“Indeed!” returned the lady, sharply.  “Very well.  And I shall put in a counterclaim for the lunches you carry away from breakfast every morning in your pockets.”

“In that event we’ll call it off, madame,” returned the Idiot, as with a courtly bow and a pleasant smile he left the room.

“Well, I call him ‘off,’” was all the landlady could say, as the other guests took their departure.

And of course the School-master agreed with her.

VII

“Our streets appear to be as far from perfect as ever,” said the Bibliomaniac with a sigh, as he looked out through the window at the great pools of water that gathered in the basins made by the sinking of the Belgian blocks.  “We’d better go back to the cowpaths of our fathers.”

“There is a great deal in what you say,” observed the School-master.  “The cowpath has all the solidity of mother earth, and none of the distracting noises we get from the pavements that obtain to-day.  It is porous and absorbs the moisture.  The Belgian pavement is leaky, and lets it run into our cellars.  We might do far worse than to go back—­”

“Excuse me for having an opinion,” said the Idiot, “but the man of enterprise can’t afford to indulge in the luxury of the somnolent cowpath.  It is too quiet.  It conduces to sleep, which is a luxury business men cannot afford to indulge in too freely.  Man must be up and doing.  The prosperity of a great city is to my mind directly due to its noise and clatter, which effectually put a stop to napping, and keep men at all times wide awake.”

“This is a Welsh-rabbit idea, I fancy,” said the School-master, quietly.  He had overheard the Idiot’s confidences, as revealed to the genial Imbiber, regarding the sources of some of his ideas.

“Not at all,” returned the Idiot.  “These ideas are beef—­not Welsh-rabbit.  They are the result of much thought.  If you will put your mind on the subject, you will see for yourself that there is more in my theory than there is in yours.  The prosperity of a locality is the greater as the noise in its vicinity increases.  It is in the quiet neighborhood that man stagnates.  Where do we find great business houses?  Where do we find great fortunes made?  Where do we find the busy bees who make the honey that enables posterity to get into Society and do nothing?  Do we pick up our millions on the cowpath?  I guess not.  Do we erect our most princely business houses along the roads laid out by our bovine sister?  I think not.  Does the man who goes from the towpath to the White House take the short cut?  I fancy not.  He goes over the block pavement.  He seeks the home of the noisy, clattering street before he lands in the shoes of Washington.  The man who sticks to the cowpath may be able to drink milk, but he never wears diamonds.”

“All that you say is very true, but it is not based on any fundamental principle.  It is so because it happens to be so,” returned the School-master.  “If it were man’s habit to have the streets laid out on the old cowpath principle in his cities he would be quite as energetic, quite as prosperous, as he is now.”