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Men you hear decrying "boyishness" are usually regretting something they have lost, and cannot get back. In other words, sour grapes. When William Jennings Bryan sprang into the national spotlight with his famous "Cross of Gold" speech in Chicago, they began calling him on all sides, "The Boy Orator From the Platte," his home being then on the Platte River. That remark was made one day in the presence of John J. Ingalls, a man with acid on his tongue, and Ingalls uttered this famous wise-crack: "Yes, but to understand the beauty of the similg you should see the Platte; it is one inch deep and a mile wide at the mouth." That has long been a leader in my list of dirty cracks.

A vast number of people have great reverence for everything that is covered with mold, rust, or mildew. They would worship the devil because of his antiquity. Such folks bow low before rot and rust and. adore the worthless things that have been preserved by ttre utter negligence of oblivion. I am thinHng particularly now of so-called "antiques." Some good friends of mine are hopelessly inoculated with the antique germ. They recently paid out a bale of folding-money for a table alleged to have been owned and used by some of the decadent nobility of Europe. They installed this monstrosity in their dining room, and ushered all their lriends in to witness the prize. That is, the wife did. The husband looks thoughtfully out of the corner of his eyc, and says nothing. I seem to see his tongue slightly in his cheek. But the wife insisted that I inspect that marvelous (?) table. She asked: "What do you really think of it?" I said, "Lady, you should thank God that it does not smell like it looks, or you'd never be able to eat off of it." Maybe that's why I haven't beetr invited to do so.

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Never before in history was there a time when common sense and generosity fitted each other like cane syrup and hot cakes. The rich and elderly man has only two choices with regard to his money; to wait and let the tax collector get most of it after he dies, or to have a world of happiness and satisfaction putting it to good use here and now. It doesn't seem reasonable that any sane human, equipped with normal heart and brain and subject to normal human impulses, would deliberately choose to let the inheritance tax man grab a million from his estate AFTER his death, in preference to going out into a needy world to see how much fun he could have and how much good he could do, distributing that million on THIS side of the grave. I don't see how he can do it.

I've come to the definite conclusion that a lot of folks, even old ones, think they're going to live forever; that everyone else is going to cross the dark river, but not them. That's the only basis on which I can understand the attitude of rich men who apparently would rather have a coldblooded tax collector get most of their money after they die, than do praiseworthy and intelligent things with it inthis life. Yes sir, you grab hold of one of your elderly friends who has one foot in the girave and the other in the gravy, and ask him why he doesn't make the choice I've just been discussing, and he only looks at you pityingly. So I've decided he thinks he's going to be here always. For one thing is absolutely certain, that if he died today the inheritance tax man would get most of his estate. It is easy to understand a man who has a choice between giving his money away or keeping it, making the latter choice. But today he has no such choice. He either disposes of it while alive, or lets the tax man get it after he is dead. There is no other route he can take.

It has been truly said that great wealth and great benevolence are seldom housed in the same human breastl-.that generous humanitarians are always poor, and, in case one of them got suddenly rich his humanitarian philosophies would be lost in the shuffle. Probably true. But honest to Socrates, if the appraisal of my estate and the inheritance tax scale showed that if I were to kick off tonight the tax man would drop around and collect a huge sum of money from what I left, I wouldn't be able to sleep waiting for morning to come so I could start out doing some cash scatteration. As between paying the inheritance tax collector a million dollars, or going out into the highways and ttre byways to put that million into places and hands where it would do the most good-if that's a choice to hesitate over, then I'm a Chinese giant. A man who would rather have the cold hand of the tax collector get his money, than scatter it among the warm hands of thousands of needy children, has something wrong with both his heart and his mind.

Mind you, I'm not defending or indorsing-or even discussing-the inheritance tax situation. We've got it, that's all. And there still are no pockets in a shroud, and "you can't take it with you-" You use your money on THIS side of the grave, or the inheritance man grabs it when you're IN the grave. I hate socialism, and all that it stands for. But I can't help believing that the deepes! darkest niche in the lower left-hand corner of hades is being especially reserved for super-rich men who have no sense of stewardship. And now, since the tax eats up the estate anyway, that goes double.