say
'--because it don't make no particle bit of difference who the lady
is, Mister Gubb wouldn't marry nobody at no time of his life.'"

"Yassah!" said the little negro.

THE HALF OF A THOUSAND

Philo Gubb sat in his office in the Opera House Block with a large
green volume open on his knees, reading a paragraph of some ten lines.
He had read this paragraph twenty times before, but he never tired of
reading it. It began began--

_Gubb, Philo._ Detective and decorator, _b._ Higginsville,
Ia., June 26, 1868. Educated Higginsville, Ia., primary
schools. Entered decorating profession, 1888. Graduated with
honors, Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School
of Detecting, 1910.

He hoped that some day this short record of his life might be
lengthened by at least one line, which would say that he had "_m_.
Syrilla Medderbrook," and since his escape from Petunia Scroggs and
her wiles, and the latest telegram from Syrilla, he had reason for the
hope. As Mr. Gubb had not tried to collect the one hundred dollars due
him from Miss Scroggs, he had nothing with which to pay Mr.
Medderbrook more on account of the Utterly Hopeless mining stock, but
under his agreement with Mr. Medderbrook he had paid that gentleman
thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents for the last telegram from
Syrilla. This had read:--

Joy and rapture! Have given up all forms of food. Have given
up spaghetti, fried rabbit, truffles, brown betty, prunes,
goulash, welsh rabbit, hoecake, sauerkraut, Philadelphia
scrapple, haggis, chop suey, and mush. Have lost one hundred
and fifty pounds more. Weigh seven hundred forty-five. Going
down every hour. Kiss Gubby for me.

Mr. Gubb, therefore, mused pleasantly as he read the book that
contained the short but interesting reference to himself.

The book with the green cover was "Iowa's Prominent Citizens," sixth
edition, and was a sort of local, or state, "Who's Who." In its pages,
for the first time, Philo Gubb appeared, and he took great delight in
reading there how great he was. We all do. We are never so sure we are
great as when we read it in print.

It is always comforting to a great man to be reassured that he was
"_b._ Dobbinsville, Ia., 1869," that he "_m._ Jane, dau. of Oscar and
Siluria Botts, 1897," and that he is not yet "_d._" There are some of
us who are never sure we are not "_d._" except when we see our names
in the current vol