of a business was not in the warp and woof of Mr. Shote's commercial ramifications. They came to grief. So did Mr. Shote.

"Then we discovered suddenly that Mr. Shote had two wives and two families. As a husband and a father he had enjoyed a success at once unusual and unsuspected. A superman is generally super married. He had acquired imperial morals. The second wife appealed to the courts in a wild yell for her stopped allowance and the result was that, in a short time, Mr. Shote stood alone and universally despised between two family fires. His efficiency had gone too far.

"Again I say, success is the worst of teachers—save to those who sit in the grand stand while it is working out its failure. Unfortunately, it gave the laboring men of this country a lesson in Williamism which has spread over America. I wish the workers all success in getting their just share of the fruits of commerce, but let it be done by fair, democratic methods and not through Williamism.

"Above all no man should hitch his conscience to a post as if it were a mule or a nanny-goat and go off and leave it.

"It is to be hoped that the patriotic Samuel Gompers will not abandon his pursuit of Williamism even after the war ends.

"The big point of the whole thing is this: One day the Leatherhead Monarch, came into this office, closed the door behind him, sat down beside me and said:

"'Mr. Potter, I see that I have the intellect of an idiot. What shall I do to be saved?'

"At last he had learned something—a really serviceable and important fact—and he had learned it not by success but by failure."

As he approached his climax, Mr. Potter had shown a little annoyance at the arrival of the waiter and the hash and the eggs and the pie. Mr. Potter rose, stood his rifle in a corner and said:

"I regret that my climax and this wandering Ganymede with his load of hash should have arrived at the same moment."

The waiter spread the table in front of the fireplace. Mr. Potter put a coin in his hand and pointing at the door said:

"Go hence and come not back until to-morrow."

He placed chairs by the table and we sat down.

"Is this pie, apple, that I see before me the handle toward my hand?" he playfully remarked, as he lifted a firm built piece of pie in his hand and began to eat it in the old fashion. "Bread may be the staff of life, but pie is the light in its windows. I don't want to be hurried by its invitation, so I guess I'll get it out of the way."