It was the first time in his entire business career that he had found it necessary to borrow extensively. He explained his position to the manager, who knew of his success, and asked for a loan of fifty thousand dollars. “I’ll be very glad to accommodate you, Mr. Rabin,” said the banker. “Just sit down there at that desk and make out a note for the amount.” The caller smiled an embarrassed smile. “If you please,” he said, “you should be so good as to make out the note and then I should sign it.” “What’s the idea?” inquired the bank manager, puzzled. “Vell, you see,” he confessed, “I haf to tell you somethings: Myself, I cannot read and write. My vife, she has taught me how to make my own name on paper, but otherwise, with me, reading and writing is nix.” In amazement the banker stared at him. “Well, well, well!” he murmured admiringly. “And yet, handicapped as you’ve been, inside of a few years you have become a rich man! I wonder what you’d have been by now if only you had been able to read and write?” “A _shammos_,” said Mr. Rabin modestly. § 277 Scarcely a Lucrative Calling A group of wealthy Southerners, Virginians and Carolinians mostly, were on a train returning from a meeting of the National Fox-Hunting Association. Naturally the talk dealt largely with the sport of which they were devotees. A lank Vermonter, who apparently had never done much traveling, was an interested auditor of the conversation. Presently, when the company in the smoking-compartment had thinned out, he turned to one of the party who had stayed on. He wanted to know how many horses the Southerner kept for fox-hunting purposes and how large a pack of hounds he maintained and about how many foxes on an average he killed in the course of a season. The Southerner told him. In silence for a minute or two the Vermonter mulled the disclosures over in his mind. Then he said: “Wall, with fodder fetchin’ such high prices, and with dog-meat for hounds a-costin’ what it must cost, and with fox pelts as cheap as they are in the open market, and takin’ one thing with another, I don’t see how you kin expect to clear much money out of this business in the course of a year.” § 278 A Plea for Studied Action Two ball teams, made up of inmates of San Quentin in California, played a game for the prison championship. One team was composed of negroes, the other of white men. In the seventh inning, with the score a tie, the pitcher for the colored team, a long-term man, grew nervous under the strain. He wound up too quickly. In his haste he made wild pitches. He gave two opposing batters their bases on balls. Over on the side lines a negro rooter raised his voice in steadying words to the champion of his race: “Tek yo’ time, black boy,” he clarioned. “Tek yo’ time! You ain’t needin’ to be in no hurry. You got a-plenty time to win dis game—you got nineteen yeahs!” § 279 The Current Rate on Suckers