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T is surprising how many men find it difficult to get their hats off their heads, or their cigars out of their mouths when they go into a public office or when they meet a lady on the street. Some men seem glued to their hats, in the house and out; possibly that is why so many Americans are bald. The fellows who sit in the house with their hats on, or smoke in your face at a ball game, or crowd you into the gutter as you walk down the street are quite as often as otherwise those from whom we have a right to expect better things,—they are the leaders, the fellows who come from the most celebrated centers of social aristocracy.

The man who sat next to me at table in the hotel at Alleghany City not long ago showed the keenest interest in the moral uplift of the community, but he excavated his