, and so I looked it up. "

"And what did he mean?"

"He meant that I took the cake for superficiality, and I guess he wasright, " replied the Idiot, with a smile that was not altogethermirthful. 

VI

"Good-morning!" said the Idiot, cheerfully, as he entered thedining-room. 

To this remark no one but the landlady vouchsafed a reply. "I don'tthink it is, " she said, shortly. "It's raining too hard to be a verygood morning. "

"That reminds me, " observed the Idiot, taking his seat and helpinghimself copiously to the hominy. "A friend of mine on one of thenewspapers is preparing an article on the 'Antiquity of Modern Humor. 'With your kind permission, Mrs. Smithers, I'll take down your remark andhand it over to Mr. Scribuler as a specimen of the modern antique joke. You may not be aware of the fact, but that jest is to be found in therare first edition of the _Tales of Bobbo_, an Italian humorist, whostole everything he wrote from the Greeks. "

[Illustration: "'READING THE SUNDAY NEWSPAPERS'"]

"So?" queried the Bibliomaniac. "I never heard of Bobbo, though I had, before the auction sale of my library, a choice copy of the _Tales ofPoggio_, bound in full crushed Levant morocco, with gilt edges, and oneor two other Italian _Joe Millers_ in tree calf. I cannot at this momentrecall their names. "

"At what period did Bobbo live?" inquired the School-master. 

"I don't exactly remember, " returned the Idiot, assisting the lastpotato on the table over to his plate. "I don't know exactly. It wassubsequent to B. C. , I think, although I may be wrong. If it was not, youmay rest assured it was prior to B. C. "

"Do you happen to know, " queried the Bibliomaniac, "the exact date ofthis rare first edition of which you speak?"

"No; no one knows that, " returned the Idiot. "And for a very goodreason. It was printed before dates were invented. "

The silence which followed this bit of information from the Idiot wasalmost insulting in its intensity. It was a silence that spoke, and whatit said was that the Idiot's idiocy was colossal, and he, accepting thestillness as a tribute, smiled sweetly. 

"What do you think, Mr. Whitechoker, " he said, when he thought the timewas ripe for renewing the conversation--"what do you think of thedoctrine that every day will be Sunday by-and-by?"

"I have only to say, sir, " returned the Dominie, pouring a little hotwater into his milk, which was a bit too strong for him, "that I am afirm believer in the occurrence of a period when Sunday will be to allpractical purposes perpetual. "

"That is my belief, too, " observed the School-master. "But it will beruinous to our good landlady to provide us with one of her exceptionallyfine Sunday breakfasts every morning. "

"Thank you, Mr. Pedagog, " returned Mrs. Smithers, with a smile. "Can't Igive you another cup of coffee?"

"You may, " returned the School-master, pained at the lady's grammar, buttoo courteous to call attention to it save by the emphasis with which hespoke the word "may. "

"That's one view to take of it, " said the Idiot. "But in case we got aSunday breakfast every day in the week, we, on the other hand, would getapproximately what we pay for. You may fill my cup too, Mrs. Smithers. "

"The coffee is all gone, " returned the landlady, with a snap. 

"Then, Mary, " said the Idiot, gracefully, turning to the maid, "you maygive me a glass of ice-water. It is quite as warm, after all, as thecoffee, and not quite so weak. A perpetual Sunday, though, would haveits drawbacks, " he added, unconscious of the venomous glances of thelandlady. "You, Mr. Whitechoker, for instance, would be preaching allthe time, and in consequence would soon break down. Then the effect uponour eyes from habitually reading the Sunday newspapers day after daywould be extremely bad; nor must we forget that an eternity of Sundaysmeans the elimination 'from our midst, ' as the novelists say, ofbaseball, of circuses, of horse-racing, and other necessities of life, unless we are prepared to cast over the Puritanical view of Sunday whichnow prevails. It would substitute Dr. Watts for 'Annie Rooney. ' Weshould lose 'Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay' entirely, which is a point in itsfavor. "

"I don't know about that, " said the genial old gentleman. "I rather likethat song. "

"Did you ever hear me sing it?" asked the Idiot. 

"Never mind, " returned the genial old gentleman, hastily. "Perhaps youare right, after all. "

[Illustration: BOBBO]

The Idiot smiled, and resumed: "Our shops would be perpetually closed, and an enormous loss to the shopkeepers would be sure to follow. Mr. Pedagog's theory that we should have Sunday breakfasts every day is nottenable, for the reason that with a perpetual day of rest agriculturewould die out, food products would be killed off by unpulled weeds; infact, we should go back to that really unfortunate period when womenwere without dress-makers, and man's chief object in life was tochristen animals as he met them, and to abstain from apples, wisdom, andfull dress. "

"The Idiot is right, " said the Bibliomaniac. "It would not be a verygood thing for the world if every day were Sunday. Wash-day is anecessity of life. I am willing to admit this, in the face of the factthat wash-day meals are invariably atrocious. Contracts would be void, as a rule, because Sunday is a _dies non_. "

"A what?" asked the Idiot. 

"A non-existent day in a business sense, " put in the School-master. 

"Of course, " said the landlady, scornfully. "Any person who knowsanything knows that. "

"Then, madame, " returned the Idiot, rising from his chair, and putting ahandful of sweet crackers in his pocket--"then I must put in a claim for$104 from you, having been charged, at the rate of one dollar a day for104 _dies nons_ in the two years I have been with you. "

"Indeed!" returned the lady, sharply. "Very well. And I shall put in acounterclaim for the lunches you carry away from breakfast every morningin your pockets. "

"In that event we'll call it off, madame, " returned the Idiot, as with acourtly bow and a pleasant smile he left the room. 

"Well, I call him 'off, '" was all the landlady could say, as the otherguests took their departure. 

And of course the School-master agreed with her. 

VII

"Our streets appear to be as far from perfect as ever, " said theBibliomaniac with a sigh, as he looked out through the window at thegreat pools of water that gathered in the basins made by the sinking ofthe Belgian blocks. "We'd better go back to the cowpaths of ourfathers. "

"There is a great deal in what you say, " observed the School-master. "The cowpath has all the solidity of mother earth, and none of thedistracting noises we get from the pavements that obtain to-day. It isporous and absorbs the moisture. The Belgian pavement is leaky, and letsit run into our cellars. We might do far worse than to go back--"

"Excuse me for having an opinion, " said the Idiot, "but the man ofenterprise can't afford to indulge in the luxury of the somnolentcowpath. It is too quiet. It conduces to sleep, which is a luxurybusiness men cannot afford to indulge in too freely. Man must be up anddoing. The prosperity of a great city is to my mind directly due to itsnoise and clatter, which effectually put a stop to napping, and keep menat all times wide awake. "

"This is a Welsh-rabbit idea, I fancy, " said the School-master, quietly. He had overheard the Idiot's confidences, as revealed to the genialImbiber, regarding the sources of some of his ideas. 

