6
OUT OF r HE SWIM.
fflis clothes hang oh him iii hmhy a shred.
He Is out of ill" swim.
'fie walks life's highway with sullen tread.
He Is out of the swim.
He eats the.dole .that charity gives
In the wilds of nature alone he lives;
He sleeps 'neath heaven's starry briin,
He is out Of the jJWim.
One" be had honor and friends, Lut now
is out of the swim.
Alen coveted then his lordly bow,
fie io out of..the swim.
TCiiere are none so poor as to take his
hand it..
And call him brother in all the land;
They quickly turn aside from him.
He is out of the swim.
Tie has nothing to hold him now to life.
He is out of the swim.
Neither friends nor fortune, child nor
wife,
He is out of the swim.
There is nobody but himself to blame,
tils heart is seared with remorse and
shame;
Through his own mistakes—not fortune's
whim—
He is out of the swim.
The moonlight rests on a peaceful face,
He is out of the swim.
S>oar (Jod, forgive in Thy infinite grace.
He is out of the swim.
Out. of the temptations that so beset.
Out of life's maddening roar and fret:
Clod who made us will care for him.
Out of the swim.
Mrs. M. L. Kayne, in Chieago Record-
Herald.
orf tytfxy& nv'rtvy
Scoundrels Co. (
ByCOULSON KERNAHAN |
Author ol "Captain Shannon," "A Boole ol 9
Copyright, 1899, by Herbert S. Stone & Co.
C H APT ER 111.—Co.N'TIN I- KD.
It was an indiscreet answer, for my
companion evidently interpreted it as
meaning that 1 was not altogether un
aware of the fact that steps were to
have been taken by the syndicate to
prevent Inspector Marten from paying
bis promised visit.
"Hut why should you suppose you
were beinj, watched at Southend?" he
.answered, suspiciously.
"I didn't suppose," I answered; "I
'only wanted to guard against observa
tion. But, as I was saying when you
interrupted me, I swam out instead of
rowing, and, being a bit cold after the
iong swim, I asked our host there to
give me a drink before we got to busi
ness. He gave me one and was going
to help himself, when suddenly, with
out a word of warning, he jumped up
as if to make a murderous attack upon
me, and then fell dead, as you saw,
hilled by his own fury. However,
there it is, and it can't be helped; so
now I think I will bid you good-night
and get ashore."
"Not without a drink, at all events,"
said the councillor, with a singularly
mirthless smile. "This is really a most
unfortunate and unhappy affair, al
though I'm not. a bit surprised at the
sequel, for I ve warned our friend there
not once, but a dozen times, that his
passion would cost him his life one
clay. Hut lie was a hospitable man.
and, as his friend, I stand in the place
of host to you; so you must allow me
to do the honors."
For all hjs protested politeness there
was a look in his eyes as he spoke
which convinced me that he meant to
do me a mischief. If he believed that
1 was in possession ol no dangerous in
formation, he would surely have let
mo go about my business unmolested;
blit. his pressing me to drink foreboded
no good, and when 1 thought of the
India-rubber ball I wished heartily
that 1 were safe on shore again. The
honest truth is that the strain to which
I had been subjected was beginning
to tell upon me and that my nerve was
failing. I was possessed with a great
<fcsire to be done with the whole busi
ness and out in the open, so with a civil
""Thank you; I won't take any more
whisky to-night," I made a move to
wards the door.
He stepped forward hastily to inter
cept me and we stood for a moment al
most breast to breast, each looking the
other in the face with eyes of menace.
"Will you allow me to pass, please?"
I said, with freezing politeness.
Not till I have satislied myself
about your share in this business," he
protested with equal determination,
pointing as he spoke to the corpse, and
advancing one leg, as if to plant that
limb more securely, and thus more ef-
Sertually to bar the way. In so doing
foe set his heavy heel right upon my
»aked foot, and with such force that
th« scar is there to this day.
Screaming with pain and maddened
beyond endurance, I struck out at him
with my clenched fist, catching him
fairly between the eyes, and with such
force that the back of his head can
noned against the door with a bang
that set all the crockery on board rat
tling like a house-wife's china closet
After an earthquake 3hoek.
