tellect, and is thus trebly efficient on the
stage. Now, sandwiching is beyond question the highest form of
commercial advertising. It succeeds even in love! And--"

"I congratulate you," said the editor, heartily.

H. R. looked so serious that the editor found himself saying, with even
greater seriousness, "What you say is extremely interesting."

"I have long studied--in my humble way--the psychology of the crowd. I
have discovered some very interesting things--at least they are
interesting to me, sir," apologized H. R., almost humbly. "I am led to
think, indeed I feel certain, that the art of sandwiching is in its
infancy. The marvelous imagination of the American people, their
resourcefulness and ingenuity, will make the development of artistic
sandwiching one of the most extraordinary commercial phenomena of the
twentieth century. But personally I am not interested in advertising,
sir, except as in this instance as a means to an end. When the result is
reached that is the end of my interest. And so, sir, though I feel
gratitude for the noble work your paper is doing for the cause of
charity, I really and honestly think that less attention should be paid
to the business side of one of our successful experiments with the
submerged tenth, and more to charity itself. Can't you tell your
reporters that sandwiching at union wages has nothing to do with it?"

"News is news," said the editor, shaking his head regretfully. "We print
what is of interest to our readers."

"If your readers were made to think of filling other people's stomachs
instead of their own there would be less dyspepsia--and more
newspaper-readers, sir. It is a discouraging fact that the world appears
to be more concerned over making money than over the unspeakable folly
of dying rich."

"We can do without death more easily than without money," observed the
editor, sententiously.

"Oh no! Death was invented in order to teach men how to live wisely.
This is the only reason why the cessation of the organic functions,
which is life's one great commonplace, has at all times attained to the
dignity of rhetoric. But I am taking your time. I hope you will be good
enough to drop sandwiches and stick to charity. I thank you for your
kindness; and--and," he finished, diffidently, "I should like to shake
hands with you."

He looked appealingly at the editor, who thereupon shook his hand
warmly.

"I'll do what I can for you, Mr. Rutgers. I am very glad to