"Not at all, " returned the Idiot. "These ideas are beef--notWelsh-rabbit. They are the result of much thought. If you will put yourmind on the subject, you will see for yourself that there is more in mytheory than there is in yours. The prosperity of a locality is thegreater as the noise in its vicinity increases. It is in the quietneighborhood that man stagnates. Where do we find great business houses?Where do we find great fortunes made? Where do we find the busy bees whomake the honey that enables posterity to get into Society and donothing? Do we pick up our millions on the cowpath? I guess not. Do weerect our most princely business houses along the roads laid out by ourbovine sister? I think not. Does the man who goes from the towpath tothe White House take the short cut? I fancy not. He goes over the blockpavement. He seeks the home of the noisy, clattering street before helands in the shoes of Washington. The man who sticks to the cowpath maybe able to drink milk, but he never wears diamonds. "

"All that you say is very true, but it is not based on any fundamentalprinciple. It is so because it happens to be so, " returned theSchool-master. "If it were man's habit to have the streets laid out onthe old cowpath principle in his cities he would be quite as energetic, quite as prosperous, as he is now. "

"No fundamental principle involved? There is the fundamental principleof all business success involved, " said the Idiot, warming up to hissubject. "What is the basic quality in the good business man? Alertness. What is 'alertness?' Wide-awakeishness. In this town it is impossiblefor a man to sleep after a stated hour, and for no other reason thanthat the clatter of the pavements prevents him. As a promoter ofalertness, where is your cowpath? The cowpaths of the Catskills, and weall know the mountains are riddled by 'em, didn't keep Rip Van Winkleawake, and I'll wager Mr. Whitechoker here a year's board that thereisn't a man in his congregation who can sleep a half-hour--much lesstwenty years--with Broadway within hearing distance. 

"I tell you, Mr. Pedagog, " he continued, "it is the man from the cowpathwho gets buncoed. It's the man from the cowpath who can't make a livingeven out of what he calls his 'New York Store. ' It is the man from thecowpath who rejoices because he can sell ten dollars' worth ofsheep's-wool for five dollars, and is happy when he goes to meetingdressed up in a four-dollar suit of clothes that has cost him twenty. "

"Your theory, my young friend, " observed the School-master, "is asfragile as this cup"--tapping his coffee-cup. "The countryman of whomyou speak is up and doing long before you or I or your successfulmerchant, who has waxed great on noise as you put it, is awake. If theearly bird catches the worm, what becomes of your theory?"

"The early bird does get the bait, " replied the Idiot. "But he does notcatch the fish, and I'll offer the board another wager that the Belgianblock merchant is wider awake at 8 A. M. , when he first opens his eyes, than his suburban brother who gets up at five is all day. It's theextent to which the eyes are opened that counts, and as for yourstatement that the fact that prosperity and noisy streets go hand inhand is true only because it happens to be so, that is an argument whichmay be applied to any truth in existence. I am because I happen to be, not because I am. You are what you are because you are, because if youwere not, you would not be what you are. "

"Your logic is delightful, " said the School-master, scornfully. 

"I strive to please, " replied the Idiot. "But I do agree with theBibliomaniac that our streets are far from perfection, " he added. "In myopinion they should be laid in strata. On the ground-floor should be thesewers and telegraph pipes; above this should be the water-mains, thena layer for trucks, then a broad stratum for carriages, above whichshould be a promenade for pedestrians. The promenade for pedestriansshould be divided into four sections--one for persons of leisure, onefor those in a hurry, one for peddlers, and one for beggars. "

"Highly original, " said the Bibliomaniac. 

"And so cheap, " added the School-master. 

"In no part of the world, " said the Idiot, in response to the lastcomment, "do we get something for nothing. Of course this scheme wouldbe costly, but it would increase prosperity--"

"Ha! ha!" laughed the School-master, satirically. 

"Laugh away, but you cannot gainsay my point. Our prosperity wouldincrease, for we should not be always excavating to get at our pipes;our surface cars with a clear track would gain for us rapid transit, ourtruck-drivers would not be subjected to the temptations of stopping bythe way-side to overturn a coupé, or to run down a pedestrian; our fineequipages would in consequence need fewer repairs; and as for thepedestrians, the beggars, if relegated to themselves, would be forcedout of business as would also the street-peddlers. The men in a hurrywould not be delayed by loungers, beggars, and peddlers, and theloungers would derive inestimable benefit from the arrangement in thesaving of wear and tear on their clothes and minds by contact with thebusy world. "

"It would be delightful, " acceded the School-master, "particularly onSundays, when they were all loungers. "

"Yes, " replied the Idiot. "It would be delightful then, especially insummer, when covered with an awning to shield promenaders from the sun. "

Mr. Pedagog sighed, and the Bibliomaniac, wearily declining a second cupof coffee, left the table with the Doctor, earnestly discussing withthat worthy gentleman the causes of weakmindedness. 

VIII

"There's a friend of mine up near Riverdale, " said the Idiot, as heunfolded his napkin and let his bill flutter from it to the floor, "who's tried to make a name for himself in literature. "

"What's his name?" asked the Bibliomaniac, interested at once. 

"That's just the trouble. He hasn't made it yet, " replied the Idiot. "Hehasn't succeeded in his courtship of the Muse, and beyond himself and afew friends his name is utterly unknown. "

"What work has he tried?" queried the School-master, pouringunadmonished two portions of skimmed milk over his oatmeal. 

"A little of everything. First he wrote a novel. It had an immensecirculation, and he only lost $300 on it. All of his friends took acopy--I've got one that he gave me--and I believe two hundrednewspapers were fortunate enough to secure the book for review. Hisfather bought two, and tried to obtain the balance of the edition, butdidn't have enough money. That was gratifying, but gratification is moreapt to deplete than to strengthen a bank account. "

"I had not expected so extraordinarily wise an observation from one sounusually unwise, " said the School-master, coldly. 

