“Those and these, all of them,” quoth the Axilla, “the misfits and the unfits, they are the people who have nothing to do.” “I notice that most of them stop as they pass and drink at this fountain.” “Aye, verily,” answered the Axilla, “for these are the waters of the Fountain of Endurance.” Before leaving this spot I did not fail to observe one among them who, by his countenance, clothing and deportment, seemed out of place. I noted that apparently he was doing exactly what I was doing, looking about and observing his fellow beings with scrutiny. “What have you got him in here for?” I asked. “Don’t be so petulant, little visitor,” answered the Great Axilla, “I have him here for the reason that he belongs here. He is one of the so-called dilettanti. He imagines that he is different from the horde, because he sits by and watches them, calling himself a student of human nature. But mark me, he has the streak in common with the rest of them--he is tired of it all, for he, too, has nothing to do. Follow his gaze now, and you may again query whether that spectacle is germane to this exhibit.” I looked in the direction in which the dilettante was looking, toward the border of the park, and I saw a wide, white boulevard. Many people were driving and riding thereon, carrying whips with ribbons, or beautifully painted sun-shades. The vehicles themselves were splendid equipages, some were swung high, and some were swung low, according to the fancy and ease of the owners; and the coachmen and the footmen in their uniforms of sombre and brilliant hues made a showy spectacle to behold. “I confess I can not see why they should be exhibited with these misfits and unfits.” “That is because your physical eye is not near enough to see them clearly, puny one,” replied His Excelsior, “take you this strong field-glass,” continued he, offering me the instrument, “and examine the faces of those you see upon horse-back and in the various vehicles.” I looked first at the face of a woman, protected by a gaudy parasol. She was driving in an open landau. Hers was the face of a woman far beyond maidenhood. There was something make-believe about her expression, as though in reality she was not free from care, as though her landau were neither carrying her to nor taking her from the realms of realized anticipations. Then I cast the glasses hastily upon a man on horse-back. He had the frame of one who was trying to recover a wasted constitution; but he had begun too late. A cigarette drooped languidly from his lips. He looked overfed with foods and wines that could no longer nourish him. Bah! I dropped the glasses from my eyes. “Aha!” smiled the Excelsior, “now you perceive that they, too, have the same awful streak in their aspect.” “But, Great Axilla,” cried I, “you surely allow them to drink also at the Fountain of Endurance?”