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202 yet accustomed to go about jingling a pocketful of silver. Once, I remember, I saw a little chap sidle up to the counter and look long at the jack-knives and other temptations displayed in the showcase. By and by the shopkeeper espied a possible customer, and came round to see what was wanted.

"How much are those tops?" asked the boy, pointing with his finger.

"Ten cents," was the answer.

The boy was silent. He was thinking it over. Then he said: "I'll take two cents' worth of peanuts."

Poor fellow! I have seen many a grown man since then who was obliged to content himself with the same kind of philosophy. And who shall say it is not a good one? If you cannot spend the summer in Europe, take a day at the seashore. If you miss of an election to Congress, bid for a place on the school committee. If you cannot write ten-thousand-dollar novels, write—well, write a weekly column in a newspaper. There is always something within a capable man's reach, though it be only "two cents' worth of peanuts."