"Thank you, " returned the Idiot. "But I think your remark is rathercontradictory. You would naturally expect wise observations from theunusually unwise; that is, if your teaching that the expression'unusually unwise' is but another form of the expression 'usually wise'is correct. But, as I was saying, when the genial instructor of youthinterrupted me with his flattery, " continued the Idiot, "gratificationis gratifying but not filling, so my friend concluded that he had bettergive up novel-writing and try jokes. He kept at that a year, and managedto clear his postage-stamps. His jokes were good, but too classic forthe tastes of the editors. Editors are peculiar. They have no respectfor age--particularly in the matter of jests. Some of my friend'sjokes had seemed good enough for Plutarch to print when he had apublisher at his mercy, but they didn't seem to suit the high and mightyproducts of this age who sit in judgment on such things in thecomic-paper offices. So he gave up jokes. "

[Illustration: WOOING THE MUSE]

"Does he still know you?" asked the landlady. 

"Yes, madame, " observed the Idiot. 

"Then he hasn't given up all jokes, " she retorted, with fine scorn. 

"Tee-he-hee!" laughed the School-master. "Pretty good, Mrs. Smithers--pretty good. "

"Yes, " said the Idiot. "That is good, and, by Jove! it differs from yourbutter, Mrs. Smithers, because it's entirely fresh. It's good enough toprint, and I don't think the butter is. "

"What did your friend do next?" asked Mr. Whitechoker. 

"He was employed by a funeral director in Philadelphia to write obituaryverses for memorial cards. "

"And was he successful?"

"For a time; but he lost his position because of an error made by acareless compositor in a marble-yard. He had written, "'Here lies the hero of a hundred fights-- Approximated he a perfect man; He fought for country and his country's rights, And in the hottest battles led the van. '"

"Fine in sentiment and in execution!" observed Mr. Whitechoker. 

"Truly so, " returned the Idiot. "But when the compositor in themarble-yard got it engraved on the monument, my friend was away, andwhen the army post that was to pay the bill received the monument, thequatrain read, "'Here lies the hero of a hundred flights-- Approximated he a perfect one; He fought his country and his country's rights, And in the hottest battles led the run. '"

"Awful!" ejaculated the Minister. 

"Dreadful!" said the landlady, forgetting to be sarcastic. 

"What happened?" asked the School-master. 

"He was bounced, of course, without a cent of pay, and the companyfailed the next week, so he couldn't make anything by suing for whatthey owed him. "

"Mighty hard luck, " said the Bibliomaniac. 

"Very; but there was one bright side to the case, " observed the Idiot. "He managed to sell both versions of the quatrain afterwards for fivedollars. He sold the original one to a religious weekly for a dollar, and got four dollars for the other one from a comic paper. Then he wrotean anecdote about the whole thing for a Sunday newspaper, and got threedollars more out of it. "

"And what is your friend doing now?" asked the Doctor. 

"Oh, he's making a mint of money now, but no name. "

"In literature?"

"Yes. He writes advertisements on salary, " returned the Idiot. "He iswriting now a recommendation of tooth-powder in Indian dialect. "

"Why didn't he try writing an epic?" said the Bibliomaniac. 

[Illustration: "'HE GAVE UP JOKES'"]

"Because, " replied the Idiot, "the one aim of his life has been to beoriginal, and he couldn't reconcile that with epic poetry. "

At which remark the landlady stooped over, and recovering the Idiot'sbill from under the table, called the maid, and ostentatiously requestedher to hand it to the Idiot. He, taking a cigarette from his pocket, thanked the maid for the attention, and rolling the slip into a taper, thoughtfully stuck one end of it into the alcohol light under thecoffee-pot, and lighting the cigarette with it, walked nonchalantly fromthe room. 

IX

"I've just been reading a book, " began the Idiot. 

"I thought you looked rather pale, " said the School-master. 

"Yes, " returned the Idiot, cheerfully, "it made me feel pale. It wasabout the pleasures of country life; and when I contrasted ruralblessedness as it was there depicted with urban life as we live it, Ifelt as if my youth were being thrown away. I still feel as if I werewasting my sweetness on the desert air. "

"Why don't you move?" queried the Bibliomaniac, suggestively. 

"If I were purely selfish I should do so at once, but I am, like my goodfriend Mr. Whitechoker, a slave to duty. I deem it my duty to stay hereto keep the School-master fully informed in the various branches ofknowledge which are day by day opened up, many of which seem to be sofar beyond the reach of one of his conservative habits; to assist Mr. Whitechoker in his crusades against vice at this table and elsewhere; togive the Bibliomaniac the benefit of my advice in regard to thoseprecious little tomes he no longer buys--to make life worth the livingfor all of you, to say nothing of enabling Mrs. Smithers to keep up theextraordinarily high standard of this house by means of the hard-earnedstipend I pay to her every Monday morning. "

"Every Monday?" queried the School-master. 

"Every Monday, " returned the Idiot. "That is, of course, every Mondaythat I pay. The things one gets to eat in the country, the air onebreathes, the utter freedom from restraint, the thousand and more thingsone enjoys in the suburbs that are not attainable here--it is these thatmake my heart yearn for the open. "

[Illustration: "'A LITTLE GARDEN OF MY OWN, WHERE I COULD RAISE ANOCCASIONAL CAN OF TOMATOES'"]

"Well, it's all rot, " said the School-master, impatiently. "Country lifeis ideal only in books. Books do not tell of running for trains throughblinding snowstorms; writers do not expatiate on the delights ofwaking on cold winter nights and finding your piano and parlor furnitureafloat because of bursted pipes, with the plumber, like Sheridan atWinchester, twenty miles away. They are dumb on the subject of theecstasy one feels when pushing a twenty-pound lawn-mower up and down aweed patch at the end of a wearisome hot summer's day. They aresilent--"

"Don't get excited, Mr. Pedagog, please, " interrupted the Idiot. "I amnot contemplating leaving you and Mrs. Smithers, but I do pine for alittle garden of my own, where I could raise an occasional can oftomatoes. I dream sometimes of getting milk fresh from the pump, insteadof twenty-four hours after it has been drawn, as we do here. In mymusings it seems to me to be almost idyllic to have known a springchicken in his infancy; to have watched a hind-quarter of lambgambolling about its native heath before its muscles became adamant, andbefore chopped-up celery tops steeped in vinegar were poured upon it inthe hope of hypnotizing boarders into the belief that spring lamb andmint-sauce lay before them. What care I how hard it is to rise everymorning before six in winter to thaw out the boiler, so long as thenight coming finds me seated in the genial glow of the gas log! What manis he that would complain of having to bale out his cellar every week, if, on the other hand, that cellar gains thereby a fertility that keepsits floor sheeny, soft, and green--an interior tennis-court--from springto spring, causing the gladsome click of the lawn-mower to be heardwithin its walls all through the still watches of the winter day? Itell you, sir, it is the life to lead, that of our rural brother. I donot believe that in this whole vast city there is a cellar like that--anin-door garden-patch, as it were. "

