myself; so let's see what comfort he has for a comrade."

Opening the little pamphlet, at random, Israel's eyes fell on the
following passages: he read them aloud--

"'_So what signifies waiting and hoping for better times? We may make
these times better, if we bestir ourselves. Industry need not wish, and
he that lives upon hope will die fasting, as Poor Richard says. There
are no gains, without pains. Then help hands, for I have no lands, as
Poor Richard says._' Oh, confound all this wisdom! It's a sort of
insulting to talk wisdom to a man like me. It's wisdom that's cheap,
and it's fortune that's dear. That ain't in Poor Richard; but it ought
to be," concluded Israel, suddenly slamming down the pamphlet.

He walked across the room, looked at the artificial flowers, and the
rose-colored soap, and again went to the table and took up the two
books.

"So here is the 'Way to Wealth,' and here is the 'Guide to Paris.'
Wonder now whether Paris lies on the Way to Wealth? if so, I am on the
road. More likely though, it's a parting-of-the-ways. I shouldn't be
surprised if the Doctor meant something sly by putting these two books
in my hand. Somehow, the old gentleman has an amazing sly look--a sort
of wild slyness--about him, seems to me. His wisdom seems a sort of sly,
too. But all in honor, though. I rather think he's one of those old
gentlemen who say a vast deal of sense, but hint a world more. ^Depend
upon it, he's sly, sly, sly. Ah, what's this Poor Richard says: ^{c} God
helps them that help themselves:' Let's consider that. Poor Richard
ain't a Dunker, that's certain, though he has lived in Pennsylvania.
'God helps them that help themselves.' I'll just mark that saw, and