The idiot is the same old idiot, if a trifle worn. As an inventive idiot he is in his element although of all his numerous inventions he complains that none has been realized. Probably there is a deep psychological reason for that for they were all of the "Dreamaline" sort. For a few cents everyone was to be able to be what he wanted to be, the reasoning of the idiot being that " if you feel like a millionaire you are as happy as a millionaire; happier in fact, for you are not even bothered by cutting the coupons." The other members of Mrs. Smithers-Pedagogue's high class home for single gentlemen we can report to be just the same. "Anyone who thinks that discord exists at this table doesn't know what he is talking about. Even the oil and the vinegar mix as the oleaginous appearance of the vinegar in the caster testifies," remarked the Idiot. While the Idiot was endeavoring to promote himself into the Idiot Publishing company they refused to take any stock in him, but when it was rumored that he was willing to be a Consolidated Gas company that was a different matter. "It would be something to turn out an honest gas company," urged the Idiot.
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