y good store of surplus
vitality. You are expected to supply exuberance to him somewhat as you
supply gasolene to your motor. Now, of course, there are in the world
not a few invalids and other persons of low physical vitality whose
Auto-Comrades happen to have sufficient gasolene to keep them both
running, if only on short rations. Most of these cases, however, are
pathological. They have hot-boxes at both ends of the machine, and
their progress is destined all too soon to cease and determine
disastrously. The rest of these cases are the rare exceptions which
prove the rule. For unexuberant yet unpathological pals of the
Auto-Comrade are as rare as harmonious households in which the efforts
of a devoted and blissful wife support an able-bodied husband.

The rule is that you have got to earn exuberance for two. "Learn to
eat balanced rations right," thunders the Auto-Comrade, laying down
the law; "exercise, perspire, breathe, bathe, sleep out of doors, and
sleep enough; rule your liver with a rod of iron, don't take drugs or
nervines, cure sickness beforehand, keep love in your heart, do an
adult's work in the world, have at least as much fun as you ought to
have."

"That," he goes on, "is the way to develop enough physical overplus so
that you will be enabled to overcome your present sad addiction to
mob-intoxication. And, provided your mind is not in as bad condition
as your body, this physical overplus will transmute some of itself
into mental exuberance. This will enable you to have more fun with
your mind than an enthusiastic kitten has with its tail. It will
enable you to look before and after, and purr over what is, as well as
to discern, with pleasurable longing, what is not, and set forth
confidently to capture it."

But if, by any chance, you have allowed your mind to get into the sort
of condition which the old-fashioned German scholar used to allow his
body to get into, it develops that the Auto-Comrade hates a flabby
brain almost as much as he hates a flabby body. He soon makes it clear
that he will not have much to do with any one who has not yet mastered
the vigorous and highly complex art of not worrying. Also, he demands
of his companion the knack of calm, consecutive thought. This is one
reason why so many more Auto-Comrades are to be found in
crow's-nests, gypsy-vans, and shirt-waist factories than on upper
Fifth Avenue. For, watching the stars and the sea from a swaying
masthead, taking light-hea