[Illustration: "'A HIND-QUARTER OF LAMB GAMBOLLING ABOUT ITS NATIVE HEATH'"]

"No, " returned the Doctor; "and it is a good thing there isn't. There isenough sickness in the world without bringing any of your _rus_ ideas_in urbe_. I've lived in the country, sir, and I assure you it is notwhat it is written up to be. Country life is misery, melancholy, andmalaria. "

"You must have struck a profitable section, Doctor, " returned the Idiot, taking possession of three steaming buckwheat cakes to the dismay of Mr. Whitechoker, who was about to reach out for them himself. "And I shouldhave supposed that your good business sense would have restrained youfrom leaving. "

"Then the countryman is poor--always poor, " continued the Doctor, ignoring the Idiot's sarcastic comments. 

"Ah! that accounts for it, " observed the Idiot. "I see why you did notstay; for what shall it profit a man to save a patient if practice, likevirtue, is to be its own reward?"

"Your suggestion, sir, " retorted the Doctor, "betrays an unhealthy frameof mind. "

"That's all right, Doctor, " returned the Idiot; "but please do notdiagnose the case any further. I can't afford an expert opinion as to mymental condition. But to return to our subject: you two gentlemen appearto have had unhappy experiences in country life--quite different fromthose of a friend of mine who owns a farm. He doesn't have to run fortrains; he is independent of plumbers, because the only pipes in hishouse are for smoking purposes. The farm produces corn enough to keephis family supplied all the year round and to sell a balance at aprofit. Oats and wheat are harvested to an extent which keeps the cattleand declares dividends besides. He never suffers from the cold or heat. He is never afraid of losing his house or barns by fire, because thewhole fire department of the neighboring village is, to a man, in lovewith the house-keeper's daughter, and is always on hand in force. Thechickens are the envy and pride of the county, and there are so many ofthem that they have to take turns in going to roost. The pigs are themost intelligent of their kind, and are so happy they never grunt. Infact, everything is lovely and cheap, the only thing that hangs highbeing the goose. "

[Illustration: "'THE GLADSOME CLICK OF THE LAWN-MOWER'"]

"Quite an ideal, no doubt, " put in the School-master, scornfully. "Isuppose his is one of those model farms with steam-pipes under the walksto melt the snow in winter, and of course there is a vein of coalgrowing right up into his furnace ready to be lit. "

"Yes, " observed the Bibliomaniac; "and no doubt the chickens lay eggs inevery style--poached, fried, scrambled, and boiled. The weeds in thegarden grow so fast, I suppose, that they pull themselves up by theroots; and if there is anything left undone at the end of the day Ipresume tramps in dress suits, and courtly in manner, spring out of theground and finish up for him. "

"I'll bet he's not on good terms with his neighbors if he has everythingyou speak of in such perfection. These farmers get frightfully jealousof each other, " asserted the Doctor, with a positiveness that seemed tobe born of experience. 

"He never quarrelled with one of them in his life, " returned the Idiot. "He doesn't know them well enough to quarrel with them; in fact, I doubtif he ever sees them at all. He's very exclusive. "

"Of course he is a born farmer to get everything the way he has it, "suggested Mrs. Smithers. 

"No, he isn't. He's a broker, " said the Idiot, "and a very successfulone. I see him on the street every day. "

"Does he employ a man to run the farm?" asked the Clergyman. 

"No, " returned the Idiot, "he has too much sense and too few dollars todo any such foolish thing as that. "

"It must be one of those self-winding stock farms, " put in theSchool-master, scornfully. "But I don't see how he can be a successfulbroker and make money off his farm at the same time. Your statements donot agree, either. You said he never had to run for trains. "

"Well, he never has, " returned the Idiot, calmly. "He never goes nearhis farm. He doesn't have to. It's leased to the husband of thehouse-keeper whose daughter has a crush on the fire department. He takeshis pay in produce, and gets more than if he took it in cash on thebasis of the New York vegetable market. "

"Then you have got us into an argument about country life that ends--"began the School-master, indignantly. 

"That ends where it leaves off, " retorted the Idiot, departing with asmile on his lips. 

"He's an Idiot from Idaho, " asserted the Bibliomaniac. 

"Yes; but I'm afraid idiocy is a little contagious, " observed theDoctor, with a grin and sidelong glance at the School-master. 

X

"Good-morning, gentlemen, " said the Idiot, as he seated himself at thebreakfast-table and glanced over his mail. 

"Good-morning yourself, " returned the Poet. "You have an unusually largenumber of letters this morning. All checks, I hope?"

"Yes, " replied the Idiot. "All checks of one kind or another. Mostlychecks on ambition--otherwise, rejections from my friends the editors. "

"You don't mean to say that you write for the papers?" put in theSchool-master, with an incredulous smile. 

"I try to, " returned the Idiot, meekly. "If the papers don't take 'em, Ifind them useful in curing my genial friend who imbibes of insomnia. "

"What do you write--advertisements?" queried the Bibliomaniac. 

"No. Advertisement writing is an art to which I dare not aspire. It'stoo great a tax on the brain, " replied the Idiot. 

"Tax on what?" asked the Doctor. He was going to squelch the Idiot. 

"The brain, " returned the latter, not ready to be squelched. "It's alittle thing people use to think with, Doctor. I'd advise you to getone. " Then he added, "I write poems and foreign letters mostly. "

"I did not know that you had ever been abroad, " said the clergyman. 

[Illustration: "'YOU DON'T MEAN TO SAY THAT YOU WRITE FOR THEPAPERS?'"]

"I never have, " returned the Idiot. 

"Then how, may I ask, " said Mr. Whitechoker, severely, "how can youwrite foreign letters?"

"With my stub pen, of course, " replied the Idiot. "How did yousuppose--with an oyster-knife?"

The clergyman sighed. 

"I should like to hear some of your poems, " said the Poet. 

"Very well, " returned the Idiot. "Here's one that has just returned fromthe _Bengal Monthly_. It's about a writer who died some years ago. Shakespeare's his name. You've heard of Shakespeare, haven't you, Mr. Pedagog?" he added. 

