work, and if he has any sense he doesn't want to
monopolize that."

"That isn't my scheme at all," said the Idiot. "You have a monopoly of
your own work always if you choose to avail yourself of it, and, as you
say, a man would be crazy to do so. What I'd like to see established is
a sort of Poetic Clearing-house Association. Supposing, for instance,
that I opened an office in Wall Street--a Bank for Poets, in which all
writers of verse could deposit their rhymes as they write them, and draw
against them just as they do in ordinary banks with their money. It
would be fine. Take a man like Swinburne, for instance, or our friend
here. Our poet could take a sonnet he had written, endorse it, and put
it in the bank. He'd be credited with one sonnet, and wouldn't have to
bother his head about it afterwards. He could draw against it. If the
Clearing-house company could dispose of it to a magazine his draft
would be honored in cash to its full value, less discount charges, which
would include postage and commissions to the company."

"And suppose the company failed to dispose of it?" suggested the Poet.

"They'd do just as ordinary banks do with checks--stamp it 'Not Good,'"
said the Idiot. "That, however, wouldn't happen very often if the
concern had an intelligent receiving-teller to detect counterfeits. If
the receiving-teller were a man fit for the position and a poet brought
in a quatrain with five lines in it, he could detect it at once and hand
it back. So with comic poems. I might go there with a poem I thought was
comic, and proceed to deposit it with the usual deposit slip. The teller
would look at it a second, scrutinize the humor carefully, and then if
it was not what I thought it, would stamp it 'Not Comic' or
'Counterfeit.' It is perfectly simple."

"Very simple," said Mr. Pedagog. "Though I should have used a synonym of
simple to describe it. It's idiotic."

"That's what people said of Columbus's idea that he could discover
America," said the Idiot. "Everything that doesn't have dollars
slathered all over it in plain view is idiotic."

"The word slathered is new to me," said the School-master; "but I fancy
I know what you mean."

"The word slathered may be new to you," said the Idiot, "but it is a
good word. I have used it with great effect several times. Whenever any
one asks me that foolish question that is asked so often, 'What is the
good word?' I always reply 'Slathered,' and the what's-the-good-word