fancied that he
understood it at a glance--that it was all a sham and a glamour and
vanity of vanities. There was, of course, a potent reason for all this.
In his short peregrinations into the world of decorations and blue
ribbons and cosmopolitan uniforms he had never come across a woman that
interested him. He had a holy reverence for woman in the abstract, but
he had not met one to whom he could do homage as the type of the ideal
womanhood he worshipped. Perhaps he expected too much, or perhaps he
judged too much by small and really insignificant signs. As no man
living or dead has ever understood any woman for five minutes at a time,
he was not to be blamed. Women are very like religion--we must take them
on faith, or go without.

Moreover, Dr. Claudius had but an indifferent appreciation of the value
of money; partly because he had never cared for what it would buy, and
had therefore never examined its purchasing power, and partly because he
had never lived intimately with people who spent a great deal. He knew
nothing of business, and had never gambled, and he did not conceive that
the combination of the two could be of any interest. Compared with the
questions that had occupied his mind of late, it seemed to make no more
difference whether a man were rich or poor than whether he had light
hair or dark. And if he had seriously asked himself whether even those
great problems which had occupied the minds of the mightiest thinkers
led to any result of importance, it was not likely that he would bestow
a thought on such a trivial matter as the question of pounds, shillings,
and pence.

So, before he went to bed, he took out a sheet of paper and an
envelope--he never bought but one package of envelopes a year, when he
sent his New Year's card to the other doctors of the University--and
wrote a short letter to Messrs. Screw and Scratch of Pine Street, New
York. He acknowledged the receipt of their communication, deplored the
death of his only relation, and requested that they would look after his
money for him, as he had no use whatever for it at present. He objected,
he said, to signing a power of attorney as yet, for as there was no
hurry they might consult him by letter or telegraph as often as they
liked. When Messrs. Screw and Scratch read this epistle they opened
their eyes wide, wondering what manner of man Claudius, Phil.D., might
be. And it took them some time to find out. But Claudius put out his
light when