er intelligence and the Spiritual Caliber of a Humming
Bird. They proved that exactly the same kind were scattered through
every Department Store, working for $6 a week.

When they got through knocking, he hurried over and told her
everything and promised her that if she would marry him, not one of
these Snakes would ever be permitted to enter the House.

He writhed on the Rug and said that if she didn't whisper that One
Little Word, it would be a case of Satin Lining and Silver Handles for
little Wallie.

She looked out the Window and yawned slightly and then said, "Oh, very
well."

He rode home standing up in a Taxicab, while she was showing the Maids
a lozenge-shaped Ring that set him back 450 Bucks.

MORAL: The higher they fly the harder they fall.

THE NEW FABLE OF THE SEARCH FOR CLIMATE

Once there was a Gentleman of the deepest dye who was all out of
Kelter. He felt like a list of Symptoms on the outside of a Dollar
Bottle. He looked like the Picture you see in the Almanac entitled,
"Before Taking."

When his Liver was at Perihelion, he had a Complexion suggesting an
Alligator Pear, and his Eye-Balls should have been taken out and
burnished.

He could see little dirigible Balloons drifting about in all parts of
the deep-blue Ether. His Tummy told him that some one had moved in and
was giving a Chafing-Dish Party. Furthermore, a red-hot Awl had been
inserted under each Shoulder Blade.

When every Tree was a Weeping Willow and the Sun went slinking behind
a Cloud, his only definite Yearn was to crawl into a dark Cellar with
Fungus on the Walls and do the Shuffle, after making a sarcastic Will
that disinherited all Relatives and Friends.

This poor, stricken Gloomer had time-tabled himself all over the
Universe, trying to close in on a Climate that would put him on his
Feet and keep him Fit as a Fiddle.

He had de-luxed himself to remote Spots that were supplied with Steam
Heat and French Cooking, together with Wines, Liquors, and Cigars, but
no matter what the Altitude or the Relative Humidity, he felt
discouraged every Morning when he awoke and remembered that presently
he would have to rally his Vital Forces and walk all the way to the
Tub.

It was too bad that a Clubman, so eminent Socially, should be thus
shot to Rags and Fragments. Could aught be more Piteous than to
Witness a proud and haughty Income tottering along the Street,
searching in vain for a Workingman's Appetite? When one