“‘Well, it may not be en règle, but it is full of good sense,’ said the lady. ‘I’ve brought an article with me that I wish you would read.’
“She left the article, and its title was ‘How to Manage a Husband.’ It averred that too much petting, too much indulgence, made a man selfish and conceited; that affection should be administered with scientific reserve. Men should be taught to wait on themselves, and all that.
“They called on me for remarks, and I said:
“‘I am glad to have become acquainted with the power of concentration. I propose that we all quit work and begin to concentrate. Matter is only a creation of spirit. Let us exercise our several sovereign spirits and try to turn out a better line of matter. Let us have fewer rocks and stones and more comforts. Sweat and toil are a great mistake. Let us turn Delance’s Hill into plum-pudding and 51 the stones thereof into caramels and its pond into tomato-soup. Why not? They have no reality, no substance. They are nothing but thoughts––and our thoughts, at that––and why shouldn’t we change ’em? But somehow we can’t fetch it. According to the Professor, we have got into the habit of thinking in terms of rock, soil, and water, and we can’t get over it. There are some few of us who stand for better things; but the majority keep thinking in the old rut, and we can’t sway them. The Professor says that all we need is to get together and agree and then concentrate. But agreement doesn’t seem to be necessary. You know that there was a time when everybody, after much concentration, agreed that the world was flat––everybody but one man. Now the world was stubborn. It wouldn’t give up. It hung on to its roundness, and let the people think what they pleased. They tried to flatten it with countless tons of concentration, but it 52 held its shape. The one man had his way about it. So don’t be discouraged by an adverse majority on this plum-pudding project. One lady has shown us a sample of concentrated hair, and it looks good to me. Why all this striving, all this trouble about the problems of life and death, when the straight, broad way of concentration is open to us? Why shouldn’t we have concentrated bread and meat and shoes and socks and silks.
“‘Now the subject of concentration is by no means new. It has been a success for centuries. The late Dr. Guph tells in his memoirs of a singular race of people known as the Flub Dubs who once dwelt on the lost isle of Atlantis. They were the greatest concentrators that ever lived. Every one thought that he was the greatest man in the world, and thought it so hard and so persistently that it came true––in a way. Naturally they aimed high, and every man thought himself the rightful king, and 53 a strife arose over the crown, so that no one could wear it and many were slain in a great tussle. And when they were resting from their struggles one rose and said: “Kings of the realm, you are as the dust under my feet. I scorn you. A few minutes ago I decided to reverse my concentrator and aim at a higher goal. It was easy of attainment. I have suddenly become the biggest fool on this island and the humblest of all men.”
“‘The announcement was greeted with great applause, and within three minutes his popularity had so enhanced that they put him on the throne. Such was the power of truth. And all confessed and joined his party, and he was known as the wisest king of the Flub Dubs.
“‘The moral that Dr. Guph adduces is this: You cannot make figs out of thistles, and unregulated concentration leads to trouble.’
“Harry and I started for home in a deep silence.