instead of snatching the knotted cord from the hand of God and dealing
murderous blows."




RHUBARB


We used to call him Rhubarb, by reason of his long russet beard, which
we imagined trailing in the prescriptions as he compounded them,
imparting a special potency. He was a little German druggist--_Deutsche
Apotheker_--and his real name was Friedrich Wilhelm Maximilian Schulz.

The village of Kings is tucked away in Long Island, in the Debatable
Land where the generous boundary of New York City zigzags in a sporting
way just to permit horse racing at Belmont Park. It is the most rustic
corner of the City. To most New Yorkers it is as remote as Helgoland and
as little known. It has no movie theatre, no news-stand, no cigar store,
no village atheist. The railroad station, where one hundred and fifty
trains a day do not stop, might well be mistaken for a Buddhist shrine,
so steeped in discreet melancholy is it. The Fire Department consists of
an old hose wagon first used to extinguish fires kindled by the
Republicans when Rutherford B. Hayes was elected. In the weather-beaten
Kings Lyceum "East Lynne" is still performed once a year. People who
find Quoguc and Cohasset too exciting, move to Kings to cool off. The
only way one can keep servants out there is by having the works of
Harold Bell Wright in the kitchen for the cook to read.

Stout-hearted Mr. Schulz came to Kings long ago. There is quite a little