would do well to get his meals outside."

"That, Mrs. Pedagog, is not the point. The difficulty I find here lies in
getting my meals inside," said the Idiot.

"Mary, you may bring in the mush," observed Mrs. Pedagog, pursing her
lips, as she always did when she wished to show that she was offended.

"Yes, Mary," put in the School-Master; "let us have the mush as quickly
as possible--and may it not be quite such mushy mush as the remarks we
have just been favored with by our talented friend the Idiot."

"You overwhelm me with your compliments, Mr. Pedagog," replied the Idiot,
cheerfully. "A flatterer like you should live in a flat."

"Has your friend completed his article on old jokes yet?" queried the
Bibliomaniac, with a smile and some apparent irrelevance.

[Illustration: "HAS YOUR FRIEND COMPLETED HIS ARTICLE ON OLD JOKES?"]

"Yes and no," said the Idiot. "He has completed his labors on it by
giving it up. He is a very thorough sort of a fellow, and he intended
to make the article comprehensive, but he found he couldn't, because,
judging from comments of men like you, for instance, he was forced to
conclude that there never was a _new_ joke. But, as I was saying the
other morning----"

"Do you really remember what you say?" sneered Mr. Pedagog. "You must
have a great memory for trifles."

"Sir, I shall never forget you," said the Idiot. "But to revert to what
I was saying the other morning, I'd like to begin life all over again, so
that I could prepare myself for the profession of architecture. It's the
greatest profession in the world, and one which is surest to bring
immortality to its successful follower. A man may write a splendid book,
and become a great man for a while and within certain limits, but the
chances are that some other man will come along later and supplant him.
Then the book's sale will die out after a time, and with this will come
a diminution of its author's reputation, in extent anyway. An actor or a
great preacher becomes only a name after his death, but the architect who
builds a cathedral or a fine public building really erects a monument to
his own memory."

"He does if he can build it so that it will stay up," said the
Bibliomaniac. "I think you, however, are better off as you are. If you
had a more extended reputation or a lasting name you would probably be
locked up in some retreat; or if you were not, posterity would want to
know why."

"I am locked up in a retreat of Natur