“You don’t know her? Why, that’s My-face-is-my-fortune-then-you-must-be-dead-broke.” And they crowned her with laurel as unquestionably the most perennially popular joke. XIII THE ROUGH WORDS SOCIETY The other day I passed a house on which there was a sign that read, “The Rough Words Society.” Curious to know what it could mean, I retraced my steps, and met a millionaire whom I had long admired from a distance--he was so rich--just leaving the door. It was a presumptuous thing to do, but I said, “How do you do, sir?” in my best manner. He bowed with some urbanity, and I ventured to ask him whether he could tell me anything about the society whose rooms he had just left. “I thought maybe you were president, sir, or one of the directors.” “No; I am a subscriber. If you care to hear about it, come down-town with me, as I am in a hurry,” he replied. A minute later I was actually in a cab with a millionaire! My heart beat hard, but I kept my ears open, and he said: “You see, a multi-millionaire like myself seldom meets the frank side of people. They are afraid of offending me,” he observed, as we went on our way. “My pastor hangs on my words, my clerks speak in subdued tones, my servants hardly dare address me; and yet, I was once a barefoot boy, and was considered a scapegrace by the village people who to-day bow ceremoniously when I chance to go back to my native place. Well, such sycophancy becomes wearing, and I often used to wish that some one would tell me I lied, or some other wholesome truth.” I shook my head deprecatingly, whereat he seemed annoyed, but went on: “One day I was passing through the street where you met me, and I saw the sign, and, like yours, my curiosity was excited, and I went in. I found a room somewhat like a telegraph-office in appearance. A very downright, uncompromising-looking man sat at a roll-top desk, while ranged against the wall were several men of exceedingly bluff appearance. ‘Can you tell me what the aims of your society are?’ I asked the man. ‘Certainly I can,’ said he. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t.’ Not a cringe, you see. It was refreshing. ‘Well, will you?’ ‘It depends,’ he said. ‘What do you want to know for? Are you a reporter, or do you want to subscribe?’ [Illustration]