WITH A REFORMER.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIII, Issue V, 4 August 1894, Page 100

WITH A REFORMER.

B -5T

MARK TWAIN.

LAST Spring I went out to Chicago to see the Fair, and although I did not see it my trip was not wholly lost—there were compensations. In New York I was introduced to a major in the regular army who said he was going to the Fair, and we agreed to go together. I had to go to Boston first, but that did not interfere ; he said he would go along, and put in the time. He was a handsome man and built like a gladiator. But his ways were gentle and his speech was soft and persuasive. He was companionable but exceedingly reposeful. Yes, and wholly destitute of the sense of humour. He was full of interest in everything that went on around him, but his serenity was indestructible : nothing disturbed him, nothing excited him.

But before the day was done I found that deep down in him somewhere he had a passion, quiet as he was—a passion for reforming petty public abuses. He stood for citizenship—it was his hobby. His idea was that every citizen of the republic ought to consider himself an unofficial policeman ami keep unsalaried watch and ward over the laws and their execution. He thought that the only effective way of preserving and protecting public rights was for each citizen to do his share in preventing or punishing such infringements of them as came under his personal notice. It was a good scheme, but I thought it would keep a body in trouble all the time ; it seemed to me that one would be always trying to get offending little officials discharged, and perhaps getting laughed at for all reward. But he said no, I had the wrong idea ; that there was no occasion to get anybody discharged ; that in fact you mustn't get anybody discharged ; that that would itself be failure ; no, one must reform the man—reform him and make him useful where he was.

‘ Must one report the offender and then beg his superior not to discharge him, bnt reprimand him and keep him ?’ ‘No, that is not the idea ; you don’t report him at all, for then you risk his bread and butter. You can act as if you are going to report him—when nothing else will answer. But that’s an extreme case. That is a sort of force, and force is bad. Diplomacy is the effective thing. Now’ if a man has tact—if a man will exercise diplomacy—’ For two minutes we had been standing at a telegraph wicket, and during all this time the major had been trying to get the attention of one of the young operators, but THEY WERE ALL BUSY SKYLARKING. The major spoke, now, and asked one of them to take his telegram. He got for reply : ‘ I reckon you can wait a minute, can’t you ? ’ and the skylarking went on.

The major said yes, he was not in a hurry. Then he wrote another telegram: ‘President Western Union Tel. Co. :

‘Come and dine with me this evenin''. I can tell you how business is conducted in one of your branches.’ Presently the young fellow who had spoken so pertly a little before reached out and took the telegram, and when he read it he lost colour and began to apologize and explain. He said he would lose his place if this deadly telegram was sent, and he might never get another. If lie could lie let off this time he would give no cause of complaint again. The compromise was accepted,

As we walked away, the major said : * NOW, YOU SEE, THAT WAS DIPLOMACY—ami you see how it worked. It wouldn’t do any good to bluster, the way people are always doing—that boy can always give you as good as you send, and you’ll come out defeated and ashamed of yourself pretty nearly always. But you see he stands no chance against diplomacy. Gentle words and diplomacy—those are the tools to worli with.’ ‘Yes, I see; but everybody wouldn’t have had your opportunity. It isn’t everybody that is on those familiar terms with the president of the Western Union.’ ‘ Oh, you misunderstand, I don’t know the president—l only use him diplomatically. It is for his good and for the public good. There’s no harm in it.’ I said, with hesitation and diffidence : ‘ But is it ever right or noble to tell a lie ? ’ He took no note of the delicate self-righteousness of the question, but answered with undisturbed gravity and simplicity : ‘Yes, sometimes. Lies told to injure a person, and lies told to profit yourself are not justifiable, but lies told to help another person, and lies told in the public interest—oh, well, that is quite another matter. Anybody knows that. But never mind about the methods : you see the result. That youth is going to be useful now, and wellbehaved. He had a good face. He was worth saving. Why, he was worth saving on his mother’s account if not his own. Of course, he has a mother—sisters, too. Damn these people who are always forgetting that! Do you know, I’ve never fought a duel in my life —never once—and yet have been challenged, like other people. I could always see the other man’s unoffending women folks or his little children standing between him and me. They hadn’t done anything—l couldn’t break their hearts, you know.’ He corrected a good many little abuses in the course of the day, and always without friction ; always with a fineand dainty ‘ diplomacy ’ which left no sting behind ; and he got such happiness and such contentment out of these performances that I was obliged to envy him his trade —and perhaps would have adopted it IF I COULD HAVE MANAGED THE NECESSARYDEFLECTIONS FROM FACT as confidently with my month as I believe I could with my pen, behind the shelter of print, after a little practice. Away late, that night, we were coming up-town in a horse-car, when three boisterous roughs got aboard and began to fling hilarious obscenities and profanities right and left among the timid passengers, some of whom were women and children. Nobody resisted or retorted ; the conductor tried soothing words and moral suasion, but the roughs only called him names and laughed at him. Very soon I saw that the major realized that this was a matter which was in his line ; evidently he was turning over his stock of diplomacy in his mind and getting ready. I felt that the first diplomatic remark he made in this place would bring down a land-slide of ridicule upon him and may be something worse ; but before I could whisper to. him and check him, he had begun, and it was too late. He said in a level and dispassionate tone :

‘ CONDUCTOR, YOU MUST PUT THESE SWINE OUT. I WILL HELP YOU.’