To say the "fur flew" during the
next half minute would be—in view of
my unclothed condition—an inaccurate
metaphor; but all I know is that I
was for that space of time as uncer
tain which of me was I and which of
me was he, as if the pair of us had
Taeen a ball of string in the claws of a
kitten. For one moment we untangled
'Ourselves, so to speak, to get breath;
.15*1 I well remember with what joy
I caught sight of the livid, ugly lump
between his eyes where I had struck
him. The next instant we were at it
rolling over and over upon th«
Qoor like wild cats and striving each
tn throttle the life out of the other.
No one who has not fought, for his life
stark naked, as I did then, would be
2ieve how much I was by
tin'absence of clothing. There Is not
much protection, one would think, in
coat, waistcoat and trousers; yet with
out them I felt as a mediaeval war
rior might without his armour. The
very buttons on my enemy's clothing
fought for him. They were like so
many claws that scored and scratched
my skin; and when, while we were
struggling, lie got the upper berth, and
I knelt over me, with his knee pressed
against my breastbone, I felt as if the
chest of nie was scarce stronger than
a cardboard box. I was well-nigh gone
that time, for he reached over and got
such a vise-like grip upon my throat
that my eyes stood out on their stalks,
and my tongue was lolling l'rom my
head like a thirsty dog's. But if my
lack of clothing disadvantaged me in
i one way it advantaged me In another,
for no eel could have been more slip
pery to hold than I. Straining every
sinew in my body in ono supreme ef
fort, I managed to roll him off, and
upon his hack, and wriggling from his
grasp, 1 sprang to my feet on the look
out for a weapon. He caught at my
legs to throw me, but snatching up the
heavy whisky decanter by the neck, I
whirled it aloft, and dealt him a blow
behind the ear that put an end both to
him and to the fight. At first I thought
he was only stunned, but when I found
that his heart had indeed ceased to
beat (and small wonder, for I had hit
him with terrific force, and upon a
vulnerable spot), 1 stripped him, ar.H,
opening the brown bag, took out the
weighted chain with which he had
meant to sink the body of his victim.
Then I lashed the pair of them —the
man who was to have been murdered
and the man who was to have mur
dered him—together, and, passing th«
chain around the ankles of both, I
made it fast and dragged my double
and ghastly burden upon deck, where
I toppled it over into the water.
"And now," I said, "I'll dress myself
in the clothes of my late antagonist
and go ashore in the dinghy, taking
with me the bag containing his dis
guise. In the pocket of his coat is a
paper telling where and when the next
meeting of the Syndicate of Scoundrels
takes place. What's to hinder me from
going there instead of him? He's my
height, figure and complexion, and,
dressed in his clcfthes and wearing the
disguise which has been provided for
him, there's no reason why anyone
should s\ispect I am not he, especially
as I know enough of his affairs to give
a very good account of myself and of
to-night's work. Anyhow, danger or
no danger, discovery or no discovery,
when the next meeting of the Syndi
cate of Scoundrels takes place I shall
be there."
CHAPTER IV.
MY REASON FOR DECIDING TO PER
SONATE THE DEAD COUNCILLOR.
Before relating the adventures
which befell me on the occasion of
my personating the dead councillor al
the meeting of the syndicate, I ought,
perhaps, to state the reasons which
led me to decide to be present.
Those who have done me the'honor
of following my narrative thus far
may not unnaturally conclude that I
I FOUND A PAPER.
?m a professional detective. In that,
however, they will be mistaken. I do
not know that I am a professional
anything, unless it be a professional
failure. Being possessed of some pri
\ate means, I am in the fortunate po
sition of being able to choose my oc
cupation, and, as a matter of fact, I
have, as they say in America, "sam
pled" several professions. As an Irish
man, not, I hope, without an Irishman's
versatility, I found something to in
terest me in each. But my dislike to
what is called "shop" made It difficult
for me to settle down definitely to any
one pursuit.
The moody, run-in-a-circle "shop"
chatter of the second-rate musician,
who shambles yearnful and morose at
your side; the insistent, assertive
"shop" jabber of third-rate actors who
stalk the Strand, their hard, lined faces
and bold eyes proclaiming them mem
bers of"the profession," as they ar
rogantly style their art; the inconse
quent cackle of literary "at hom*es;"
or the shamelessntss of the self-adver
tising scribbler, touting, bagmanlike,
lor reviews—all this I found and find
insuffer-ble. But, taking one thing
with another—and since some amount
of "shop" there appears to be in
every profession—it seems to me that
(he craft of letters has, or should have,
a tolet-ably wide "look-out." The
' shop" of literature is, or ought to be,
the world. It is because life is more
fascinating than literature, that liter
ature is so fascinating a profession.