Then, as there was no answer, he read the verse, which was as follows:

 SETTLED. 

 Yes! Shakespeare wrote the plays--'tis clear to me. Lord Bacon's claim's condemned before the bar. He'd not have penned, "what fools these mortals be!" But--more correct--"what fools these mortals are!"

"That's not bad, " said the Poet. 

[Illustration: "'WE WOOED THE SELF-SAME MAID'"]

"Thanks, " returned the Idiot. "I wish you were an editor. I wrote thatlast spring, and it has been coming back to me at the rate of once aweek ever since. "

"It is too short, " said the Bibliomaniac. 

"It's an epigram, " said the Idiot. "How many yards long do you thinkepigrams should be?"

The Bibliomaniac scorned to reply. 

"I agree with the Bibliomaniac, " said the School-master. "It is tooshort. People want greater quantity. "

"Well, here is quantity for you, " said the Idiot. "Quantity as she isnot wanted by nine comic papers I wot of. This poem is called:

 "THE TURNING OF THE WORM. 

 "'How hard my fate perhaps you'll gather in, My dearest reader, when I tell you that I entered into this fair world a twin-- The one was spare enough, the other fat. 

 "'I was, of course, the lean one of the two, The homelier as well, and consequently In ecstasy o'er Jim my parents flew, And good of me was spoken accident'ly. 

 "'As boys, we went to school, and Jim, of course, Was e'er his teacher's favorite, and ranked Among the lads renowned for moral force, Whilst I was every day right soundly spanked. 

 "'Jim had an angel face, but there he stopped. I never knew a lad who'd sin so oft And look so like a branch of heaven lopped From off the parent trunk that grows aloft. 

 "'I seemed an imp--indeed 'twas often said That I resembled much Beelzebub. My face was freckled and my hair was red-- The kind of looking boy that men call scrub. 

 "'Kind deeds, however, were my constant thought; In everything I did the best I could; I said my prayers thrice daily, and I sought In all my ways to do the right and good. 

 "'On Saturdays I'd do my Monday's sums, While Jim would spend the day in search of fun; He'd sneak away and steal the neighbors' plums, And, strange to say, to earth was never run. 

 "'Whilst I, when study-time was haply through, Would seek my brother in the neighbor's orchard; Would find the neighbor there with anger blue, And as the thieving culprit would be tortured. 

 "'The sums I'd done he'd steal, this lad forsaken, Then change my work, so that a paltry four Would be my mark, whilst he had overtaken The maximum and all the prizes bore. 

 "'In later years we loved the self-same maid; We sent her little presents, sweets, bouquets, For which, alas! 'twas I that always paid; And Jim the maid now honors and obeys. 

 "'We entered politics--in different roles, And for a minor office each did run. 'Twas I was left--left badly at the polls, Because of fishy things that Jim had done. 

 "'When Jim went into business and failed, I signed his notes and freed him from the strife Which bankruptcy and ruin hath entailed On them that lead a queer financial life. 

 "'Then, penniless, I learned that Jim had set Aside before his failure--hard to tell!-- A half a million dollars on his pet-- His Mrs. Jim--the former lovely Nell. 

 "'That wearied me of Jim. It may be right For one to bear another's cross, but I Quite fail to see it in its proper light, If that's the rule man should be guided by. 

 "'And since a fate perverse has had the wit To mix us up so that the one's deserts Upon the shoulders of the other sit, No matter how the other one it hurts, "'I am resolved to take some mortal's life; Just when, or where, or how, I do not reck, So long as law will end this horrid strife And twist my dear twin brother's sinful neck. '"

"There, " said the Idiot, putting down the manuscript. "How's that?"

"I don't like it, " said Mr. Whitechoker. "It is immoral and vindictive. You should accept the hardships of life, no matter how unjust. Theconclusion of your poem horrifies me, sir. I--"

[Illustration: CURING INSOMNIA]

"Have you tried your hand at dialect poetry?" asked the Doctor. 

"Yes; once, " said the Idiot. "I sent it to the _Great Western Weekly_. Oh yes. Here it is. Sent back with thanks. It's an octette written incigar-box dialect. "

"In wh-a-at?" asked the Poet. 

"Cigar-box dialect. Here it is:

 "'O Manuel garcia alonzo, Colorado especial H. Clay, Invincible flora alphonzo, Cigarette panatella el rey, Victoria Reina selectas-- O twofer madura grandé-- O conchas oscuro perfectas, You drive all my sorrows away. '"

"Ingenious, but vicious, " said the School-master, who does not smoke. 

"Again thanks. How is this for a sonnet?" said the Idiot:

 "'When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long since cancel'd woe, And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight: Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I now pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think of thee, dear friend! All losses are restored and sorrows end. '"

"It is bosh!" said the School-master. The Poet smiled quietly. 

"Perfect bosh!" repeated the School-master. "And only shows how in weakhands so beautiful a thing as the sonnet can be made ridiculous. "

"What's wrong with it?" asked the Idiot. 

"It doesn't contain any thought--or if it does, no one can tell what thethought is. Your rhymes are atrocious. Your phraseology is ridiculous. The whole thing is bad. You'll never get anybody to print it. "

"I do not intend to try, " said the Idiot, meekly. 

"You are wise, " said the School-master, "to take my advice for once. "

"No, it is not your advice that restrains me, " said the Idiot, dryly. "It is the fact that this sonnet has already been printed. "

"In the name of Letters, where?" cried the School-master. 

"In the collected works of William Shakespeare, " replied the Idiot, quietly. 

The Poet laughed; Mrs. Smithers's eyes filled with tears; and theSchool-master for once had absolutely nothing to say. 

XI

"Do you believe, Mr. Whitechoker, " said the Idiot, taking his place atthe table, and holding his plate up to the light, apparently to seewhether or not it was immaculate, whereat the landlady sniffedcontemptuously--"do you believe that the love of money is the root ofall evil?"

"I have always been of that impression, " returned Mr. Whitechoker, pleasantly. "In fact, I am sure of it, " he added. "There is no evilthing in this world, sir, that cannot be traced back to a point wheregreed is found to be its main-spring and the source of its strength. "

"Then how do you reconcile this with the scriptural story of theforbidden fruit? Do you think the apples referred to were figures ofspeech, the true import of which was that Adam and Eve had their eyes onthe original surplus?"

"Well, of course, there you begin to--ah--you seem to me to be goingback to the--er--the--ah--"

"Original root of all evil, " prompted the Idiot, calmly. 

