hat Green Carnation
stunt? Why did Chamberlain wear a monocle, or Gladstone those big
collars?"

"I don't know, I'm sure," I said feebly, "unless it was...."

"It was simply to fix their personalities in the public mind. If you've
done a big, wise thing, the public won't take any notice of you unless
you do some little, silly thing."

"I wish you'd tell the public this, old man," I said.

"The public don't give a darn," he returned grimly.

"Evidently they don't in this case. And I don't see why they should, if
you ask me. Even suppose he _had_ crossed the Atlantic, which he hasn't,
for he fell into the sea--even suppose he had, what of it? Would his
walking up Fifth Avenue in pink tights with an arum lily in his
hand...."

But my friend was gone upstairs to his studio and my subtle sarcasm was
lost. We look at this question of public performances from different
angles. When we heard of a neighbour's son earning ten dollars every
Saturday by going up in a balloon and descending in a parachute (very
often alighting upon some embarrassingly private roof) Mac thought it
very creditable of him and mighty poor pay. I contended that it was a
good deal more than the job was worth, because it was worth exactly
nothing. It was not worth doing. This, of course, laid me open on the
flank. My friend suggested that this might be said of a good deal of
literary work, and I admitted with a sigh that he was right. "There you
are," said he, and we both laughed.

"Well," I said, at lunch, "I grant your premises. Why should this chap
wish to fix his personality on the public mind?"

"Can't you see? To put his value up, of course."

"Doing ... why, of course, he's doing it for money. Who ever does
anything in this infernal world except for money?"

"But since he failed--as he did, you remember--he hasn't any value to
speak of."

Mac turned in despair to his wife.

"Did you ever see such a chap in your life? You'd think, to hear him,
he'd never heard of appropriations for publicity campaigns, or
advertising schemes. Things do themselves in his world--you don't even
have to drop a nickel in the slot!"

Bill regarded me with attention.

"He's got something up his sleeve," she remarked, sagely. "If he keeps
us guessing we'll send him to New York to have his Christmas dinner by
himself."

"I'm not going to keep you guessing," I said, "but I haven't been able
to get a word in edgeway yet. Leaving the great cosmic question of