“My boy,” he said, “I feel like a tan-eyed gnat for having charted you up as a parasite when I first saw you looming up on the Links. I thought you were marrying my daughter just to romp off with her father’s little Yen Bag. I would have thought the same of any man who didn’t have a few crullers of his own. I didn’t realize that there might be a chance of my getting a dumsight more out of you than you could ever get out of me. Henceforth you are a fifty percent owner of this Dugout, and what’s more, here is a little present for you in recognition of your sterling worth.” Phil stood the cotton umbrella in a corner and soled off to break the gladsome tidings to his wife and found her tossing tennis balls with some Tea Toad in a green Sport Coat. Later Phil spied the two walking together through the Big Grove and she was listing to starboard. “H’m,” he h’md, “I’ve got the Old Man, but it’s cost me the gal.” He turned sadly away, mumbling something about what he thought of a Life that kept a fellow always manoeuvering for position. Over the hills came the floating fragrance of frying fishballs, while in the tall whiffletree above him a chipmunk chipped softly to its mate. _Lesson for Today:_ When you set out to cure Industrial Mossbackitis, the dangers are great. HOT SKETCH NO. 2 THE LURID LOT OF THE LEAKER A YOUNG man had a job with an old organization. The job was not that of General Manager. Nor was it Department Manager. It was not a managership of any kind, character, quality or description—all claims to the contrary notwithstanding. It was just a job. It was the kind of job that any young man with an eye on ideas and a finger on the future, might have with any old Organization steeped in stability and pickled in policy. In other less alliterative language, we might smooth down our shirt-front and say that the young man had A Chance. If we cared to toss off all restraint and emphasize the statement with grape-juice profanity, we might say that the young man had a Very, Very good chance. But he didn’t know how to take care of his chance. He took chances with his Chance. And one day it got away from him. When the Boss handed him his passports, he asked for an explanation, and the Boss passed him one, medium well done. It ran as per follows, WITNESSETH: “Young Man,” heaved the Boss, scratching his right ear pleasingly with his left thumb, “the reason we are decorating you with the Order of the Canned is because we have found that YOU LEAK. And any concern that does not plug the leak the moment they locate it, will soon be sitting around garter-high in the mire of misunderstanding.