Thus they wove and interwove in the smoky Oven. The Whimper or the faltering Wail of Children, the quavering Sigh of overlaced Women, and the long-drawn Profanity of Men--these were what the Fool-Killer heard as he looked upon the Suffering Throng. "Is this a new Wrinkle on Dante's Inferno?" he asked of the Man on the Gate, who wore a green Badge marked "Marshal," and was taking Tickets. "No, sir; this is a County Fair," was the reply. [Illustration: THE FOOL-KILLER] "Why do the People congregate in the Weeds and allow the Sun to warp them?" "Because Everybody does it." "Do they Pay to get in?" "You know it." "Can they Escape?" "They can, but they prefer to Stick." The Fool-Killer hefted his Club and then looked at the Crowd and shook his Head doubtfully. "I can't tackle that Outfit to-day," he said. "It's too big a Job." So he went on into Town, and singled out a Main Street Merchant who refused to Advertise. MORAL: _People who expect to be Luny will find it safer to travel in a Bunch._ _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ CADDY _WHO_ HURT HIS HEAD WHILE THINKING One Day a Caddy sat in the Long Grass near the Ninth Hole and wondered if he had a Soul. His Number was 27, and he almost had forgotten his Real Name. As he sat and Meditated, two Players passed him. They were going the Long Round, and the Frenzy was upon them. They followed the Gutta Percha Balls with the intent swiftness of trained Bird Dogs, and each talked feverishly of Brassy Lies, and getting past the Bunker, and Lofting to the Green, and Slicing into the Bramble--each telling his own Game to the Ambient Air, and ignoring what the other Fellow had to say. As they did the St. Andrews Full Swing for eighty Yards apiece and then Followed Through with the usual Explanations of how it Happened, the Caddy looked at them and Reflected that they were much inferior to his Father. His Father was too Serious a Man to get out in Mardi Gras Clothes and hammer a Ball from one Red Flag to another. His Father worked in a Lumber Yard. He was an Earnest Citizen, who seldom Smiled, and he knew all about the Silver Question and how J. Pierpont Morgan done up a Free People on the Bond Issue. [Illustration: MEDITATIVE CADDY] The Caddy wondered why it was that his Father, a really Great Man, had to shove Lumber all day and could seldom get one Dollar to rub against another, while these superficial Johnnies who played Golf all the Time had Money to Throw at the Birds. The more he Thought the more his Head ached. MORAL: _Don't try to Account for Anything._ _THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ MARTYR _WHO_ LIKED _THE_ JOB Once in a Country Town there was a Man with a Weak Back. He could put a Grindstone into a Farm Wagon if any one wanted to bet him the Segars, but every time he lifted an Ax, something caught him right in the Spine and he had to go into the House and lie down. So his Wife took Boarders and did the Cooking herself.