hat it was difficult if not impossible
for a failure to become a success, but all astonishing success had come
out of previous failure. Without failure the world could never have
realized one of its most precious virtues--perseverance. Society placed
a premium upon rascality. He could be a rascal. At one time he had
thought it wise to lie down with his friend, death; but now he felt it
expedient to stand up with his enemy, life.

Milford did not take issue with his newly adopted creed. He brought up a
jug of cider and they drank to it. The Professor had an option on four
bullocks, and they drunk to them. And then filling his cup, the reformed
scholar said:

"To our dear enemies, the ladies."

"No," Milford replied. He had that day received a letter. "I won't drink
to them as our enemies."

"Well, then, as our endeared mistakes."

"No, they are not mistakes."

"Ha! you put me to for a term. What shall we call them?"

"The honest helpers of dishonest men," said Milford.

The Professor frowned. "I cannot subscribe to a sentiment so ruffled and
furbelowed with--shall I say tawdry flounces? Permit me; I have said it.
My dear fellow, in this humid air of American sentimentalism, we are not
permitted to talk rationally about woman. Some man is always ready to
hop up and declare that his mother is a woman. Of course she is. Has any
one ever disputed the fact? His mother is a woman, and so in fact we
hope is the person whom he expects to marry--I say expects to marry, for
it is usually an unmarried man who hops up. I would not abolish
marriage, you understand. I would--well, I would insist upon both
parties having a little more sense. I would enact a law, compelling a
man, before being granted a license, to show a certificate of financial
success. I would inquire into the amount of money he had realized on his
last lot of bullocks."

"You'd have a fine world."

"Wouldn't I? There would be no scuffling for life insurance, no
harassment over wall-paper, no daughters to pity a father's failure. If
I could roll up the surface of the sea into a megaphone, I would shout a
caution to the unmarried world."

"What would you shout, Professor?"

"Shut your eyes on love. If you have no money, throw your license into
the fire and turn the preacher out at the back door. That is what I
would shout."

"There are millions of mistakes," said Milford. "But there are many
happy hits. Your marriage----"

"Thoroughly happy, my dear