ho keep our trousers pressed and wear out our
linen, I don't see why there wouldn't be money in an institution which
did the same thing for the struggling young bachelor of arts who is
thrown out of the arms of Alma Mater on to the hands of a cold and
unappreciative world."

"At last!" cried the Doctor. "At last I find sanity in one of your
suggestions. That idea of yours, Mr. Idiot, is worthy of a genius. I
have a nephew just out of college and what on earth to do with him
nobody in the family can imagine. He doesn't seem to be good for
anything except sitting around and letting his hair grow long."

"That isn't much of a profession, is it," said the Idiot. "What does he
want to do?"

"That's the irritating part of it," observed the Doctor. "When I asked
him the other night what he intended to do for a living he said he
hadn't made up his mind yet between becoming a motor-man or the Editor
of the South American Review. That's a satisfactory kind of an answer,
eh? Especially when the family income is hardly big enough to keep the
modern youth in neckties."

"I don't believe any Intelligence Office in creation could do anything
for a man like that," sneered the Bibliomaniac. "What that young man
needs is a good sound spanking, and I'd like to give it to him."

"All right," said the Doctor with a laugh. "I'll see that you have the
chance. If you'll go out to my sister's with me some time next week I'll
introduce you to Bill and you can begin."

"Why don't you do it yourself, Doctor?" asked the Idiot, noting the
twinkle in the Doctor's eye.

"I'm too busy," laughed the Doctor. "Besides I only weigh one hundred
and twenty pounds and Bill is six feet two inches high and weighs two
hundred and ten pounds stripped. I think if I were armed with a
telegraph pole and Bill with only a tooth-pick as a weapon of defense he
could thrash me with ease. However, if Mr. Bib wants to try it--"

"Send Bill to us, Doctor," said the Idiot. "I sort of like Bill and I'll
bet the University Intelligence Office will get him a job in forty-eight
hours. A man who is willing to mote or Edit has an adaptability that
ought to locate him permanently somewhere."

"I don't quite see," said Mr. Brief, "just how you are going to work
your scheme, Mr. Idiot. I must confess I should regard Bill as a pretty
tough proposition."

"Not at all," said the Idiot. "The only trouble with Bill is that he
hasn't found himself yet. He's probably one of thos