at morning, Mr. Vanstone had found
him still dawdling over his late breakfast, with an open letter by his
side, in place of the book which, on other occasions, lay ready to his
hand at meal-times. He held up the letter the moment his visitor came
into the room, and abruptly opened the conversation by asking Mr.
Vanstone if his nerves were in good order, and if he felt himself strong
enough for the shock of an overwhelming surprise.

"Nerves!" repeated Mr. Vanstone. "Thank God, I know nothing about my
nerves. If you have got anything to tell me, shock or no shock, out with
it on the spot."

Mr. Clare held the letter a little higher, and frowned at his visitor
across the breakfast-table. "What have I always told you?" he asked,
with his sourest solemnity of look and manner.

"A great deal more than I could ever keep in my head," answered Mr.
Vanstone.

"In your presence and out of it," continued Mr. Clare, "I have always
maintained that the one important phenomenon presented by modern society
is--the enormous prosperity of Fools. Show me an individual Fool, and
I will show you an aggregate Society which gives that highly-favored
personage nine chances out of ten--and grudges the tenth to the wisest
man in existence. Look where you will, in every high place there sits
an Ass, settled beyond the reach of all the greatest intellects in
this world to pull him down. Over our whole social system, complacent
Imbecility rules supreme--snuffs out the searching light of Intelligence
with total impunity--and hoots, owl-like, in answer to every form of
protest, See how well we all do in the dark! One of these days that
audacious assertion will be practically contradicted, and the whole
rotten system of modern society will come down with a crash."

"God forbid!" cried Mr. Vanstone, looking about him as if the crash was
coming already.

"With a crash!" repeated Mr. Clare. "There is my theory, in few words.
Now for the remarkable application of it which this letter suggests.
Here is my lout of a boy--"

"You don't mean that Frank has got another chance?" exclaimed Mr.
Vanstone.

"Here is this perfectly hopeless booby, Frank," pursued the philosopher.
"He has never done anything in his life to help himself, and, as a
necessary consequence, Society is in a conspiracy to carry him to the
top of the tree. He has hardly had time to throw away that chance you
gave him before this letter comes, and puts the ball at his foot for the