THE OCTOPUS MAROONED
“A TRUST is its weakest point,” said Jeff Peters.
“That,” said I, “sounds like one of those unintelligible remarks such as, ‘Why is a policeman?’”
“It is not,” said Jeff. “There are no relations between a trust and a policeman. My remark was an epitogram—an axis—a kind of mulct’em in parvo. What it means is that a trust is like an egg, and it is not like an egg. If you want to break an egg you have to do it from the outside. The only way to break up a trust is from the inside. Keep sitting on it until it hatches. Look at the brood of young colleges and libraries that’s chirping and peeping all over the country. Yes, sir, every trust bears in its own bosom the seeds of its destruction like a rooster that crows near a Georgia colored Methodist camp meeting, or a Republican announcing himself a candidate for governor of Texas.”
I asked Jeff, jestingly, if he had ever, during his checkered, plaided, mottled, pied and dappled career, conducted an enterprise of the class to which the
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