-House Chair and the Man with
more Whiskers than Darwin ever saw stood behind Him and ran his Fingers
over his Head, Tarantula-Wise.

[Illustration: THE LEARNED PHRENOLOGIST]

"Well, well!" said the Learned Phrenologist "Enough Benevolence here
to do a family of Eight. Courage? I guess yes! Dewey's got the same kind
of a Lump right over the Left Ear. Love of Home and Friends--like the
ridge behind a Bunker! Firmness--out of sight! Reverence--well, when it
comes to Reverence, you're certainly There with the Goods!
Conscientiousness, Hope, and Ideality--the Limit! And as for
Metaphysical Penetration--oh, Say, the Metaphysical Penetration, right
where you part the Hair--oh, Laura! Say, you've got Charles Eliot Norton
whipped to a Custard. I've got my Hand on it now. You can feel it
yourself, can't you?"

"I can feel Something," replied the Human Being, with a rapt Smile.

[Illustration: HUMAN BEING]

"Wit, Compassion and Poetic Talent--right here where I've got my
Thumb--a Cinch! I think you'll run as high as 98 per cent on all the
Intellectual Faculties. In your Case we have a Rare Combination of
Executive Ability, or the Power to Command, and those Qualities of
Benevolence and Ideality which contribute to the fostering of Permanent
Religious Sentiment. I don't know what your present Occupation is, but
you ought to be President of a Theological Seminary. Kindly slip me
Three Dollars before you Pass Out."

The Tall Man separated himself from Two Days' Pay and then went out on
the Street and pushed People off the Sidewalk, He thought so well of
Himself.

Thereafter, as before, he drove a Truck, but he was always glad to know
that he could have been President of a Theological Seminary.

Moral: _A good Jolly is worth Whatever you Pay for it._

_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ SLIM GIRL _WHO_ TRIED _TO_ KEEP _A_ DATE _THAT WAS_
NEVER MADE

Once upon a Time there was a slim Girl with a Forehead which was Shiny
and Protuberant, like a Bartlett Pear. When asked to put Something in an
Autograph Album she invariably wrote the Following, in a tall,
dislocated Back-Hand:

"Life is Real; life is Earnest,
And the Grave is not its Goal."

That's the kind of a Girl she was.

In her own Town she had the Name of being a Cold Proposition, but that
was because the Primitive Yokels of a One-Night Stand could not Attune
Themselves to the Views of one who was troubled with Ideals. Her Soul
Panted for the Higher Life.

Alas