"That's all? Look at the grip of that hand on the counter as he leans across it—look at the poise of his head and the square glance. That's a successful man. He makes the business go, and he can deal with the toughest crowd that ever tried to rush the place. I sketched him the other day while he told me some of his exploits. Do you think that man doesn't enjoy his life? Do you feel like giving him a soup ticket? … And these two bums" he showed the two tramps on the Park bench, talking over a tattered newspaper. "That one with the spectacles is well known on the Bowery. They call him the Professor. He's a university man, and if you give him two bad whiskies he'll talk better philosophy and better English than you'd be apt to hear anywhere else in town. He went to pieces, as society would say, that is, he lost his job, because of a drug habit. Well, now, as it happens, he's lost the drug habit. He's exchanged a chronic dyspepsia and a worrying family for a tough body and a peaceful soul. Don't ask me how he did it—I only know he did. There's a lot of primitive man even in a Professor, and coming down to it may be a shock, but it isn't always a misfortune. Do you really think, dear Mrs.. Perry, that the pretty people who ride in carriages and shine in opera-boxes are dead sure to get more out of life than my friends here? Do you think they exemplify bet-