The man of letters is before all things
p. student of life. Hence he is never
without resource, for all life interests
him. He never loses the sense of
wonder. He can fold his hands de
voutly, and with bowed head repeat
nftcr Robert Louis Stevenson that
General Thanksgiving that breathes a
mor i-<ldlike spirit of true and joy-
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 17. 1903
Oils gratitude to tho God and Giver
of all than any Doxology:
"The world is so full of a number of
things
1 think \v»* should all be as happy as
kings."
1 had drifted into, rather than seri
ously adopted, the profession of au
thorship, but I was at all times ready
to lay aside my pen for any enter
prise that promised adventure; ami
here was adventure ready to hand,
and calling for me to majse 1 lie most,
of what it afforded. To play the spy
upon such sponndrols, to "confound
their, knavish -tricks," and to be the
means ultimately of, bringing them to
justice, offered 'sport in plenty for my
money, and would, moreover, give me
fin opportunity of putting to the test
a long-cherished theory of mine.
This theory is that a story-writer who
has attained some proficiency in his
art is in possession of several of the
qualities that goto make a good de
tective. That I shall be accused by
tome persons of talking the very
"shop" which I profess to dislike is
quite possible, but I submit that to
discuss the principles of the novelist's
art is very different from discussing the
price per thousand words and the per
sonality of the artist.
I contend that the qualities of mind
which aro necessary for the construc
tion of a successful story are not very
different from those which are re
quired for the planning of a success
ful crime. The novelist makes a
rough draft of his story, just as the
criminal maps out his lines of action,
and both fill in details and fit them to
gether in a similar way. The novelist
has, on the first blush of it, the easier
task, for he has only himself and his
own characters to manage, whereas
the criminal lias other people to reckon
with; but I am not sure that the novel
ist does not find his imaginary charac
ters quite as difficult to deal with as
the criminal finds his actual folks.
And the novelist is no less liable to
discover himself "in a corner" by rea
son of some unexpected development
than is his fellow artist;, and both are
apt to court failure by neglecting to
take probabilities into account, or by
overlooking some unexpected and im
portant factor.
Fortunately for the welfare of so
ciety, the average perpetrator of a
crime is as wanting in originality as
is the average perpetrator of a book;
and if crimes were "reviewed" in the
same way as stories, a critic might
"slate" the two offenses in almost iden
tical words. For the commonplace
misdoer only commonplace methods
of detection are necessary. But for
the more unusual criminal more unu
sual methods are required.
And if my theory holds good, a novel
ist—other things being equal—is by
no means badly equipped as a crimi
nal-catcher.
He is, to begin with, well informed
and observant, and he has—if his suc
cesses have not been entirely mere
tricious—considerable knowledge of
character. He is a psychologist, and,
given certain constitutional tendencies
in conjunction with certain circum
stances, can predict with tolerable
precision the logical results. He has,
if a capable novelist, the artist's power
of entering into the lives of other peo
ple, or creeping, so to speak, into the
criminal's brain. He can put himself
into the criminal's place, see as the
criminal sees, feel as the criminal feels,
think as the criminal thinks, and con
sequently can determine with consider
able accuracy the criminal's probable
line of action. He can detect the weak
point in a chain of evidence just as
quickly as he can detect the weak
point in the probabilities of a story;
and he has the inventive and imagina
tive qualities which are so necessary
for the construction and the following
out of a theory that may account for
an otherwise unaccountable crime.
In saying all this I am, of course,
presupposing that the story-writer in
question is a man of proved ability,
and I am crediting him with capabili
ties to the possession of which 1
should no more think myself of lay
ing claim than I should to the laure
ateship. But by dint of a peculiarly
dogged determination, unwillingness
to admit myself beaten, some luck,
and perhaps a little natural capacity,
I had been successful in one or two
similar ventures; and, on the princi
ple that every private soldier carries
in his knapsack a possible field-mar
shal's baton, I saw no reason why I
should not enter the lists.
CHAPTER V.
I SQUIRM UNDER THE COLD KTSS
THAT A REVOLVER'S UGLY LIPS
PRESS TO MY FOREHEAD.
