He often writes sentences so involved that he confesses he himself doesn’t know what they mean. He admires Max Beerbohm, Conrad, Dr. Llewellys Barker, Mozart, the Fifth and Ninth Symphonies and the songs in “Oh, Boy,” sardines, ravioli, Havelock Ellis chocolate cake, Molnar, Hauptmann, Royalton cigars, Anatole France, _Simplicissimus_, _E. W. Howe’s Monthly_, an eiderdown blanket and a hard pillow, a thick-toothed comb and stiff brush, Schnitzler, bitter almond soap, George Ade, Richard Strauss, Pilsner, Huneker, Florenz Ziegfeld, Edwin Lefèvre’s story “Without End,” the quartette in the Piccadilly in London, the Café Viel in Paris, the overcoat shop in the Stefansplatz in Vienna, the strawberries in the Palais de Danse in Berlin. He believes, politically, in an autocracy of the elect, for the elect, and by the elect.... His father was a Democrat. He has written one play, “The Eternal Mystery,” which was produced on the Continent in 1914 and in America in 1915. He has forbidden the production of the play henceforth in any American city save Chicago, in which city anyone who chooses may perform it without payment of royalties. In 1904 he won the Amsler gold medal for proficiency with the foils. He studied fencing under Lieutenant Philip Brigandi, of the Italian cavalry, and Captain Albert Androux, the celebrated French master of foils. Fifteen minutes in the sun gives his complexion the shade of mahogany; twenty minutes, the shade of Booker T. Washington. He wears the lightest weight underwear through the coldest winter. He owns thirty-eight overcoats of all sorts and descriptions. Overcoats are a fad with him. He has them from heavy Russian fur to the flimsiest homespun.... He owns one with an alpine hood attachment. He belongs to several metropolitan clubs, but never enters them. He has never been in jail. He has been arrested but once: at the age of twenty for beating up a street-car conductor. He always has his jackets made with two breast pockets: one for his handkerchief, the other for his reading glasses. The latter are of the horn species. His telephone operator, at his apartment, has a list of five persons to whom he will talk—so many and no more. He refuses to answer the telephone before five o’clock in the afternoon. His favorite places of eating in New York are the Café des Beaux Arts, the Kloster Glocke, and the Japanese Garden in the Ritz. He can down several hundred olives at a single sitting. He knows more about the modern foreign theater than any other American. He is a lineal descendant of Petöfi Sándor, the national poet of Hungary, and of Thomas Bourgchier, archbishop of Canterbury. An examination of his blood, on July 1, 1917, showed: Hb., 111%; W. B. C., 8,175. A phthalein test showed: 1st hr., 50%, 2d hr., 20%; total, 70%. Blood pressure: 129/77. Gastric analysis: Free HCl, 11.5%; combined, 20%. No stasis. No lactic acid.