The next rule is a condensed moral code:  “You shall seek that which you desire only by such means as are fair and lawful, and this will leave you without bitterness toward men or shame before God.”  No one could possibly dissent from this rule, unless it might be a burglar.  I know the grocer makes a profit on the things I buy from him, and I am glad he does.  Otherwise, he would have to close his grocery and that would inconvenience me greatly.  He thanks me when I pay him, but I feel that I ought to thank him for supplying my needs, for having his goods arranged so invitingly, and for waiting upon me so promptly and so politely.  I can’t really see how any customer can feel any bitterness toward him.  He gives full weight, tells the exact truth as to the quality of the goods, and in all things is fair and lawful.  I have no quarrel with him and cannot understand why others should, unless they are less fair, lawful, and agreeable than the grocer himself.  I suspect that the grocer and the butcher take on the color of the glasses we happen to be wearing, and that Mr. van Dyke is admonishing us to wear clear glasses and to keep them clean.

The third rule needs to be read at least twice if not oftener:  “You shall take pleasure in the time while you are seeking, even though you obtain not immediately that which you seek; for the purpose of a journey is not only to arrive at the goal, but also to find enjoyment by the way.”  I have seen people rushing along in automobiles at the mad rate of thirty or forty miles an hour, missing altogether the million-dollar scenery along the way, in their haste to get to the end of their journey, where a five-cent bag of peanuts awaited them.  Had I been riding in an automobile through the streets of Tacoma I might not have seen that glorious cluster of five beautiful roses on a single branch in that attractive lawn.  Because of them I always think of Tacoma as the city of roses, for I stopped to look at them.  I have quite forgotten the objective point of my stroll; I recollect the roses.  When we were riding out from Florence on a tram-car to see the ancient Fiesole I plucked a branch from an olive-tree from the platform of the car.  On that branch were at least a dozen young olives, the first I had ever seen.  I have but the haziest recollection of the old theatre and the subterranean passages where Catiline and his crowd had their rendezvous; but I do recall that olive branch most distinctly.  I cannot improve upon Doctor van Dyke’s statement of the rule, but I can interpret it in terms of my own experiences by way of verifying it.  I am sure he has it right.