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The 〃cracked Teacup〃 of our younger wits；not yet come to their full
human sensibilities；the 〃crank〃 of vulgar tongues； the eccentric；
the seventh son of a seventh son； too often made the butt of
thoughtless pleasantry； was； after all； a fellow…creature； with flesh
and blood like the rest of us。 The wild freaks of his fancy did not
hurt us； nor did they prevent him from seeing many things justly； and
perhaps sometimes more vividly and acutely than if he were as sound
as the dullest of us。
The teaspoons tinkled loudly all round the table； as he finished
reading。 The Mistress caught her breath。 I was afraid she was going
to sob； but she took it out in vigorous stirring of her tea。 Will
you believe that I saw Number Five； with a sweet； approving smile on
her face all the time； brush her cheek with her hand…kerchief？ There
must have been a tear stealing from beneath its eyelid。 I hope
Number Seven saw it。 He is one of the two men at our table who most
need the tender looks and tones of a woman。 The Professor and I are
hors de combat； the Counsellor is busy with his cases and his
ambitions； the Doctor is probably in love with a microscope； and
flirting with pathological specimens； but Number Seven and the Tutor
are； I fear； both suffering from that worst of all famines； heart…
hunger。
Do you remember that Number Seven said he never wrote a line of
〃poetry〃 in his life； except once when he was suffering from
temporary weakness of body and mind？ That is because he is a poet。
If he had not been one； he would very certainly have taken to
tinkling rhymes。 What should you think of the probable musical
genius of a young man who was particularly fond of jingling a set of
sleigh…bells？ Should you expect him to turn out a Mozart or a
Beethoven？ Now； I think I recognize the poetical instinct in Number
Seven； however imperfect may be its expression； and however he may be
run away with at times by fantastic notions that come into his head。
If fate had allotted him a helpful companion in the shape of a loving
and intelligent wife； he might have been half cured of his
eccentricities； and we should not have had to say； in speaking of
him； 〃Poor fellow！〃 But since this cannot be； I am pleased that he
should have been so kindly treated on the occasion of the reading of
his paper。 If he saw Number Five's tear； he will certainly fall in
love with her。 No matter if he does Number Five is a kind of Circe
who does not turn the victims of her enchantment into swine； but into
lambs。 I want to see Number Seven one of her little flock。 I say
〃little。〃 I suspect it is larger than most of us know。 Anyhow； she
can spare him sympathy and kindness and encouragement enough to keep
him contented with himself and with her； and never miss the pulses of
her loving life she lends him。 It seems to be the errand of some
women to give many people as much happiness as they have any right to
in this world。 If they concentrated their affection on one； they
would give him more than any mortal could claim as his share。 I saw
Number Five watering her flowers； the other day。 The watering…pot
had one of those perforated heads； through which the water runs in
many small streams。 Every plant got its share： the proudest lily
bent beneath the gentle shower； the lowliest daisy held its little
face up for baptism。 All were refreshed； none was flooded。
Presently she took the perforated head； or 〃rose；〃 from the neck of
the watering…pot； and the full stream poured out in a round； solid
column。 It was almost too much for the poor geranium on which it
fell； and it looked at one minute as if the roots would be laid bare；
and perhaps the whole plant be washed out of the soil in which it was
planted。 What if Number Five should take off the 〃rose〃 that
sprinkles her affections on so many； and pour them all on one？ Can
that ever be？ If it can； life is worth living for him on whom her
love may be lavished。
One of my neighbors； a thorough American； is much concerned about the
growth of what he calls the 〃hard…handed aristocracy。〃 He tells the
following story：
〃I was putting up a fence about my yard； and employed a man of whom I
knew something；that he was industrious； temperate； and that he had
a wife and children to support；a worthy man； a native New
Englander。 I engaged him； I say； to dig some post…holes。 My
employee bought a new spade and scoop on purpose； and came to my
place at the appointed time； and began digging。 While he was at
work； two men came over from a drinking…saloon； to which my residence
is nearer than I could desire。 One of them I had known as Mike
Fagan； the other as Hans Schleimer。 They looked at Hiram； my New
Hampshire man； in a contemptuous and threatening way for a minute or
so； when Fagan addressed him：
〃'And how much does the man pay yez by the hour？'
The gentleman does n't pay me by the hour；' said Hiram。
〃'How mosh does he bay you by der veeks？' said Hans。
〃'I don' know as that's any of your business；' answered Hiram。
〃'Faith； we'll make it our business；' said Mike Fagan。 'We're
Knoights of Labor； we'd have yez to know； and ye can't make yer
bargains fist as ye loikes。 We manes to know how mony hours ye
worrks； and how much ye gets for it。'
〃'Knights of Labor！' said I。 'Why； that is a kind of title of
nobility； is n't it？ I thought the laws of our country did n't allow
titles of that kind。 But if you have a right to be called knights； I
suppose I ought to address you as such。 Sir Michael； I congratulate
you on the dignity you have attained。 I hope Lady Fagan is getting
on well with my shirts。 Sir Hans； I pay my respects to your title。
I trust that Lady Schleixner has got through that little difficulty
between her ladyship and yourself in which the police court thought
it necessary to intervene。'
〃The two men looked at me。 I weigh about a hundred and eighty
pounds； and am well put together。 Hiram was noted in his village as
a 'rahstler。' But my face is rather pallid and peaked； and Hiram had
something of the greenhorn look。 The two men； who had been drinking；
hardly knew what ground to take。 They rather liked the sound of ；Sir
Michael and； Sir Hans。 They did not know very well what to make of
their wives as 'ladies。' They looked doubtful whether to take what
had been said as a casus belli or not； but they wanted a pretext of
some kind or other。 Presently one of them saw a label on the scoop；
or longhandled； spoon…like shovel； with which Hiram had been working。
〃'Arrah； be jabers！' exclaimed Mike Fagan； 'but has n't he been
a…tradin' wid Brown； the hardware fellah； that we boycotted！ Grab
it； Hans； and we'll carry it off and show it to the brotherhood。'
The men made a move toward the implement。
〃'You let that are scoop…shovel alone；' said Hiram。
〃I stepped to his side。 The Knights were combative； as their noble
predecessors with the same title alw