"Precisely, " returned Mr. Whitechoker, with a sigh of relief. "Mrs. Smithers, I think I'll have a dash of hot-water in my coffee thismorning. " Then, with a nervous glance towards the Idiot, he added, addressing the Bibliomaniac, "I think it looks like rain. "

"Referring to the coffee, Mr. Whitechoker?" queried the Idiot, notdisposed to let go of his victim quite so easily. 

"Ah--I don't quite follow you, " replied the Minister, with someannoyance. 

"You said something looked like rain, and I asked you if the thing youreferred to was the coffee, for I was disposed to agree with you, " saidthe Idiot. 

"I am sure, " put in Mrs. Smithers, "that a gentleman of Mr. Whitechoker's refinement would not make any such insinuation, sir. He isnot the man to quarrel with what is set before him. "

[Illustration: "HOLDING HIS PLATE UP TO THE LIGHT"]

"I ask your pardon, madam, " returned the Idiot, politely. "I hope that Iam not the man to quarrel with my food, either. Indeed, I make it arule to avoid unpleasantness of all sorts, particularly with the weak, under which category we find your coffee. I simply wish to know to whatMr. Whitechoker refers when he says 'it looks like rain. '"

"I mean, of course, " said the Minister, with as much calmness as hecould command--and that was not much--"I mean the day. The day looks asif it might be rainy. "

"Any one with a modicum of brain knows what you meant, Mr. Whitechoker, "volunteered the School-master. 

"Certainly, " observed the Idiot, scraping the butter from his toast;"but to those who have more than a modicum of brains my reverendfriend's remark was not entirely clear. If I am talking of cotton, and agentleman chooses to state that it looks like snow, I know exactly whathe means. He doesn't mean that the day looks like snow, however; herefers to the cotton. Mr. Whitechoker, talking about coffee, chooses tostate that it looks like rain, which it undoubtedly does. I, realizingthat, as Mrs. Smithers says, it is not the gentleman's habit to attacktoo violently the food which is set before him, manifest some surprise, and, giving the gentleman the benefit of the doubt, afford him anopportunity to set himself right. "

"Change the subject, " said the Bibliomaniac, curtly. 

"With pleasure, " answered the Idiot, filling his glass with cream. "We'll change the subject, or the object, or anything you choose. We'llhave another breakfast, or another variety of biscuits _frappé_--anything, in short, to keep peace at the table. Tell me, Mr. Pedagog, " he added, "is the use of the word 'it, ' in the sentence 'it looks like rain, 'perfectly correct?"

"I don't know why it is not, " returned the School-master, uneasily. Hewas not at all desirous of parleying with the Idiot. 

"And is it correct to suppose that 'it' refers to the day--is the daysupposed to look like rain?--or do we simply use 'it' to express acondition which confronts us?"

"It refers to the latter, of course. "

"Then the full text of Mr. Whitechoker's remark is, I suppose, that 'therainy condition of the atmosphere which confronts us looks like rain?'"

"Oh, I suppose so, " sighed the School-master, wearily. 

"Rather an unnecessary sort of statement that!" continued the Idiot. "It's something like asserting that a man looks like himself, or, as inthe case of a child's primer--

"'See the cat?'

"'Yes, I see the cat. '

"'What is the cat?'

"'The cat is a cat. Scat cat!'"

At this even Mrs. Smithers smiled. 

"I don't agree with Mr. Pedagog, " put in the Bibliomaniac, after apause. 

Here the School-master shook his head warningly at the Bibliomaniac, asif to indicate that he was not in good form. 

"So I observe, " remarked the Idiot. "You have upset him completely. Seehow Mr. Pedagog trembles?" he added, addressing the genial gentleman whooccasionally imbibed. 

[Illustration: "'I BELIEVE YOU'D BLOW OUT THE GAS IN YOUR BED-ROOM'"]

"I don't mean that way, " sneered the Bibliomaniac, bound to set Mr. Whitechoker straight. "I mean that the word 'it, ' as employed in thatsentence, stands for day. The day looks like rain. "

"Did you ever see a day?" queried the Idiot. 

"Certainly I have, " returned the Bibliomaniac. 

"What does it look like?" was the calmly put question. 

The Bibliomaniac's impatience was here almost too great for safety, andthe manner in which his face colored aroused considerable interest inthe breast of the Doctor, who was a good deal of a specialist inapoplexy. 

"Was it a whole day you saw, or only a half-day?" persisted the Idiot. 

"You may think you are very funny, " retorted the Bibliomaniac. "I thinkyou are--"

"Now don't get angry, " returned the Idiot. "There are two or threethings I do not know, and I'm anxious to learn. I'd like to know how aday looks to one to whom it is a visible object. If it is visible, is ittangible? and, if so, how does it feel?"

"The visible is always tangible, " asserted the School-master, recklessly. 

"How about a red-hot stove, or manifest indignation, or a view from amountain-top, or, as in the case of the young man in the novel who'suddenly waked, ' and, 'looking anxiously about him, saw no one?'"returned the Idiot, imperturbably. 

"Tut!" ejaculated the Bibliomaniac. "If I had brains like yours, I'dblow them out. "

"Yes, I think you would, " observed the Idiot, folding up his napkin. "You're just the man to do a thing like that. I believe you'd blow outthe gas in your bedroom if there wasn't a sign over it requesting younot to. " And filling his match-box from the landlady's mantel supply, the Idiot hurried from the room, and soon after left the house. 

XII

"If my father hadn't met with reverses--" the Idiot began. 

"Did you really have a father?" interrupted the School-master. "Ithought you were one of these self-made Idiots. How terrible it must befor a man to think that he is responsible for you!"

"Yes, " rejoined the Idiot; "my father finds it rather hard to stand upunder his responsibility for me; but he is a brave old gentleman, and hemanages to bear the burden very well with the aid of my mother--for Ihave a mother, too, Mr. Pedagog. A womanly mother she is, too, with allthe natural follies, such as fondness for and belief in her boy. Why, itwould soften your heart to see how she looks on me. She thinks I am themost everlastingly brilliant man she ever knew--excepting father, ofcourse, who has always been a hero of heroes in her eyes, because henever rails at misfortune, never spoke an unkind word to her in hislife, and just lives gently along and waiting for the end of allthings. "

[Illustration: "'HIS FAIRY STORIES WERE TOLD HIM IN WORDS OF TENSYLLABLES'"]

"Do you think it is right in you to deceive your mother in thisway--making her think you a young Napoleon of intellect when you knowyou are an Idiot?" observed the Bibliomaniac, with a twinkle in his eye. 

