Foolish Heathen

     "Why do the heathen rage?" blurted out Mr. Blykins. who had been sitting beside the evening lamp for several minutes in silent communion with his faraway thoughts. "There's the question. Why do they?"

    "I give it up, dear," his wife responded, her eyes sparkling with genial expectancy.

   "This isn't a conundrum. It's one of these questions people ask in order to humiliate you by a reminder that you don't know the answer. It isn't original, anyhow. there is every reason why the heathen should not rage. They have everything their own way. Look at the Philippine natives. Look at Aguinaldo. All they'd have to do would be to annexed peacefully and come over to this country and hold nice, easy jobs in dime museums for he rest of their days."

    "This country is going to be a perfect ethnological congress pretty soon," she commented. "It might be a happy family of all nations. But these heathens will rage. If there is anything that makes me tired, it's a heathen.  And I want o say this, Mrs. Blykins. If I find that you are knitting any more tidies and buying any more red flannel to make wearing apparel for the heathen I'm going to protest. You mean well; your motives are lofty, but the heathen don't deserve it."