perfect rule is an inborn judgment. The merest accident may
thrill a dull man with genius. I knew a young man who was commonplace
until he was taken down with a fever, and when he got up his business
sense was gone, but he wrote a parody that made this country shout with
laughter. Thus I mused as I looked at that fellow selling pens. He was a
rascal, no doubt, but I was forced to admire his vivid fancy, his
genius.

When I returned to the Rookery I found Ging waiting for me. "Now," said
he, "we'll go out for a while and then eat dinner. Would you mind going
out about twelve miles? Train every few minutes. I've got some real
estate that I'd like to show you--might cut an important figure in our
transaction."

"I don't want it to cut any figure in our transaction," I replied. "I
want to sell the mine for money."

"Yes, of course, but you might double your money on the real estate."

"That may be true, but I am not a speculator; and if you are not
prepared to pay money, why, it is useless to waste further time."

"Of course. No time has been wasted and none shall be. You may trust me
when it comes to the question of wasting time. I didn't know but you
might like a home out at Sweet Myrtle. Beautiful place--gas, water,
side-walks, sewers. But if you don't want to go, it's all right. Let me
tell you right now that we are prepared to pay cash for your mine. We
represent millions in the East. Well, we'll go."

That night we went to a theater, and to me Mr. Ging was a dull
companion. He yawned and stretched through Shakspeare's mighty play,
while I was in a tingling ecstasy. He said that the fellow could not
act, and that may have been true, but to me there was no actor, but a
real Hamlet; no stage, but the court at Elsinore. He said that he would
call at the hotel in time to catch the boat, and I was glad when he left
me to my own thoughts. At 9 o'clock the next morning we went on board a
great white boat, so fresh, so full of interest to me that I was in a
state of delight, of new expectancy, and when we steamed out into the
lake I could scarcely repress a cry of joy so thrilling was the view. I
had never seen a large body of water, had striven to picture the majesty
of a wave, and now I stood with poetry rolling about me--now a deep-blue
elegy, now a limpid lyric, varying in hue with the shifting of a
luminous fleece-work, far above. To have been born and brought up amid
great scenes were surely a privilege, but to co