as greeted with great applause, and within three
minutes his popularity had so enhanced that they put him on the
throne. Such was the power of truth. And all confessed and joined his
party, and he was known as the wisest king of the Flub Dubs.

"'The moral that Dr. Guph adduces is this: You cannot make figs out of
thistles, and unregulated concentration leads to trouble.'

"Harry and I started for home in a deep silence.

"'Hell!' I exclaimed, presently.

"'And that reminds me that I feel like the king of the Flub Dubs,'
said Harry.

"'Which indicates that you are likely to decline the office,' I
remarked.

"'It's serious business--this matter of finding a wife,' he declared.

"'What's the matter with Marie Benson?' I asked. 'There's a real woman
and the best-looking girl in Connecticut.'

"'Charming girl!' he exclaimed. 'But, dear boy! she talks too much.'

"'That is a fault that could be remedied; and, after all, it's a kind
of generosity. It's the very opposite of concentration.'

"'Ah--if she would only reform!' he said.

"'Leave that to me,' I answered, as he dropped me at my door."

V

IN WHICH SOCRATES DISCUSSES THE OVER-PRODUCTION OF TALK

"Marie was my ward, and as pretty a girl as ever led a bulldog or ate
a box of chocolates at a sitting. She was a charming fish-hook, baited
with beauty and wealth and culture and remarkable innocence. She had
dangled about on mama's rod and line for a year or so, but the fish
wouldn't bite. For that reason I grabbed the rod from the old lady and
put on a bait of silence and a sinker, and moved to deep water and
began to do business.

"Marie had a failing, for which, I am sorry to say, she was in no way
distinguished. She talked too much, as Harry had said. There are too
many American women who talk too much. Marie's mother used to talk
about six-thirds of the time. You had to hear it, and then you had to
get over it. She had a way of spiking the shoes of Time so that every
hour felt like a month while it was running over you. You ought to
have seen her climb the family tree or the sturdy old chestnut of her
own experience and shake down the fruit! Marie had one more tree in
her orchard. She had added the spreading peach of a liberal education
to the deadly upas of Benson genealogy and the sturdy old chestnut of
mama's experience. The _vox Bensonorum_ was as familiar as the
Congregational bell. The supply of it exceeded the demand, and after
every on