ke him in hand, Mr. Pedagog,
and make him more of a fellow than he is."

Later in the day the Poet met the Idiot on the stairs. "I say," he said,
"I've looked all through Swinburne, and I can't find that poem."

"I know you can't," returned the Idiot, "because it isn't there.
Swinburne never wrote it. It was a little thing of my own. I was only
trying to get a rise out of Mr. Pedagog and his Reverence with it. You
have frequently appeared impressed by the undoubtedly impressive manner
of these two gentlemen. I wanted to show you what their opinions were
worth."

[Illustration: "I KNOW YOU CAN'T, BECAUSE IT ISN'T THERE"]

"Thank you," returned the Poet, with a smile. "Don't you want to go
into partnership with me and write for the funny papers? It would be
a splendid thing for me--your ideas are so original."

"And I can see fun in everything, too," said the Idiot, thoughtfully.

"Yes," returned the Poet. "Even in my serious poems."

Which remark made the Idiot blush a little, but he soon recovered his
composure and made a firm friend of the Poet.

The first fruits of the partnership have not yet appeared, however.

As for Messrs. Whitechoker and Pedagog, when they learned how they had
been deceived, they were so indignant that they did not speak to the
Idiot for a week.

VIII

It was Sunday morning, and Mr. Whitechoker, as was his wont on the first
day of the week, appeared at the breakfast table severe as to his mien.

"Working on Sunday weighs on his mind," the Idiot said to the
Bibliomaniac, "but I don't see why it should. The luxury of rest
that he allows himself the other six days of the week is surely an
atonement for the hours of labor he puts in on Sunday."

But it was not this that on Sunday mornings weighed on the mind of the
Reverend Mr. Whitechoker. He appeared more serious of visage then because
he had begun to think of late that his fellow-boarders lived too much in
the present, and ignored almost totally that which might be expected to
come. He had been revolving in his mind for several weeks the question as
to whether it was or was not his Christian duty to attempt to influence
the lives of these men with whom the chances of life had brought him in
contact. He had finally settled it to his own satisfaction that it was
his duty so to do, and he had resolved, as far as lay in his power, to
direct the conversation at Sunday morning's breakfast into spiritual
rather than into temporal