“Stop it, Mr. Sire!” say them Physician with alarms; “if you continue it thus you will have ‘Malefactors’ changed to ‘Benefactors’!”
So White House Hospital Corps are ringed for and Hon. President took by forceful quarantine to Federal Hospital where one porous plaster are put on his Ego to draw it out. While enjoying relapse there he occupy cot formerly layed in by Hons. Albert Beverage, Ben Tillman & other Egos enjoying the same shy germ.
What would become of Hon. Literature, Mr. Editor, if them Literaries was nibbled by Hon. Modesty? What would become of Publishing Business if Hon. Mrs. Eleanor McGlynty, after wroting one book of title, “Three Months,” should spend that period of time blushing over what ensue in it? What would happen to Hon. Jack of London or Hon. Thomas of Boston if they forgot to tell Hon. World how remarkably much they are? Would Hon. World remember their praises if they didn’t? I ask to know.
What would ensue if Hon. Bernard Shaw should took the habit of shrinkage? Might he know how to stop before he had entirely shrunk away until he was very little more than size of Homer, Shakespeare & any other insignificate super-gentleman? I require no answer.
Mr. Editor, if I had died in old-fashion generation of water-power reputation I would have got on my tombstone:
Here Lies Togo,
He was a good man.
But as I live in age of gas-power greatness, I must have on my door-plate:
Here Lives Togo.
He is a great man.
If you don’t believe it,
Step in and he will
Tell you so.