I guess you know Zadok Biggs, the little tin-peddler who was always whistling. If you don’t you ought to know him, because he knows more than almost anybody else in the world, I guess. That’s because he has traveled around a lot on his red wagon, and talked to almost everybody in Michigan. Besides, I think he had quite a lot of brains to start with. He says so, anyhow, and he told us that the only reason he wasn’t a judge in the United States Supreme Court was because he was so little. You see, he started out with the idea of being a big man, and he is pretty good-sized when he sits down, but as soon as he stands up he’s only about four feet. That is a handicap for a judge. Still, Mark Tidd says it is more important what a judge has in his head than in the legs of his pants, and maybe he’s right. Zadok came into town next day and drove right up to Tidds’. He thinks Mark is the greatest boy in the world, on account of his name. Zadok is funny about names. He collects them like some boys do stamps or birds’ eggs, and he says Mark’s name, Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd, is the best one of the lot. “Well, well, well!” he said. “What’s this I am informed? (Most folks would say ‘told.’) Runnin’ a mill, eh? Now can you beat that? Indeed you cannot. But what would one expect of a boy with a name like Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd? Nothing less. A boy with such a name is bound to be remarkable. What success, Marcus, what success?” “We’re goin’ p-p-pretty good,” says Mark. “To be sure. Certainly. You are, as I understand, fabricating (‘manufacturing’ is the usual word) articles from wood.” “Yes.” “Wooden chopping-bowls, perhaps.” “Yes.” “A good product. A fine thing to make. The market is good now. I am obliged to pay much more for them than I did. I hope your prices have gone up.” “They have,” says Mark. “And are you having any trouble? You always have trouble, do you not? You always meet with opposition—unjust opposition?” Then Mark told him all about it, and Zadok was as mad as a sparrow that a cat chases away from a pile of crumbs. “My name, Zadok,” he said, “means ‘just.’ It describes me. I am just by name and just by nature. Such things as this fill me with wrath. (Most men would say ‘make me mad.’) What are you doing to this man Wiggamore?” “The question is what is he doing to us,” says I. “No, no,” says Zadok. “Ask Marcus Aurelius if it is. When a man plans to do you harm you do not wait until he does it. No, indeed. Instead, you plan yourself how to avert the calamity. Is that not so, Marcus? And you lay schemes to get the better of that man?” “That’s right,” says Mark.