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conspicuous rout, and he frequently rehearsed the exact tone in which he would some day say to the managing editor: "You may fire when ready, Gridley." Little did Sanford realize that the only time Mr. Birdlip had attempted to read the "Exits and Entrances" column he had met the name of Æschylus, had faltered, and retreated upon the syndicated sermon by the Rev. Frank Crane.

"I saw 'Ruddigore' the other evening," said Sanford to his cronies, as they called for a second round of coffee. "There's a line in it that describes old Birdie fore, aft, and amidships. Something like this: 'He is that particular variety of good old man to whom the truth is always a refreshing novelty'."

They complauded. Rightly or wrongly, these high-spirited and sophisticated young men had decided that Mr. Birdlip's naïveté was so refreshingly complete that it gave them an æsthetic pleasure to contemplate it. It had the exquisite beauty of any absolute perfection. Their employer's latest venture, which had been to pay $200,000 for the exclusive right to publish and syndicate the mysterious formulæ of a leading Memory Course, had shocked them very greatly.