sse_, for a business man (allowances are sometimes made for
poets, musicians, actors, and people who live in Greenwich Village),
to make any references to colour or form. He may admire, with obvious
emphasis on the women they lightly enclose, the costumes of the
_Follies_ but he is not permitted to exhibit knowledge of materials
and any suddenly expressed desire on his part to rush into a shop and
hug some bit of colour from the show window to his heart would be
regarded as a symptom of madness.

The audience which gives the final verdict on a farce makes allowances
for the author; permits him the use of certain conventions. For
example, he is given leave to introduce a hotel corridor into his last
act with seven doors opening on a common hallway so that his
characters may conveniently and persistently enter the wrong rooms.
It may be supposed that I ask for some such license from my audience.
"How ridiculous," you may be saying, "I know of interior decorators
who spend weeks in reading out the secrets of their clients' souls in
order to provide their proper settings." There doubtless are interior
decorators who succeed in giving a home the appearance of a well-kept
hotel where guests may mingle comfortably and freely. I should not
wish to deny this. But I do deny that soul-study is a requirement for
the profession. If a man (or a woman) has a soul it will not be a
decorator who will discover its fitting housing. Others may object,
"But bad taste is rampant. Surely it is better to be guided by some
one who knows than to surround oneself with rocking chairs, plaster
casts of the Winged Victory, and photographs of various madonnas." I
say that it is _not_ better. It is better for each man to express
himself, through his taste, as well as through his tongue or his pen,
as he may. And it is only through such expression that he will finally
arrive (if he ever can) at a condition of household furnishing which
will say something to his neighbour as well as to himself. It is a
pleasure when one leaves a dinner party to be able to observe "That is
_his_ house," just as it is a pleasure when one leaves a concert to
remember that a composer has expressed himself and not the result of
seven years study in Berlin or Paris.

But Americans have little aptitude for self-expression. They prefer to
huddle, like cattle, under unspeakable whips when matters of art are
under discussion. They fear ridicule. As a consequence many of the
ric