it glowed like a
huge ruby. We passed a blind man selling pencils, and thought of giving
it to him. Then we reflected that a blind man would lose half the
pleasure of the adventure because he couldn't see the colors. We bought
a pencil instead. Still running on Caliph, you see.

In our excitement we did what we always do in moments of stress--went
into a restaurant and ordered a piece of hot mince pie. Then we
remembered that we had just dined. Never mind, we sat there and
contemplated the apple as it lay ruddily on the white porcelain
tabletop. Should we give it to the waitress? No, because apples were a
commonplace to her. The window of the restaurant held a great pyramid of
beauties. To her, an apple was merely something to be eaten, instead of
the symbol of a grand escapade. Instead, we gave her a little medallion
of a buffalo that happened to be in our pocket.

Already the best possible destination for that apple had come to our
mind. Hastening zealously up a long flight of stairs in a certain large
building we went to a corner where sits a friend of ours, a night
watchman. Under a drop light he sits through long and tedious hours,
beguiling his vigil with a book. He is a great reader. He eats books
alive. Lately he has become much absorbed in Saint Francis of Assisi,
and was deep in the "Little Flowers" when we found him.

"We've brought you something," we said, and held the apple where the
electric light brought out all its brilliance.

He was delighted and his gentle elderly face shone with awe at the
amazing vividness of the fruit.

"I tell you what I'll do," he said. "That apple's much too fine for me.
I'll take it home to the wife."

Of course his wife will say the same thing. She will be embarrassed by
the surpassing splendor of that apple and will give it to some friend of
hers whom she thinks more worthy than herself. And that friend will give
it to some one else, and so it will go rolling on down the ages, passing
from hand to hand, conferring delight, and never getting eaten.
Ultimately some one, trying to think of a recipient really worthy of its
deliciousness, will give it to Mr. and Mrs. Caliph. And they, blessed
innocents, will innocently exclaim, "Why we never saw such a magnificent
apple in all our lives."

And it will be true, for by that time the apple will gleam with an
unearthly brightness, enhanced and burnished by all the kind thoughts
that have surrounded it for so long.

As we wal