"Yes," replied the Idiot. "It would be delightful then, especially in
summer, when covered with an awning to shield promenaders from the sun."

Mr. Pedagog sighed, and the Bibliomaniac, wearily declining a second cup
of coffee, left the table with the Doctor, earnestly discussing with
that worthy gentleman the causes of weakmindedness.




VIII


"There's a friend of mine up near Riverdale," said the Idiot, as he
unfolded his napkin and let his bill flutter from it to the floor,
"who's tried to make a name for himself in literature."

"What's his name?" asked the Bibliomaniac, interested at once.

"That's just the trouble. He hasn't made it yet," replied the Idiot. "He
hasn't succeeded in his courtship of the Muse, and beyond himself and a
few friends his name is utterly unknown."

"What work has he tried?" queried the School-master, pouring
unadmonished two portions of skimmed milk over his oatmeal.

"A little of everything. First he wrote a novel. It had an immense
circulation, and he only lost $300 on it. All of his friends took a
copy--I've got one that he gave me--and I believe two hundred