“That will be about all from you,” said the Man.  “Mosey!  Duck!  Up an Alley!”

“Then you don’t care what becomes of your Family?” asked the Stranger, in a horrified Tone.

“My Relatives are collecting all of their Money in Advance,” said the Man.  “If they are not worrying over the Future, I don’t see why you should lose any Sleep.”

So the Solicitor went out and told every one along the Street that the Man lacked Foresight.

At 9.30 o’clock the industrious little Man picked up letter number 1 and said to the Blonde Stenographer, “Dear Sir.”

At that moment the Head of the Credit Department hit him on the Back and said he had a Good One.  It was all about little Frankie, the Only Child, the Phenom, the 40-pound Prodigy.

[Illustration:  The New House.]

In every large Establishment there is a gurgling Parent who comes down in the Morning with a Story concerning the incipient Depew out at their House.  It seems that little Frankie has been told something at Sunday School and he asked his Mother about it and she told him so-and-so, whereupon the Infant Joker arose to the Emergency and said:  and then you get it, and any one who doesn’t laugh is lacking in a Finer Appreciation of Child Nature.  The Busy Man listened to Frankie’s Latest and asked, “What’s the Rest of it?”

So the Parent remarked to several People that day that the Man was sinking into a crabbed Old Age.

At 10 A.M. the Man repeated “Dear Sir” and a Voice came to him, remarking on the Beauty of the Weather.  A Person who might have been Professor of Bee-Culture in the Pike County Agricultural Seminary, so far as make-up was concerned, took the Man by the Hand and informed him that he (the Man) was a Prominent Citizen and that being the case he would be given a Reduction on the Half-Morocco Edition.  While doing his 150 Words a Minute, he worked a Kellar Trick and produced a large Prospectus from under his Coat.  Before the Busy Man could grab a Spindle and defend himself, he was looking at a half-tone Photo of Aristotle and listening to all the different Reasons why the Work should be in every Gentleman’s Library.  Then the Agent whispered the Inside Price to him so that the Stenographer would not hear and began to fill out a Blank.  The Man summoned all his Strength and made a Buck.

“I don’t read Books,” he said.  “I am an Intellectual Nit.  Clear Out!”

So the Agent gave him a couple of pitying Looks and departed, meeting in the Doorway a pop-eyed Person with his Hat on the Back of his Head and a Roll of Blue Prints under his Arm.  The Man looked up and moaned.  He recognized his Visitor as a most dangerous Monomaniac—­the one who is building a House and wants to show the Plans.

“I’ve got everything figured out,” he began, “except that we can’t get from the Dining Room to the Library without going through the Laundry and there’s no Flue connecting with the Kitchen.  What do you think I’d better do?”