p my sleeve.

The exceptions include you, Uncle Peter, and myself also.

It could not apply in your case, Uncle Peter, because I have known
you since we lived together in Baltimore many moons ago, and I
realize that the years have only improved you, Uncle Peter, and
that to-day you are a bigger shine than you ever were.

One point about my observation which seems to have escaped the eyes
of the general public, but which you suggest so delicately in your
letter, Uncle Peter, will be found in the beautiful words of the
poet who says:

Some advertisement now and then
Is needed by the greatest men!

Don't mention it, Uncle Peter, for what I tell you is confidential,
but do you know that my little bunch of remarks, which cost me
nothing anyway because I was invited to the banquet, have given me
more widespread advertisement than Andy Carnegie can get for
eighteen public libraries?

You know, Uncle Peter, there is nothing in the world so easy to
make stand up on its hind legs as the general public if you just go
after it right.

But the trick is, Uncle Peter, to know what to say and when to say
it.

Look at my case and then tell me if it wasn't up to me to emit a
rave.

There I was, just about to leave my native land to go to Oxford and
become the squeegee professor in the Knowledge Factory and be all
swallowed up in the London fog, but nobody seemed to miss me before
I went away.

I began to feel lost, lonely and forgotten like a vice-president of
the United States.

Then came the banquet, Uncle Peter, and like a flash the inspiration
came to me and I arose in my seat and said, "Ladies and gentlemen,
after a man reaches the age of 40 he is a seldom-happener, and after
he gets to the age of 60 he is a dead rabbit and it's the woods for
his."

What was the result, Uncle Peter?

Every man in the world felt that I was his personal insult.

Every man _over_ 40 listened to what I said and began to yell for
the police; and every man _under_ 40 realized that he would be
_over_ 40 some day, so he began to look for a rock to throw at me.

I had them, going and coming.

Then the newspapers heard about it and where formerly in their
columns was nothing but dull and harmless war news my picture
began, to blossom forth like the flowers that bloom in the spring,
tra la!

Pretty soon, Uncle Peter, every man, woman and child in the world
began to know me and I couldn't walk out in the public streets
without bei