how that ambition is no
more subject to a guarantee than a patent-leather shoe--it looks very
fine when you first get it, but it cracks.

"Then there is the ideal, which is even more perishable, but can
fortunately be replaced when it breaks--for it does not wear out.
Like a Prince Rupert drop, it is just as good as new until something
steps on its tail, and then there is nothing left but a noise and a
disturbed atmospheric condition.

"After a fellow's ideal, explodes he generally idles away his time
pitying himself and saying sarcastic things about the entire human
race, until he achieves a local reputation as a cynic. When in this
state of mind there is no use in telling him that he is not the only
original possessor of a bona fide broken ideal. He'll show you a
little superficial scratch and say in husky tones, 'see this great
wound it has made in my constitution, it will never heal. Happiness
is an iridescent dream. Go and leave me to my fate! 'Then he'll heave
a sigh which he thinks comes from a broken heart, but which really
emanates from a dyspeptic condition, caused by lack of exercise. After
a while he finds that this brand of romance is an overcrowded field
and that he doesn't get sufficient sympathy to make it pay. When he
realizes that he is up against the competitive system good and hard,
he bids a fond farewell to sentiment and goes to work.

"It is interesting to watch young women, just after they lose an
ideal. They generally have more time to indulge the 'broken heart'
idea and do it so much more scientifically than men. It is very
effective to lounge about in a darkened room, wearing a pale, hopeless
expression and picturesque negligee. They usually read Faust and
Dante's Inferno and think how sweet it is to suffer.

"When friends come to cheer them up they sigh softly and say, 'Ah, no;
it is too late. Once I had aims and aspirations, but Fate has swept
them all away. I shall only drift and drift now, until it is all
over.'

"Then, the comforters go away with tears in their eyes and send her
flowers.

"'How the poor child has suffered,' they say. But Providence only has
a quiet laugh up her sleeve and says, as she winks the other eye,

"'What fools these mortals be!'"

THE TELEPHONE FACE

"What's the matter with that man?" said the Observer, repeating his
friend's interrogation, as they passed a pedestrian wearing a most
prodigious frown. "Don't you know what's the matter with him?