In the pocket of the coat which had
belonged to the newly-elected Coun
cillor Number Seven I found a paper
which contained instructions regard
ing the next meeting of the Syndicate
of Scoundrels. Here is a copy of the
document in question:
"Last day of month. Midnight.
Gipsy wagon drawn up on waste space
near first finger-post on high-road to
Southend after leaving Laigh. Knock
at. door, and in reply to question
'Who's there?' state your number.
Make yourself acquainted with local
ity beforehand, lhat you need not have
to ask directions. Leave Fenchurch
street by ten o'clock p. m. train and
alight at Leigh. Obey instructions im
plicitly, especially about leaving Lon
don by ten o'clock from Fenchurch.
and destroy this when read without
fail."
These were my "sailing orders," and
plain and straightforward enough they
seemed. I wondered at first why the
very train by which I was to journey
down was expressly stipulated, but a
moment's consideration allowed me
that some such arrangement was very
necessary. Otherwise it was possible
that the whole seven of us might elect
to travel by one and the same train,
in which case the ticket inspectors
could hardly fail to notice that seven
men all exactly alike had passed tho
barrier.
It was not probable that Councillor
Number One would overlook the com
plications ihat might arise from the
fact of even two members of the coun
cil choosing the same train, and, as I
afterwards learned, he had taken every
precaution to prevent any such dilem
ma. Councillor Number Two had re
ceived instructions to stay at Leigh,
whither he wan to journey by the Lon
don, Tilbury & Southend railway on
the evening before the meeting. Coun
cillor Number Three was also to start
the evening before the meeting, but
was to put up at Southend, whither he
traveled by the Great Eastern rail
way.- , Councillor Number Four was to
■{jo . to Southend by steamer on the
morning of the council meeting. Coun
cillor Number Five was also to start
tin the morning of the meeting, but
was to use the' Great Eastern line.
Councillor Number Six was to wait un
til the afternoon and was to travel
via Tilbury; and Councillor Number
Seven (represented by myself) was 10
wait till the ten o'clock down from
Fenchurch street.
These instructions I rigidly obeyed,
and on the last day of the month I was
at Fenchurch Street station in time to
catch the train in question, and was
so fortunate as to secure a compart
ment to myself.
I fully realized the risk I was run
ning in thus electing to personate the
dead man at the meeting of the Council
of Seven, and had not come unarmed.
I had put my unloaded revolver in one
pocket and some cartridges in another,
and did not intend to set foot inside
the gipsy wagon, where the council
was to meet, until I had made sure
that the weapon was charged in every
chamber. When we were approaching
Leigh it would be quite soon enough,
I decided, to slip in the cartridges, and
in the meantime I would do my best
to shorten the long journey by means
of a nap.
Like a friend of mine, who complains
that no sooner has he put his head
upon the pillow than some one knocks
at the door and says It is time to get
up, I can go to sleep at a moment's no
tice; so 1 lay down at full lenghth upon
one side of the carriage, and, putting
my head upon the arm-rest at the
end, was soon fast asleep, and,l fear,
snoring.
[To Be Continued.]
BOY'S CUTTING~COMMENT.
\\ ii.M flu* MCUIIM <>f Curing- I^or
mer TOXIIM Governor of the
Joking Habit.
Ex-Gov. Hogg, of Texas, who has a
reputation for playing a practical joke
every time he gets a chance, says he
has been cured of the habit. The last
time he was in New York the joke he
tried to perpetrate was turned back
at him in great >«i'le. It happened that
he wanted a shoe-shine. The boot
black, a small-si;:ed Italian, began to
chatter at him after he had taken his
seat in the high chair. Not being in
a conversational frame of mind, the
portly governor thought it would be
a good plan to feign that he was deaf
and dumb. So he responded by signs
to everything the bootblack said.
This proceeding naturally caused
the desired silence on the part of the
Italian, and the governor was wrapped
in his own thoughts, when suddenly
a little newsboy ran up and asked him
if he wanted a paper. Before he could
reply the bootblack turned to the boy
and said:
"You nota talka to him. He deaf."
The newsboy looked him over, says
the governor, and then remarked in
a loud voice:
"Well, say, he's a fat old hog, ain't
he?"
The governor, who weighs 300
pounds, relishes telling the story, but
he adds feelingly that he kept up his
bluff after hearing the brutal comment
of the newsboy.
lu the Australian Hush.