"Why certainly I do, " returned the Idiot, calmly. "It's my place to makethe old folks happy if I can; and if thinking me nineteen differentkinds of a genius is going to fill my mother's heart with happiness, I'mgoing to let her think it. What's the use of destroying other people'sidols even if we do know them to be hollow mockeries? Do you think youdo a praiseworthy act, for instance, when you kick over the heathen'sstone gods and leave him without any at all? You may not have noticedit, but I have--that it is easier to pull down an idol than it is torear an ideal. I have had idols shattered myself, and I haven't foundthat the pedestals they used to occupy have been rented since. They arethere yet and empty--standing as monuments to what once seemed good tome--and I'm no happier nor no better for being disillusioned. So it iswith my mother. I let her go on and think me perfect. It does her good, and it does me good because it makes me try to live up to that idea ofhers as to what I am. If she had the same opinion of me that we all haveshe'd be the most miserable woman in the world. "

"We don't all think so badly of you, " said the Doctor, rather softenedby the Idiot's remarks. 

"No, " put in the Bibliomaniac. "You are all right. You breathe normally, and you have nice blue eyes. You are graceful and pleasant to look upon, and if you'd been born dumb we'd esteem you very highly. It is only yourmanners and your theories that we don't like; but even in these we aredisposed to believe that you are a well-meaning child. "

"That is precisely the way to put it, " assented the School-master. "Youare harmless even when most annoying. For my own part, I think the mostobjectionable feature about you is that you suffer from thatunfortunately not uncommon malady, extreme youth. You are young for yourage, and if you only wouldn't talk, I think we should get on famouslytogether. "

"You overwhelm me with your compliments, " said the Idiot. "I am sorry Iam so young, but I cannot be brought to believe that that is my ownfault. One must live to attain age, and how the deuce can one live whenone boards?"

As no one ventured to reply to this question, the force of which veryevidently, however, was fully appreciated by Mrs. Smithers, the Idiotcontinued:

[Illustration: "'I THOUGHT MY FATHER A MEAN-SPIRITED ASSASSIN'"]

"Youth is thrust upon us in our infancy, and must be endured until sucha time as Fate permits us to account ourselves cured. It swoops downupon us when we have neither the strength nor the brains to resent it. Of course there are some superior persons in this world who never wereyoung. Mr. Pedagog, I doubt not, was ushered into this world with allthree sets of teeth cut, and not wailing as most infants are, butdiscussing the most abstruse philosophical problems. His fairy storieswere told him, if ever, in words of ten syllables; and his father'sfirst remark to him was doubtless an inquiry as to his opinion on thesubject of Latin and Greek in our colleges. It's all right to be thiskind of a baby if you like that sort of thing. For my part, I rejoice tothink that there was once a day when I thought my father a mean-spiritedassassin, because he wouldn't tie a string to the moon and let me makeit rise and set as suited my sweet will. Babies of Mr. Pedagog's sortare fortunately like angel's visits, few and far between. In spite ofhis stand in the matter, though, I can't help thinking there was a greatdeal of truth in a rhyme a friend of mine got off on Youth. It fits thecase. He said:

 "'Youth is a state of being we attain In early years; to some 'tis but a crime-- And, like the mumps, most agèd men complain, It can't be caught, alas! a second time. "'

"Your rhymes are interesting, and your reasoning, as usual, is faulty, "said the School-master. "I passed a very pleasant childhood, though itwas a childhood devoted, as you have insinuated, to serious rather thanto flippant pursuits. I wasn't particularly fond of tag andhide-and-seek, nor do I think that even as an infant I ever cried forthe moon. "

"It would have expanded your chest if you had, Mr. Pedagog, " observedthe Idiot, quietly. 

"So it would, but I never found myself short-winded, sir, " retorted theSchool-master, with some acerbity. 

"That is evident; but go on, " said the Idiot. "You never passed achildish youth nor a youthful childhood, and therefore what?"

"Therefore, in my present condition, I am normally contented. I have noyouthful follies to look back upon, no indiscretions to regret; I neverknowingly told a lie, and--"

"All of which proves that you never were young, " put in the Idiot; "andyou will excuse me if I say it, but my father is the model for me ratherthan so exalted a personage as yourself. He is still young, thoughturned seventy, and I don't believe on his own account there ever was aboy who played hookey more, who prevaricated oftener, who purloinedothers' fruits with greater frequency than he. He was guilty of everycrime in the calendar of youth; and if there is one thing that delightshim more than another, it is to sit on a winter's night before thecrackling log and tell us yarns about his youthful follies and hisboyhood indiscretions. "

"But is he normally a happy man?" queried the School-master. 

"No. "

"Ah!"

"No. He's an _ab_normally happy man, because he's got his follies andindiscretions to look back upon and not forward to. "

"Ahem!" said Mrs. Smithers. 

"Dear me!" ejaculated Mr. Whitechoker. 

Mr. Pedagog said nothing, and the breakfast-room was soon deserted. 

XIII

There was an air of suppressed excitement about Mrs. Smithers and Mr. Pedagog as they sat down to breakfast. Something had happened, but justwhat that something was no one as yet knew, although the genial oldgentleman had a sort of notion as to what it was. 

"Pedagog has been good-natured enough for an engaged man for nearly aweek now, " he whispered to the Idiot, who had asked him what he supposedwas up, "and I have a half idea that Mrs. S. Has at last brought him tothe point of proposing. "

"It's the other way, I imagine, " returned the Idiot. 

"You don't really think she has rejected him, do you?" queried thegenial old gentleman. 

"Oh no; not by a great deal. I mean that I think it very likely that hehas brought her to the point. This is leap-year, you know, " said theIdiot. 

"Well, if I were a betting man, which I haven't been since night beforelast, I'd lay you a wager that they're engaged, " said the old gentleman. 

"I'm glad you've given up betting, " rejoined the Idiot, "because I'msure I'd take the bet if you offered it--and then I believe I'd lose. "

"We are to have Philadelphia spring chickens this morning, gentlemen, "said Mrs. Smithers, beaming upon all at the table. "It's a specialtreat. "

"Which we all appreciate, my dear Mrs. Smithers, " observed the Idiot, with a courteous bow to his landlady. "And, by the way, why is it thatPhiladelphia spring chickens do not appear until autumn, do you suppose?Is it because Philadelphia spring doesn't come around until it is autumneverywhere else?"

