winter after winter, used to survey his daffodil-fields.
"The bliss of solitude," he called them.

The Auto-Comrade has an adjustable brow. It can be raised high enough
to hold and reverberate and add rich overtones to, the grandest
chords of thought ever struck by a Plato, a Buddha, or a Kant. The
next instant it may easily be lowered to the point where the ordinary
cartoon of commerce or the tiny cachinnation of a machine-made
Chesterton paradox will not ring entirely hollow. As for his voice, it
can at times be more musical than Melba's or Caruso's. Without being
raised above a whisper, it can girdle the globe. It can barely breathe
some delicious new melody; yet the thing will float forth not only
undiminished, but gathering beauty, significance, and incisiveness in
every land it passes through.

The Auto-Comrade is an erect, wiry young figure of an athlete. As he
trades at the Seven-League Boot and Shoe Concern, it never bothers him
to accompany you on the longest tramps. His feet simply cannot be
tired out. As for his hands, they are always alert to give you a lift
up the rough places on the mountain-side. He has remarkable presence
of body. In any emergency he is usually the best man on the spot. He
is at once seer, creator, accomplisher, and present help in time of
trouble. But his everyday occupation is that of entertainer. He is the
joy-bringer--the Prometheus of pleasure. In his vicinity there is no
such thing as ennui or lonesomeness. Emerson wrote:

"When I would spend a lonely day
Sun and moon are in my way."

But for pals of the Auto-Comrade, not only sun, moon, etc., are in the
way, but all of his own unlimited resources. For every time and season
he has a fittingly varied repertory of entertainment.

Now and again he startles you by the legerdemain feat of snatching
brand-new ideas out of the blue, like rabbits out of a hat. While you
stand at the port-hole of your cabin and watch the rollers rushing
back to the beloved home-land you are quitting, he marshals your
friends and acquaintances into a long line for a word of greeting or a
rapid-fire chat, just as though you were some idol of the people, and
were steaming in past the Statue of Liberty on your way home from
lionizing and being lionized abroad, and the Auto-Comrade were the
factotum at your elbow who asks, "What name, please?"

After the friends and acquaintances, he even brings up your _betes
noires_ and dearest enemies for insp