The slight man rose up in his seat. He bore down hard upon the stranger.
"Possibly," he suggested, "in the course of your deep and intimate intercourse with men and affairs, you may recall the name of an individual named Shakespeare."
"Yes, I think I remember."
"How about Macaulay, the greatest essayist in England, and Homer, the prince of ancient poets, with seven birthplaces? Then there's Emerson and Longfellow and Goethe and—"
He paused and grabbed the other man by the collar.
"My friend," he said, "you don't seem interested in the world's greatest authors. May I inquire what your occupation in life is?"
The other man nodded gravely, even austerely.
"Certainly, sir," he replied. "I'm a holiday salesman in Buncum's
Department Store Book Shop."
ONE ON HIM
The code of manners enjoyed by the Germans needs scarcely any further illumination, but the following incident may serve as further light upon this threadbare subject.