atisfied, to find out if I wouldn't build the
_creche_ itself. It seemed like a worthy object, so I sent some
carpenters over to knock together a long frame pavilion. She was mighty
grateful, you bet, and I didn't see her again for a fortnight. Then she
called by to say that so long as I was in the business and they didn't
cost me anything special, would I mind giving her a few cows. She had a
surprised and grieved expression on her face as she talked, and the way
she put it made me feel that I ought to be ashamed of myself for not
having thought of the live stock myself. So I threw in a half dozen cows
to provide the refreshments.

I thought that was pretty good measure, but the carpenters hadn't more
than finished with the pavilion before the woman telephoned a sharp
message to ask why I hadn't had it painted.

I was too busy that morning to quarrel, so I sent word that I would fix
it up; and when I was driving by there next day the painters were hard
at work on it. There was a sixty-foot frontage of that shed on the
Avenue, and I saw right off that it was just a natural signboard. So I
called over the boss painter and between us we cooked up a nice little
ad that ran something like this:

Graham's Extract:
It Makes the Weak Strong.

Well, sir, when she saw the ad next morning that old hen just
scratched gravel. Went all around town saying that I had given a
five-hundred-dollar shed to charity and painted a thousand-dollar ad on
it. Allowed I ought to send my check for that amount to the _creche_
fund. Kept at it till I began to think there might be something in it,
after all, and sent her the money. Then I found a fellow who wanted to
build in that neighborhood, sold him the lot cheap, and got out of the
_creche_ industry.

I've put a good deal more than work into my business, and I've drawn a
good deal more than money out of it; but the only thing I've ever put
into it which didn't draw dividends in fun or dollars was worry. That is
a branch of the trade which you want to leave to our competitors.

I've always found worrying a blamed sight more uncertain than
horse-racing--it's harder to pick a winner at it. You go home worrying
because you're afraid that your fool new clerk forgot to lock the safe
after you, and during the night the lard refinery burns down; you spend
a year fretting because you think Bill Jones is going to cut you out
with your best girl, and then you spend ten worrying because he