so many pieces, if I
hadn't seen it done. When he had got rid of everything but half a wheel
and the splashboard he bolted again. I remained behind with the other
ruins, and glad I was to get a little rest. He came back later in
the afternoon, and I was pleased to sell him the next week for a
five-pound-note: it cost me about another ten to repair myself.

"To this day I am chaffed about that pony, and the local temperance
society made a lecture out of me. That's what comes of following
advice."

I sympathized with him. I have suffered from advice myself. I have a
friend, a City man, whom I meet occasionally. One of his most
ardent passions in life is to make my fortune. He button-holes me in
Threadneedle Street. "The very man I wanted to see," he says; "I'm going
to let you in for a good thing. We are getting up a little syndicate."
He is for ever "getting up" a little syndicate, and for every hundred
pounds you put into it you take a thousand out. Had I gone into all
his little syndicates, I could have been worth at the present moment,
I reckon, two million five hundred thousand pounds. But I have not gone
into all his little syndicates. I went into one, years ago, when I was
younger. I am still in it; my friend is confident that my holding, later
on, will yield me thousands. Being, however, hard-up for ready money,
I am willing to part with my share to any deserving person at a genuine
reduction, upon a cash basis. Another friend of mine knows another man
who is "in the know" as regards racing matters. I suppose most people
possess a friend of this type. He is generally very popular just
before a race, and extremely unpopular immediately afterwards. A third
benefactor of mine is an enthusiast upon the subject of diet. One day he
brought me something in a packet, and pressed it into my hand with the
air of a man who is relieving you of all your troubles.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Open it and see," he answered, in the tone of a pantomime fairy.

I opened it and looked, but I was no wiser.

"It's tea," he explained.

"Oh!" I replied; "I was wondering if it could be snuff."

"Well, it's not exactly tea," he continued, "it's a sort of tea. You
take one cup of that--one cup, and you will never care for any other
kind of tea again."

He was quite right, I took one cup. After drinking it I felt I didn't
care for any other tea. I felt I didn't care for anything, except to die
quietly and inoffensively. He called o