ty will be mine of turning over these instructive
documents to the United States postal authorities. But not before giving
them to the newspapers. How would you look in court, in view of this
attempt to murder a fellow man's reason?"

Mr. Honeywell had now gained his composure. "You are right," he
assented. "You seem to have a singular faculty for being right. Be
careful it does not fail you--sometime."

"Thank you," returned Average Jones. "Now you will listen, please, all
of you."

He read the brief document, placed it before the blind man, and set a
pin between his finger and thumb. "Sign there," he said.

Honeywell smiled as he pricked in his name.

"For identification, I suppose," he said. "Am I to assign no cause to
the newspapers for my sudden action?"

A twinkle of malice appeared in Average Jones' eye.

"I would suggest waning mental acumen," he said.

The blind man winced palpably as he rose to his feet. "That is the
second time you have taunted me on that. Kindly tell me my mistake."

Average Jones led him to the door and opened it.

"Your mistake," he drawled as he sped his parting guest into the grasp
of a waiting attendant, "was--er--in not remembering that--er--you
mustn't fish for bass in November."

CHAPTER VIII. BIG PRINT

In the Cosmic Club Mr. Algernon Spofford was a figure of distinction.
Amidst the varied, curious, eccentric, brilliant, and even slightly
unbalanced minds which made the organization unique, his was the only
wholly stolid and stupid one. Club tradition declared that he had been
admitted solely for the beneficent purpose of keeping the more egotistic
members in a permanent and pleasing glow of superiority. He was very
rich, but otherwise quite harmless. In an access of unappreciated
cynicism, Average Jones had once suggested to him, as a device for his
newly acquired coat-of-arms, "Rocks et Praeterea Nihil."

But the "praeterea nihil" was something less than fair to Mr. Spofford,
with whom it was not strictly a case of "nothing further" besides his
"rocks". Ambition, the vice of great souls, burned within Spofford's
pigeon-breast. He longed to distinguish himself in the line of endeavor
of his friend Jones and was prone to proffer suggestions, hints, and
even advice, to the great tribulation of the recipient.

Hence it was with misgiving that the Ad-Visor opened the door of his
sanctum to Mr. Spofford, on a harsh December noon. But the misgivings
were suppla