class are people who would rather not hear the hand-organ, and it is to them that a grinder of business capacity would naturally address himself. It is far pleasanter to stay at home and be paid large money for doing nothing than to undertake a weary march through the city to receive small sums for doing something. That's human nature, Mr. Pedagog."

"I presume it is," said Mr. Pedagog; "but I don't think your scheme is. Human nature works, but your plan wouldn't."

"Well, of course," said the Idiot, "you never can tell about ideals. The fact that an ideal is ideal is the chief argument against its amounting to much. But I am confident that if my Beggar's Don't and Élite Directory fail, my other book will go."

"You appear to have the writing of a library in mind," sneered the Bibliomaniac.

"I have," said the Idiot. "If I write all the books I have in mind, the public library will be a small affair beside mine."

"And your other book is to be what?" queried Mr. Whitechoker.

"Plausible Tales for Beggars to Tell," said the Idiot. "If the beggar could only tell an interesting story he'd be surer of an ear in which to whisper it. The usual beggar's tale is commonplace. There's no art in it. There are no complications of absorbing interest. There is not a soul in creation, I venture to say, but would be willing to have a beggar stop right in the middle of his story. The tales I'd write for them would be so interesting that the attention of the wayfarer would be arrested at once. His mind would be riveted on the situation at once, and, instead of hurrying along and trying to leave the beggar behind, he would stop, button-hole him, and ask him to sit down on a convenient doorstep and continue. If a beggar could have such a story to tell as would enable him in the midst of one of its most exciting episodes to whisper hoarsely into the ear of the man whose nickel he was seeking, 'The rest of this interesting story I will tell you in Central Park at nine o'clock to-morrow night,' in such a manner as would impel the listener to meet him in the Park the following evening, his fortune would be made. Such a book I hope some day to write."

"I have no doubt," said Mr. Whitechoker, "that it will be an entertaining addition to fiction."

"Nor have I," said the Idiot. "It will make the writers of to-day green with envy, and, as for the beggars, if it is not generally known that it is I and not 

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