"My brother is a bad man--he is full of hate--he is pretty and has pompadour hair, but he would kill and kill. I hate old age--I am ashamed that I am old. "I have a pretty new wife. I wrote her four letters and she replied. She came here and we married--I love to see her walk--O, I buy her pretty clothes. "Her foot is not straight--it is twisted--my first wife is dead--I pick warts off the hand with my fingers and no blood comes--I cure coughs, colds, consumption and the sickness that bleeds--people can write to me and I answer the letters--if they send me no money it is no matter--all is free." Again the old man wept and the stranger tried to comfort him. "You are a happy man?" the stranger asked. "Yes," said the old man, "and a good man too. Ask everywhere about me-- my name is Tom, a blacksmith--my wife walks prettily although she has a twisted foot--I have bought her a long dress--she is thirty and I am seventy-five--she has many pairs of shoes--I have bought them for her, but her foot is twisted--I buy straight shoes-- "She thinks I do not know--everybody thinks Tom does not know--I have bought her a long dress that comes down to the ground--my name is Tom, a blacksmith--I am seventy-five and I hate old age--I take warts off the hands and no blood comes--people may write to me and I answer the letters--all is free." THE MAN IN THE BROWN COAT Napoleon went down into a battle riding on a horse. Alexander went down into a battle riding on a horse. General Grant got off a horse and walked in a wood. General Hindenburg stood on a hill. The moon came up out of a clump of bushes. * * * * * I am writing a history of the things men do. I have written three such histories and I am but a young man. Already I have written three hundred, four hundred thousand words. My wife is somewhere in this house where for hours now I have been sitting and writing. She is a tall woman with black hair, turning a little grey. Listen, she is going softly up a flight of stairs. All day she goes softly about, doing the housework in our house. I came here to this town from another town in the state of Iowa. My father was a workman, a house painter. He did not rise in the world as I have done. I worked my way through college and became an historian. We own this house in which I sit. This is my room in which I work. Already I have written three histories of peoples. I have told how states were formed and battles fought. You may see my books standing straight up on the shelves of libraries. They stand up like sentries. I am tall like my wife and my shoulders are a little stooped. Although I write boldly I am a shy man. I like being at work alone in this room with the door closed. There are many books here. Nations march back and forth in the books. It is quiet here but in the books a great thundering goes on. * * * * *