are has written, but what new quip some opinionated devastator
has tried to fasten on his memory. In a hundred years from now the works
of Shakespeare will differ as much from what they are to-day as to-day's
versions differ from what they were when Shakespeare wrote them. It's
mighty discouraging to one like myself who would like to write works."

"You are convicted out of your own mouth," said the Bibliomaniac. "A
moment since you wasted your pity on me because I didn't mutilate
Shakespeare so as to make him my own, and now you attack the
commentators for doing precisely the same thing. They're as much
entitled to their opinions as you are to yours."

"Did you ever learn to draw parallels when you were in school?" asked
the Idiot.

"I did, and I think I've made a perfect parallel in this case. You
attack people in one breath for what you commiserate me for not doing in
another," said the Bibliomaniac.

"Not exactly," said the Idiot. "I don't object to the commentators for
commentating, but I do object to their putting out their versions of
Shakespeare as Shakespeare. I might as well have my edition published.
It certainly would be popular, especially where, in 'Julius Caesar,' I
introduce five Cassiuses and have them all fall on their swords
together with military precision, like a 'Florodora' sextette, for
instance."

"Well, I hope you'll never print such an atrocity as that," cried the
Bibliomaniac, hotly. "If there's one thing in literature without excuse
and utterly contemptible it is the comic version, the parody of a
masterpiece."

"You need have no fear on that score," returned the Idiot. "I haven't
time to rewrite Shakespeare, and, since I try never to stop short of
absolute completeness, I shall not embark on the enterprise. If I do,
however, I shall not do as the commentators do, and put on my title-page
'Shakespeare. Edited by Willie Wilkins,' but 'Shakespeare As He Might
Have Been, Had His Plays Been Written By An Idiot.'"

"I have no doubt that you could do great work with 'Hamlet,'" observed
the Poet.

"I think so myself," said the Idiot. "But I shall never write 'Hamlet.'
I don't want to have my fair fame exposed to the merciless hands of the
devastators."

"I shall never cease to regret," said Mr. Pedagog, after a moment's
thought, "that you are so timid. I should very much like to see 'The
Works of the Idiot.' I admit that my desire is more or less a morbid
one. It is quite on a plane with