“Gentlemen,” said he, “I know why you called, and you will allow me to remark—­”

“But look here,” said a tall man with a blue cravat.  “I think that I am the person you want to see, and as I am in a hurry, I would like to see you for a few minutes in private.”

Dozens of angry eyes were now directed upon this presumptuous individual, and dozens of angry voices were about to break forth when the benign A.R.R. again waved his hand.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “I wish to see you all.  No one more than another.  I have reason to believe that every one of you is the person to whom that advertisement referred.  I see you are all gentlemen, and you would not have made your appearance here had you not fulfilled the conditions mentioned in the paper.”

Here was a smothered hum, which seemed to precede a general outbreak, but A.R.R., blandly smiling, continued: 

“Gentlemen, do not become impatient.  What I have to say is to the advantage of every one of you.  You all move in good society—­I can see that—­and you therefore are well aware of some of the penalties of social pleasures and high living.  Consequently, gentlemen,” and now he spoke very fast, as if fearful of interruption, “you must have, all of you, experienced some of the evils of indigestion, and it is to relieve these that I have prepared my Binocular Barberry Bitters—­”

A roar of rage here broke forth from every man of us, and a rush was made towards the smiling impostor, but he quickly slipped through the door behind him, and locked it in our faces.  And then, before we could rush from the room where we had been so shamefully duped, the head of A.R.R. appeared at a little window in the partition-wall, and he called out: 

“Gentlemen, this mixture is, as my initials declare, a Radical Relief, and retails at one dollar per bottle, I hope you will take some of my circulars home with you,” and he threw among the crowd the package of circulars which he had held in his hand.

This, O friend PUNCHINELLO, was only one of my Glimpses of Fortune.  I may yet see the jade more nearly.  IMPECUNE.

* * * * *

Query.

Under the conditions of the Fifteenth Amendment, should things continue to be put down in Black and White?

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[Illustration: 

“COMPARISONS ARE ODIOUS.”

Fond Mother. “YES, HE’S A PRETTY GOOD BOY, BUT HE DON’T TAKE TO HIS LETTERS.”

Squire. “WELL, HE OUGHTER, FOR HIS MOUTH IS LIKE THE SLIT OF A POST-OFFICE BOX.”]

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[Illustration:  A TABLEAU OF THE DAY.

GENERAL DANA, WHO HAS BROUGHT THE FIRE OF THE “SUN” TO BEAR UPON EVERY BODY, NOW BEGINS TO REALIZE THE FORCE OF THE PROVERB—­“FOLKS WHO LIVE IN GLASS HOUSES SHOULD NOT THROW STONES.”]

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