Zack Bedo was one of the tender
hearted, ready-handed pioneers whom
Mrs. Campbell Praed has described in
her book, "My Australian Girlhood."
When Ryman, the fencer's boy, got
lost in the bush, it was Zack Bedo who
tracked him for three days and two
nights, and brought the little shoe the
child had worn and a lock of his hair
to the mother, and cried like a child
when he gave them to her.
He dug out the boy's grave with his
own hands and a tomahawk, and buried
him quickly, before the father could
get to the place, so that the poor
mother might never hear described
what he, Zack Bedo, had seen. And
because he could think of nothing bet
ter, and could not bear to lay what
the hawks had left in the ground with
out a prayer, he said the only thing
that came into his mind at the mo
ment —the remembrance, perhaps of
something his own mother had taught
him—"Suffer little children to come
unto Me, for theirs is the kingdom of
Heaven."
That wa.s the excuse he made when
chaffed at the huts one night for hav
ing a prayer-book in his possession.
"It was awful awkward," he said,
"not to know any words for burying."
He could recollect the Lord's prayer,
he added, "but that hadn't seemed
quite right, somehow."
Not (irriit-Gmnilmothi'r.
A story of Prince Edward of Wales
shows him not in his most discreet
mood, but at least a human one. The
Tatler says that, when a very little
boy, he was listening to his teacher,
who was trying to give him some idea
of Heaven.
"Everybody will he happy," said
she. "Everybody will share happiness
equally."
"Shall we all be really equal?'■
"Yes, my dear."
"All of us, really?"
"Yes, all of us."
"Great-grandma," this being the
Queen, "and all?"
"Yes, even her majesty,"
"I am sure," said the young prince,
decidedly, "that great-grandma won't
like that at all. Quite sure!"
WHERE PEACE REIGNS.
Money I" Not Needed and .\o Ulaaipa.
tion or Irregularity
Permitted.
The long haired young reformers were
holding an iniorinal debate, and when
they liad agreed tliat the world was just
about UK corrupt and had a place as it well
could be, a grim-faced man arose, relates
London Tit-Bits.
"What you seem to want, friends," he
said, "is a place where everyone has to be
good, by .law."
'That's it!" chorused the reformers.
"Where smoking ain't allowed, and such
s thing as drink is unknown' W here no
one need worry about food and raiment
and where money does not exist?" '
I "We do!"
! "Where everyone has togo to ch.urcfc on
Sundays, and everyone keeps regular
hours'/"
| "That is just what we do want. Oh, to
find such a place!" said a soulful young
j fellow, speaking for the others,
j "Well, I've just come from such a
place—
j "You have?" cried the soulful one. "Oh,
i tell us, tell us, man of wonderful experi
i ence, where it is, that we may also go!"
"its a place called prison!" said the
grim man.
Rrlifht'H nisraae Cared.
Whitehall, 111., Dec. 7.—A case has been
recorded in this place recently, which up
j sets the theory of many physicians that
Bright's Disease in incurable. It is the
case of Air. Lon Manley, whom the doc
tors told that he could never recover. Mr.
Manley tells the story of his case and
how he was cured in this way:
"I began using Dodd's Kidney Pills
after the doctors had given me up. For
four or five years I had Kidney, Stomach
and Liver Troubles; I was a general wreck
and at times I would get down with mv
back so bad that I could not turn myself
in bed for three or four days at a time.
"I had several doctors and at last they
told me I had Bright'a Diseise, and that
I could never get well. I commenced to
use Dodd's Kidney l'ills and I am now
able to do all my work and am all right.
I most heartily recommend Dodd's Kid
ney Pills and am very thankful for the
cure they worked in my case. They
saved my life after the doctors had given
me up."
Inconsistent.
} ni Bl a< i you chose the subject of
Chinese Women,' " said Mrs. Flushly to
Airs. (Jushly, who had just finished read
ing her paper. "The subject is so inter
esting I never tire of hearing about the
poor things."
"Mercy 'thought the author of the
paper. 1 hope no one else stops to con
gratulate me before I get home. These
new shoes pinch aie so 1 can't stand it
another minute! "—Detroit Free Press.
To Care n Cold In One Day.
Take Laxative Bromo Quinine Tablets. All
druggists refund money if it fails to cure. 25c.
