Not at all apropo of The House, there's a thought I want to get out of my system. What a lot of braggarts we men are, anyhow--and what a queer old world it is! There are two classes of people in the world--those who are doing something worth while and those who are trying to steal the credit. A modest little hen two or three doors away laid an egg, and in very few words cackled the event; but you ought to have heard that insufferable rooster! The moment the thing happened he strutted around with his chest out, yelling at the top of his voice, drowning out the whole poultry yard: "Ur-r-r-r, Ur-r-r-r, Ur-r-r-r! I'm the daddy of another egg!" How much more decent it would have been had he quietly stood by, preserving his dignity and judicial calm. Now we'll get back to the story. I'm sifting top soil to make our garden right, and my wife is doing wonderful things inside the house with the furniture and fixings. Every day she turns me around three times and shows me something new--something marvelous of her handiwork, immensely flattering to me since it justifies my judgment in the selection of a helpmeet. Every day the business of buying the house looks more possible and less of a financial mountain. Why, I can even afford to joke with the Duke, who asked me what I intended to plant in our front garden against the porch. "I think," I said, "I'll plant a nice little row of mortgage vines and let 'em grow up and crawl all over the house. A mortgage vine, Duke, has flowers on it all the year round, and it's the most homelike thing I know." The Duke enjoyed that immensely--but then he can afford to laugh, because he lives on the other side of the road. * * * * * And now the time has come to end this recital of everyday incidents in the personal affairs of Yours Truly--a humble man of no importance whatever, who for that reason may be representative of eighty per cent. of the world's population. In closing, here is a thought that sticks with me: If I had started to buy a home when I was married, that home would long ago have been my clean-title property. If I had started to systematically bank or invest twenty per cent. of my earnings from the date of my first cub job, I'd have owned stock in the newspaper that lets me live. If I had to do it all over again-- Why, Lord bless you, I'd do just as I have done! I'd live the same sort of life, be just the same profligate fellow with no care for the morrow, go through just the same sort of trials and troubles and throw them off with just the same sort of optimism. After all, a fellow isn't capable of appreciating to the full a little possession until he has gone the route of silly extravagances and been pulled together by some sudden impulse to be a better citizen. And listen: