In this matter my friend Mandragon is doing
nicely. For a suitable fee he is prepared to attribute his
success to anything in reason, and his confession of faith can
count upon a place in every full-page advertisement of the
mixture, and frequently in the odd half-columns. I never quite
understand why a tonic which has tightened up Mandragon's fibres,
or a Mind-Training System which has brought General Blank's
intellect to its present pitch, should be accepted more greedily
by the man-in-the-street than a remedy which has only proved its
value in the case of his undistinguished neighbour, but then I
can never understand quite a number of things. However, that
doesn't matter. All that matters at the moment is that Mr. Sidney
Mandragon has now achieved glory. Probably the papers have
already pigeon-holed his obituary notice. It is a pleasing
thought.
A Problem in Ethics
Life is full of little problems, which arise suddenly and find
one wholly unprepared with a solution. For instance, you travel
down to Wimbledon on the District Railway--first-class, let us
suppose, because it is your birthday. On your arrival you find
that you have lost your ticket. Now, doubtless there is some sort
of recognized business to be gone through which relieves you of
the necessity of paying again. You produce an affidavit of a
terribly affirmative nature, together with your card and a
testimonial from a beneficed member of the Church of England.
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