When, in his youth, St. Friend made the Pilgrimage of St. Scribe he heard certain strange political talk near the dazzling temple of the cocaine Buddha of Singapore. Three half-English Eurasians were deep in future world politics. This conversation temporarily spoiled his meditations on the real and beautiful Prince Gautama, which otherwise continued throughout the whole of Asia. Ever since that day, St. Friend has been giving his attention to the Japanese and Chinese denunciations of the Singaporians, especially since those denunciations have been so stoutly re-echoed by Joseph Bartholdi Michael, the Second, the greatest American representative in the legislature of the World Government. That tremendous hall has rung with the hammer-blows of Michael, the Blacksmith, against international treason, the arrogant Singaporian cry of “States Rights.” St. Friend and the Rabbi and Boone, backed by the Board of Education, proclaim that they have been studying the wily local policy of the man from Singapore. It seems to be first, to promote confusion. St. Friend declares that the stranger has incited “by peculiar and devious means” all the recklessness of the children of the city and that “the defiance of Beau Nash was a test case” and that “the man from Singapore hoped, if the Beau survived, to build a green glass temple here.” The man from Singapore is really a public benefit judged by the mere surface of things, since he is the scapegoat for all our recent fights and fevers. But no man touches him. He goes on teaching in the University, unmolested. His classes in the Malay Peninsula languages and literature are well attended by the sons and daughters of those who denounce him. Many wait for any slip of the tongue or wrong turn of the voice and cannot catch him. They cannot help liking the jolly old Malay lore about things which have nothing to do with politics and which are the whole theme of the brown professor’s discourses. May 27:—Boone and his faction have slacked up on the Singaporian scent and are back on the old argument. Boone declares that the University must be put more firmly in the position of censor of the administration, and after all there are, by actual count, a larger group of those, supposed to have buried gold and buried alcohol, still using flying machines than the list of our “common people.” The Snobs have merely put on the Robin Redbreast uniform. And he boldly prints the list of those morally certain to have much buried alcohol and gold but puts it so deftly there is no risk of suit. And so, to make good, the City Hall starts an informal flying festival this afternoon and crowds anyone who can fly at all into machines that come pouring down from Chicago in response to orders from our City Hall. But they are all Robin Redbreast machines.