Fame reached down and snatched him up, and the blue light of his flambeau played about him.
"Pessimist as he is"-- Flummers was holding forth among the night reporters at the central station--"Pessimist as he is, and a skeptic though he may be, papa goes through this life with his eyes open.

Idle suggestion says, 'Shut your eyes, papa, and be happy,' but shrewdness says, 'Watch that fellow going along there.' I don't claim any particular credit for this; we are not to be vain of what nature has done for us, nor censured for what she has denied.

We are all children, toddling about as an experiment, and wondering what we are going to be.

Some of us fall and weep over our bruises, and some of us--some of us get there.

He, he, he." "Flummers, have they raised your salary yet ?" some one asked.
"Oh, no, and that's why I am disgusted with the newspaper profession.
The country cries out, 'Who is the man ?' There is a deep silence.