"No, I think not, " said the Doctor. "I think it is because Philadelphiaspring chickens are not sufficiently hardened to be able to stand thestrain of exportation much before September, or else Philadelphia peopledo not get so sated with such delicacies as to permit any of the crop togo into other than Philadelphia markets before that period. For mypart, I simply love them. "

[Illustration: "'MRS. S. BROUGHT HIM TO THE POINT OF PROPOSING'"]

"So do I, " said the Idiot; "and if Mrs. Smithers will pardon me forexpressing a preference for any especial part of the _pièce derésistance_, I will state to her that if, in helping me, she will giveme two drumsticks, a pair of second joints, and plenty of the whitemeat, I shall be very happy. "

"You ought to have said so yesterday, " said the School-master, with asurprisingly genial laugh. "Then Mrs. Smithers could have prepared anindividual chicken for you. "

"That would be too much, " returned the Idiot, "and I should reallyhesitate to eat too much spring chicken. I never did it in my life, anddon't know what the effect would be. Would it be harmful, Doctor?"

"I really do not know how it would be, " answered the Doctor. "In all mywide experience I have never found a case of the kind. "

"It's very rarely that one gets too much spring chicken, " said Mr. Whitechoker. "I haven't had any experience with patients, as my friendthe Doctor has; but I have lived in many boarding-houses, and I havenever yet known of any one even getting enough. "

"Well, perhaps we shall have all we want this morning, " said Mrs. Smithers. "I hope so, at any rate, for I wish this day to be a memorableone in our house. Mr. Pedagog has something to tell you. John, will youannounce it now?"

"Did you hear that?" whispered the Idiot. "She called him 'John. '"

"Yes, " said the genial old gentleman. "I didn't know Pedagog had a firstname before. "

"Certainly, my dear--that is, my very dear Mrs. Smithers, " stammeredthe School-master, getting red in the face. "The fact is, gentlemen--ahem!--I--er--we--er--that is, of course--er--Mrs. Smithershas er--ahem!--Mrs. Smithers has asked me to be her--I--er--I should sayI have asked Mrs. Smithers to be my husb--my wife, and--er--she--"

"Hoorah!" cried the Idiot, jumping up from the table and grasping Mr. Pedagog by the hand. "Hoorah! You've got in ahead of us, old man, but weare just as glad when we think of your good-fortune. Your gain may beour loss--but what of that where the happiness of our dear landlady isat stake?"

Mrs. Smithers glanced coyly at the Idiot and smiled. 

"Thank you, " said the School-master. 

"You are welcome, " said the Idiot. "Mrs. Smithers, you will also permitme to felicitate you upon this happy event. I, who have so oftendiffered with Mr. Pedagog upon matters of human knowledge, am forced toadmit that upon this occasion he has shown such eminently good sensethat you are fortunate, indeed, to have won him. "

"Again I thank you, " said the School-master. "You are a very sensibleperson yourself, my dear Idiot; perhaps my failure to appreciate you attimes in the past has been due to your brilliant qualities, which haveso dazzled me that I have been unable to see you as you really are. "

"Here are the chickens, " said Mrs. Smithers. 

"Ah!" ejaculated the Idiot. "What lucky fellows we are, to be sure! Ihope, Mrs. Smithers, now that Mr. Pedagog has cut us all out, you willat least be a sister to the rest of us, and let us live at home. "

[Illustration: "'HOORAH!' CRIED THE IDIOT, GRASPING MR. PEDAGOG BY THEHAND"]

"There is to be no change, " said Mrs. Smithers--"at least, I hope not, except that Mr. Pedagog will take a more active part in the managementof our home. "

"I don't envy him that, " said the Idiot. "We shall be severe critics, and it will be hard work for him to manage affairs better than you did, Mrs. Smithers. "

"Mary, get me a larger cup for the Idiot's coffee, " said Mrs. Smithers. 

"Let's all retire from business, " suggested the Idiot, after the otherguests had expressed their satisfaction with the turn affairs had taken. "Let's retire from business, and change the Smithers Home for Boardersinto an Educational Institution. "

"For what purpose?" queried the Bibliomaniac. 

"Everything is so lovely now, " explained the Idiot, "that I feel asthough I never wanted to leave the house again, even to win a fortune. If we turn it into a college and instruct youth, we need never gooutside the front door excepting for pleasure. "

"Where will the money and the instructors come from?" asked Mr. Whitechoker. 

"Money? From pupils; and after we get going maybe somebody will endowus. As for instructors, I think we know enough to be instructorsourselves, " replied the Idiot. "For instance: Pedagog's University. JohnPedagog, President; Alonzo B. Whitechoker, Chaplain; Mrs. Smithers-Pedagog, Matron. For Professor of Belles-lettres, theBibliomaniac, assisted by the Poet; Medical Lectures by Dr. Capsule;Chemistry taught by our genial friend who occasionally imbibes; Chair inGeneral Information, your humble servant. Why, we would be overrun withpupils and money in less than a year. "

"A very good idea, " returned Mr. Pedagog. "I have often thought that anice little school could be started here to advantage, though I mustconfess that I had different ideas on the subject of the instructors. You, my dear Idiot, would be a great deal more useful as a ProfessorEmeritus. "

"Hm!" said the Idiot. "It sounds mighty well--I've no doubt I shouldlike it. What is a Professor Emeritus, Mr. Pedagog?"

"He is a professor who is paid a salary for doing nothing. "

The whole table joined in a laugh, the Idiot included. 

"By Jove! Mr. Pedagog, " he said, as soon as he could speak, "you arejust dead right about that. That's the place of places for me. Salaryand nothing to do! Oh, how I'd love it!"

The rest of the breakfast was eaten in silence. The spring chickens weretoo good and too plentiful to admit of much waste of time inconversation. At the conclusion of the meal the Idiot rose from thetable, and, after again congratulating Mr. Pedagog and his fiancée, announced that he was going to see his employer. 

"On Sunday?" queried Mrs. Smithers. 

"Yes; I want him to write me a recommendation as a man who can donothing beautifully. "

"And why, pray?" asked Mr. Pedagog. 

"I'm going to apply to the Trustees of Columbia College the first thingto-morrow morning for an Emeritus Professorship, for if anybody can donothing and draw money for it gracefully I'm the man. Wall Street is toowearing on my nerves, " he replied. 

And in a moment he was gone. 

"I _like_ him, " said Mrs. Smithers. 

"So do I, " said Mr. Pedagog. "He isn't half the idiot he thinks he is. "

THE END

By LILIAN BELL

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