disappeared from the speech of all men at Heart's Desire. Dan Anderson
sat down in the shade, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
"My boy," said he, "you can gaze at me if you ain't too tired. As a
matter of fact, in this pernicious age of specialization I stand out as
the one glitterin' example of success in more than one line. Why, once
I was a success as a journalist--for a few moments."

There was now a certain softness and innocence in his voice, which had
portent, although I did not at that time suspect that he really had
anything of consequence upon his soul. Without more encouragement he
went on.

"My brother," said he, "when I first came out of Princeton I was
burnin' up with zeal. There was the world, the whole wide world,
plunged into an abyss of error and wrongdoin'. I was the sole and
remainin' hope. Like all great men, I naturally wanted to begin the
savin' as early as possible; and like everybody else who comes out of
Princeton, I thought the best medium for immediate salvation was
journalism. I wasn't a newspaper man. I never said that at all. I
was a journalist.

"Well, dad got me a place on a paper in New York, and I worked on the
dog-fight department for a time, it havin' been discovered that I was
noted along certain lines of research in Princeton. I knew the
pedigree and fightin' weight of every white, black, or brindle pup in
four States. Now, a whole lot of fellows come out of college who don't
know that much; or if they do, they don't know how to apply their
knowledge. Now dogs, that's plumb useful.

"I was still doin' dogs when the presidential campaign came along, or