otos does that,--but
never biliousness."

In the evening, Mr. Grapewine visited the Turkish baths and learned all
about them before he went home. He encountered another idea on his way
thither, and was taken captive by it without resistance. He could
not--it would never do--it would not be courteous to eat so plentifully
in the presence of guests whose appetites were merely natural. Nor could
he well ask them to take the stimulating course he proposed for himself.
But they _could_ take a Turkish bath, and it would be quite a neat
little social device to enclose a ticket for a bath with each
invitation.

"There, madam!" he said to Mrs. Grapewine, "I think that's perfect. We
shall have the heartiest, merriest dinner on Christmas-day that man ever
devoured. Bring pen and paper, and I'll write to all the guests
immediately, ma'am."

After a moment's scratching of the pen, Mr. Grapewine leaned back in his
chair and held off the wet sheet at arm's length, reading with strong
emphasis as follows,--

"DEAR CAPTAIN KILLIAM,--Mrs. Grapewine and myself would be most happy to
have you join a small company of friends at our house on Christmas-day,
for dinner, at one P.M. The affair will be quite informal, and, to add
to the thorough enjoyment of it, I enclose a coupon for a Turkish-bath,
which please use on Christmas morning before the hour named.

"Yours, sincerely,
"GEORGE GRAPEWINE."

By the next morning Mr. Grapewine's invitations had found their way to
the breakfast-tables of all his expected guests.

* * * * *

Mr. Pillet's breakfast-table was composed of the top of a flat trunk,
and to find its way there the invitation went up three pairs of stairs.
Mr. Pillet was a writer, and his income was by no means as great as his
ability. He had often to point out a similar disparity in the lives of
other writers, because this was his one way of accounting for his want
of success. He did not write books, to be sure. He only wrote poetical
advertisements. But they were printed and paid for, and this gave him a
sort of prestige among his less lucky friends. He was seedy; only
moderately clean, and wholly unshaven, thus avoiding, by one happy
invention, both soap and the barber. Fierce he was to look at, with his
rugged beard and eyebrows, and fierce in his resentment of the world's
indifference. A Christmas invitation to the Grapewine's made his eyes
glisten with delight: a good dinner, gue