If it be true that the character of an age is to be found in the character of its cranks, the period we are passing through will present extraordinary difficulties to the chronicler of the future. That is the worst of living in an age when most of the big things have been established in theory, though some still remain to be established in fact. It was quite easy to be a crank with distinction when people tortured you for saying the world was round. Now, you have to fall back on rational dress or Swedish exercises, or a whole host of minor movements to educate public opinion, and the real crank has a hard struggle for existence. Personally, standing as I believe for one of the few big things that still have to be fought for because they are not yet established in fact, I have always felt inclined to look upon these lesser attempts to improve humanity as fads. But I find from standing at the edge of the pavement that the hall-mark of every crank is a firm belief that all the other cranks are only faddists. "No," said the tailor-made lady with firmness, as she prepared to pass on after reading my newsbill; "I have no time for fads. Before I married, when I earned my own living and paid rates and taxes and--and gas, I quite believed in this sort of thing. In fact, I never condemn any woman for wanting a vote." She seemed to think that she deserved some praise for this evidence of self-restraint; and I said something inane about thinking of other people. She looked injured. "Naturally, I do not mean that I lead an idle or a selfish life," she said. "Sport, that is my strong point--outdoor sport." I suppose she gathered that this did not quite fill my conception of human usefulness, for she added hastily--"And charity. Sport and charity--that is my life." "You could indulge in both, selling our paper," I said. I concluded from the haste with which she went away that she did not agree with me. "Ah!" said the elderly gentleman, who excused himself quite unnecessarily for buying a paper by explaining that it was for his wife, "who is quite foolish about your question,"--"the great mistake you ladies make is in not concentrating upon the educational test. You'd have thousands more on your side--myself, in fact--if you didn't want to flood the electorate with illiterate----" An interruption occurred here, as the conductor of a waiting omnibus whistled to me for a paper and gave me his confidential opinion that we "were going to get it soon." The elderly gentleman turned triumphantly to the nearest newsboy. "There! What did I say?" he demanded. "Socialists, every one of them! Socialists!" The newsboy shrugged his shoulders as he looked after him, then turned and gave me a wink out of pure friendliness. "Chronic, ain't it?" he remarked. Everything, by the way, is "chronic" to my companions in the paper-selling trade; and I have some difficulty in not letting the expression, whatever it may mean, creep into my vocabulary.