"That's all right as an explanation of the youngster whose parent is engaged in that sort of business," said the Doctor. "But there are others." "True," said the Idiot. "The others stay out of it out of sheer pity. When they are tempted to sew up the legs of their daddy's trousers in order to fitly celebrate the day, or to fill his collar-box with collars five sizes too small for him, they say, 'No. Let us refrain. The governor has had trouble enough with his International Yukon Anticipated Brass shares this year. He's had all the fooling he can stand. We will give the old gentleman a rest!' Fact is, come to look at it, the decadence of April 1st as a day of foolery for the young is no mystery, after all. The youngsters are not more civilized than we used to be, but they have had the intelligence to perceive the exact truth of the situation." "Which is?" asked Mr. Brief. "That the ancient art of practical joking has become a business. April-fool's-day has been incorporated by the leading financiers of the age, and is doing a profitable trade all over the world all the year round. Private enterprise is simply unable to compete." "I am rather surprised, nevertheless," said Mr. Brief, "that you yourself have abandoned the field. You are just the sort of person who would keep on in that kind of thing, despite the discouragements." "Oh, I haven't abandoned the field," said the Idiot. "I did play an April-fool joke last Friday." "What was that?" asked Mr. Whitechoker, interested. "I told Mrs. Pedagog that I would pay my bill to-morrow," replied the Idiot, as he rose from the table and left the room. VIII SPRING AND ITS POETRY "Well, Mr. Idiot," said Mrs. Pedagog, genially, as the Idiot entered the breakfast-room, "what can I do for you this fine spring morning? Will you have tea or coffee?" "I think I'd like a cup of boiled iron, with two lumps of quinine and a spoonful of condensed nerve-milk in it," replied the Idiot, wearily. "Somehow or other I have managed to mislay my spine this morning. Ethereal mildness has taken the place of my backbone." "Those tired feelings, eh?" said Mr. Brief. "Yeppy," replied the Idiot. "Regular thing with me. Every year along about the middle of April I have to fasten a poker on my back with straps, in order to stand up straight; and as for my knees--well, I never know where they are in the merry, merry spring-time. I'm quite sure that if I didn't wear brass caps on them my legs would bend backward. I wonder if this neighborhood is malarious."