be born with
in order to get the world familiar with your last name is the usual
number of arms, legs and etc. and a mad habitual yearnin' to make good
that a sudden hypodermic of success don't kill. Anything but failure
is possible to a hustler, and by a hustler I don't mean one of them
breezy birds which makes a lotta noise, thinks they is only one letter
in the alphabet and that's the one after "H," but the guy which takes
setbacks as encouragement and quits tryin' the day the undertaker is
called in.

They's many a big artist whose ancestors thought paint was used for the
sides of barns only, they's many a famous actor whose father figured
Shakespeare was the name of a puddin', they's many a big league author
come from families which confined their readin' matter to the city
directory, and so it goes all along the line--Columbus's old man was a
cotton picker. You don't inherit success, you take it by force, usin'
your ambition, nerve and ability as the weapons.

The above information was handed on to me by Alex. He says Broadway is
too narrow and Vermont moonlight had it lookin' dark at night and he
then proceeds to wed one of the prettiest girls that ever looked over
the Winter Garden footlights--she makes homemade bread now, too! The
first time he went to the Metropolitan Opera House he claims he'd like
grand opera if they wouldn't sing and when does the acrobats come out,
yet the next week he's able to take a apartment on Riverside Drive.
This here is just a few of the things Alex done to break up the dull
monotony of life in a burg where that and death is mere incidents.

The wife and I is sittin' together in the parlor one night and she's
knittin' a sweater for me that will prob'ly make me off her for life,
whilst I'm readin' aloud to her from the only novel in which true love
and the like don't win out in the end. It's called "Simpson's
Universal Educator" and the subject we are on is how wet is the
Pacific, or some such hot stuff as that. They is a ring at the bell
and the wife grabs the book outa my hand and slings about thirty
dollars' worth of wool over my arms.

[Illustration: She's knittin' a sweater for me that will prob'ly make
me off her for life.]

"Sit up straight," she says, "and look interested in this! You're
helpin' me knit--get that? Look as if you like it and the minute the
door opens call me dear."

"What's the idea?" I says, sittin' there with my arms out straight and
stiff