Chapter 6

The Idiot was unusually thoughtful--a fact which made the School-Master
and the Bibliomaniac unusually nervous. Their stock criticism of him was
that he was thoughtless; and yet when he so far forgot his natural
propensities as to meditate, they did not like it. It made them uneasy.
They had a haunting fear that he was conspiring with himself against
them, and no man, not even a callous school-master or a confirmed
bibliomaniac, enjoys feeling that he is the object of a conspiracy. The
thing to do, then, upon this occasion, seemed obviously to interrupt his
train of thought--to put obstructions upon his mental track, as it were,
and ditch the express, which they feared was getting up steam at that
moment to run them down.

"You don't seem quite yourself this morning, sir," said the Bibliomaniac.

"Don't I?" queried the Idiot. "And whom do I seem to be?"

"I mean that you seem to have something on your mind that worries you,"
said the Bibliomaniac.

"No, I haven't anything on my mind," returned the Idiot. "I was thinking
about you and Mr. Pedagog--which implies a thought not likely to use up
much of my gray matter."

"Do you think your head holds any gray matter?" put in the Doctor.

"Rather verdant, I should say," said Mr. Pedagog.

"Green, gray, or pink," said the Idiot, "choose your color. It does
not affect the fact that I was thinking about the Bibliomaniac and Mr.
Pedagog. I have a great scheme in hand, which only requires capital
and the assistance of those two gentlemen to launch it on the sea of
prosperity. If any of you gentlemen want to get rich and die in comfort
as the owner of your homes, now is your chance."

"In what particular line of business is your scheme?" asked Mr.
Whitechoker. He had often felt that he would like to die in comfort,
and to own a little house, even if it had a large mortgage on it.

"Journalism," said the Idiot. "There is a pile of money to be made out
of journalism, particularly if you happen to strike a new idea. Ideas
count."

"How far up do your ideas count--up to five?" questioned Mr. Pedagog,
with a tinge of sarcasm in his tone.

"I don't know about that," returned the Idiot. "The idea I have hold
of now, however, will count up into the millions if it can only be set
going, and before each one of those millions will stand a big capital S
with two black lines drawn vertically through it--in other words, my idea
holds dollars, but to get the crop you've got to sow the seed. Plant a
thousand dollars in my idea, and next year you'll reap two thousand.
Plant that, and next year