nine hundred and nineteen, at the borough of Manhattan of the city of New York in the county of New York aforesaid, did feloniously marry and take as his wife one Alvina Woodcock, and to the said Alvina Woodcock was then and there married, the said Tomascene Startup being then and there living and in full life, against the form of the statute in such case made and provided, and against the peace of the people of the state of New York and their dignity.

    JEREMIAH PECKHAM,
    District Attorney.

Such was the precise accusation against the isosceles-triangular client, who now sat so limply and disjointedly on the opposite side of Tutt’s desk with a certain peculiar air of assurance all his own, as if, though surprised and somewhat annoyed at the grand jury’s interference with his private affairs, he was nevertheless—­being captain of his own soul—­not particularly disturbed about the matter.

“And—­er—­did you marry these two ladies?” inquired Tutt apologetically.

“Sure!” responded Higgleby without hesitation.

“May I ask why?”

“Why not?” returned Higgleby.  “I’m a traveling man.”

“Look here,” suddenly demanded Tutt.  “Were you ever a lawyer?”

“Sure I was!” responded Mr. Higgleby.  “I was a member of the bar of Osceola County, Florida.”

“You don’t say!” gasped Tutt.

“And what, may I ask, are you now?”

“Now I’m a bigamist!” answered Mr. Higgleby.

We forget precisely who it was that so observantly said to another, “Much learning doth make thee mad.”  At any rate the point to be noted is that overindulgence in erudition has always been known to have an unfortunate effect upon the intellectual faculty.  Too much wine—­though it must have required an inordinate quantity in certain mendacious periods—­was regarded as provocative of truth; and too many books as clearly put bats in a man’s belfry.  The explanation is of course simple enough.  If one overweights the head the whole structure is apt to become unbalanced.  This is the reason why we hold scholars in such light esteem.  They are an unbalanced lot.  And after all, why should they get paid more than half the wage of plumbers or locomotive firemen?  What is easier than sitting before a comfortable steam radiator and reading an etymological dictionary or the Laws of Hammurabi?  They toil not even if their heads spin.  Only in Germany has the pedagogue ever received full meed of gold and of honor—­and look at Germany!

Pedants have never been much considered by men of action.  They never will be.  Experience is the only teacher, which, in the language of Amos Eno, who left two millions to the Institute of Mechanics and Tradesmen, is “worth a damn.”  We Americans abhor any affectation of learning; hence our weakness for slang.  I should apologize for the word “weakness.”  On the contrary it is a token of our virile independence, our scorn for the delicatessen of education, mere dilettanteism.  And this has its practical side, for if we don’t know how to pronounce the words “evanescent persiflage” we can call it “bunk” or “rot.”  We suspect all college graduates.  We don’t want them in our business.  They slink through our lives like pickpockets fearful of detection.