rs
and silly man perk in front of a mirror. Why not give in to the sense
of heredity once in a while even though it means beating up a tramp and
making myself more of a mark for human eyes?"

He rolled the old clothes into a bundle and stuffed them under the roots
of a tree. Then he strolled away leisurely, and when he as in the wider
stretches of the wood where the light was better he pulled a small book
from his pocket and read as he walked.

The volume was _Sartor Resartus_. His eyes happened to find this passage
and he smiled as he read:

All visible things are emblems. Hence clothes, as despicable as we think
them, are so unspeakably significant. Clothes, from the King's mantle
downward, are emblematic not of want only but of a manifold cunning
victory over want. Men are properly said to be clothed with authority,
clothed with beauty, with curses and the like. It is written, the
Heavens and the Earth shall fade away like a vesture; which indeed
they are: the time vesture of the Eternal. Whatsoever sensibly exists,
whatsoever represents spirit to spirit, is properly a clothing, a suit
of raiment, put on for a season and to be laid off. Thus in this one
pregnant subject of clothes, rightly understood, is included all that
men have thought, dreamed, done, and been; the whole Eternal Universe
and what it holds is but clothing; and the essence of all science lies
in the Philosophy of Clothes.

From time to time he looked down upon himself complacently.

When he came near a glade in the wood he heard the chatter of the voices
of a merry party and he saw picnickers, men and women, gathered about
hampers. Automobiles were parked at a little distance, and he made a
detour to avoid the scene.

He emerged upon an animated tableau of modern nymph and modish satyr
in a close-by forest aisle. The girl was flushed and disheveled and was
resisting a young man who had pushed aside her veil and was kissing her
with ardor. She beat him back with her gloved hands and eluded him, but
he caught her to him with more of rough passion than tender affection.

"We are engaged to be married," he insisted. "Why shouldn't I kiss you?
Don't be a prude!"

She thrust her protesting palms against him and set her arms rigidly and
held her head away, not with coyness, but with indignation and fierce
rebellion.

"I love you! My God, can't you understand?" he gasped. "I can't keep my
hands off you. You can't handle a man as you're trying