"I his is where we part company," said
the comb to the brush, as they were set
out in the guest's bedroom.—Columbia
Jester.
Piso's Cure for Consumpti <n i an infalli
ble medicine for coughs and colds.—X. W.
Samuel, Ocean Grove, X. J., Feb. 17, 1900.
Mrs. Ilomeleigh—"Your husband is at
his club a good deal, isn't he?" Lady
(i ad a bout—"} es. The poor boy hates be
ing at home alone, you know."—Punch.
You can do your dyeing in half an hour
with Putnam Fadeless Dyes.
Charity and personal force are the only
investments worth anything.--Walt Whit
man.
i
"Patience," said llncle Kben, "is what
ev'ybody thinks ev'ybody ought to have,
an' what nobody has much personal use
for." —Washington Star.
It's curious how a woman who wouldn't
diverge an iota irom a receipt for mak
ing cake will always try to improve on
the multiplication table.—X. Y. Press.
The speeding trains came together with
a dull, sickening thud. A moment later
the happy pair sat facing each other in
the corn held far away. "Well, what are
you crying for?" asked the man. The lady
wept anew, "it—it is our first falling out,"
she sobbed. Cincinnati Commercial-Trib
une.
"That boy of yours has disgraced his
self in school," remarked Farmer Thorp
ington, as he tossed the latest letter aside.
"1-aws sakes! What's he done now?" in
quired his better half. "It ain't what he's
done; it's what he ain't done. This here
letter says he's been in five football
games, an* come out without a scratch!"
—Baltimore News.
DlHCOuritKCiuent to Thrift.
Senator Depew tells of a man in Peeks
kill, X. Y., who is known thereabouts
for his extremely thrifty disposition. It
appears that one morning a fellow-towns
man met the frugal man on his way to his
business for the day.and to bis great sur
prise observed that be was attired in his
• cry best apparel—in fact, dressed for all
the world as if he were going to au after
noon tea.
Seeing the ill-concealed look of astonish
ment of his friend, the man of the frugal
temperament said:
"Haven't you heard the news?"
"Xews?" stammered the other. "What
news?"
"Twins!" exclaimed the thrifty man,
laconically.
A light came into the face of the friend.
"So tnat —" he began, with a glance at
the resplendent attire of the man who
"never overlooked anything."
"So that accounts for this," interrupted
the latter. "What's the use of trying to
be economical?"— Philadelphia Post.
ROYAL
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The use of Royal Baking Powder is
essential to the healthfulness of the
family food.
Yeast ferments the food.
Alum baking powders are injurious.
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50,000 Americans
/ Were Welcomed to
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Wrnki Oariada
during: last Year
They are settled and settling on th<
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BRIEFLY DESCRIPTIVE.
Kot Mmuy Word. Ile<|ufred to Tell
ll.w tlie W hole Tlilns
Happened.
"Private" John Allen, according to tho
New York Times, is responsible tor this
one:
Last year there were a numlier of
claims for damages brought against one
of the railroads in Mississippi by the farm
ers in a certain county of that state.
These claims arose out of the fact that
n^ ari y hogs had been killed by the trains
of the railroads in question. A mixed
commission was formed of railroad men
and others to determine the equity of
these claims. Among others questioned
by this commission was an old darky wiio
claimed to have been an eye-witness of
the annihilation of one hog.
Said the chairman of the commission to
Zeph:
"Tell us, in as few words as possible,
how this hog was killed."
Old Zeph shifted a huge cud of tobacco
from one cheek to the other, cleared ma
throat, and then replied:
"Well, sail," said lie, "as nearly as I kin
make it out, it was dis way: De train
tooted and den tuk him!"
Bonkft She Admired Most.
When Tolstoi was in the Crimea recent
ly a rich American arrived in his yacht
with a party of friends and asked permis
sion to call on the great Russian,
wr.s granted on condition that Tolstoi,
who was quite weak from illness, should
not be troubled with talk. Oni woman
visitoi could not restrain her conversa
tional propensity, but said in gushing
tones: "Leo Tolstoi, all your noble writ
ings have influenced my life, but the one
which taught me most was—"
Jiere she forgot the name of the book
and Tolstoi asked, insinuatingly: "Was it
'The Dead Souls?' "
"Yes, yes," was the eager reply.
"Ah," observed Tolstoi, "Gogol wrot*
that book, not I."