I was not looking for that. In a flash the three roughs plunged at him. But none of them arrived. He delivered three such blows as one could not expect to encounter outside the prize ring, and neither of the men had life enough left in him to get tin from where he fell. The major

dragged them out and threw them off the car, and we got under way again. I was astonished ; astonished to see a lamb act so; astonished at the strength displayed and the clean and’ comprehensive result ; astonished at the brisk and businesslike style of the whole thing. The situation had a humorous side to it, considering how much I had )>een hearing alsmt mild persuasion and gentle diplomacy all day from this pile-driver, and I would have liked to call his attention to that feature and do some sarcasms alsmt it ; but when I looked at him I saw that it would lie of no use—his placid and contented face had no ray of humour in it ; he would not have understood. When we left the car, I said,

• That was a good stroke of diplomacy—three good strokes of diplomacy, in fact.’ ‘ 1 hatt ? That wasn't diplomacy. You are quite in the wrong. Diplomacy is a wholly different thing. One can-

not apply it to that sort, they would not understand it. No, that was not diplomacy, it was force.’ ‘ Now that you mention it, I—yes, I think perhaps you are right.’ ‘ Right ? Of course lam right. It was just force.’ ‘ I think, myself, it hail the outside aspect of it. Do you often have to reform people in that way ?’ ‘ Far from it. It hardly ever happens. Not oftener than once in half a year, at the outside. ‘ Those men will get well ?’ ‘ Get well ? Why certainly they will. They are not in any danger. I know how to hit and where to hit. You noticed that I did not hit them under the jaw. That would have killed them.’

I believed that. I remarked —rather wittily, as I thought—that he had been a lamb all day but now had all of a sudden developed into a ram —battering ram; but with dulcet frankness and simplicity he said no, a battering ram was quite a different thing and not in use now. This was maddening, and I came near bursting out and saying he had no more appreciation of wit than a jackass—in fact, I had it right on my tongue, but did not say it, knowing there was no hurry, and I could say it just as well some other time over the telephone. We started to Boston the next afternoon. The smoking compartment in the parlour car was full, and we went into the regular smoker. Across the aisle in the front seat sat a meek farmer-looking old man with a sickly pallor in his face, and he was holding the door open with his foot to get the air. Presently a big brakeman came rushing through, and when he got to the door he stopped, gave the farmer an ugly scowl, then wrenched the door to with such energy as to almost snatch the old man’s boot off. Then on he plunged, about his business. Several passengers laughed, and the old gentleman looked pathetically sliamed and grieved.

After a little the conductor passed along, and the major stopped him and asked him a question in his habitually courteous way : J ‘ Conductor, where does one report the misconduct of a brakeman ? Does one report to you ?’ ‘You can report him at New Haven if you want to. What has he been doing ?’ The major told the story. The conductor seemed amused. He said, with just a touch of sarcasm in his bland tones :

‘As I understand you, the brakeman didn’t san anything. ’ J J ‘ No, he didn’t say anything.’ ‘ But lie scowled, you say.’ ‘ Yes. ’

‘ And snatched the door loose in a rough way.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘ That’s the whole business, is it?’ ‘ Yes, that is the whole of it.’

The conductor smiled pleasantly, and said : ‘Well, if you want to report him, all right, but I don’t quite make out what it’s going to amount to. You’ll say—as I understand you—that the brakeman insulted this old gentleman. They’ll ask you what he said. You’ll say he didn’t say anything at all. I reckon they’ll say, how are you going to make out an insult when you acknowledge yourself that he didn’t say a word.’ There was a murmur of applause at the conductor’s compact reasoning, and it gave him pleasure -you could see it in his face. But the major was not disturbed. He said : ‘ There—now you have touched upon a crying defect in the complaint system. The railway officials—as the public think and as you also seem to think—are not aware that there are any kind of insults except spoken ones. So nobody goes to headquarters and reports insults of manner, insults of gesture, look, and so forth ; and yet these are sometimes harder to bear than any words. They are bitterly hard to liear because there is nothing tangible to take hold of • and the insuiter can always say, if called before the railway officials, that he never dreamed of intending any offence It seems to me that the officials ought to specially and urgently request the public to report unworded affronts and incivilities.’

The conductor laughed, and said : ‘ Well, that woul < be trimming it pretty fine, sure ' ’ ‘ But not too fine, I think. I will report this matter at New Haven, and I have an idea that I’ll be thanked for it ’ The conductor’s face lost something of its complacency ■ in fact it settled to a quite sober east as the owner of it moved away. I said :

‘ You are not really going to Isither with that trifle are you ? ’ ‘lt isn't a trifle. Such things ought always to lie reported. It is a public duty, and no citizen has a right to shirk it. But I shan’t have to reimrt this ease.’ ‘Why?’ ‘lt won’t be necessary. Diplomacy will do the business i ou 11 see.

Presently the conductor came on his rounds again, and hen he reached the major he leaned over and said : * That’s all right. You needn’t report him. He’s respon.

'■'£ - OVV '■■ ouy Kmkttnn Ca r ' <H‘W' l^< ; -s»*—

sible to me, and if he does it again I’ll give him a talking to.’ The major’s response was cordial : ‘ Now that is what I like ! You mustn’t think that I was moved by any vengeful spirit, for that wasn’t the case. It was duty—just a sense of duty, that was all. My brother-in-law is one of the directors of the road, and when be learns that .you are going to reason with your brakeman the very next time he brutally insults an unoffending old man it will please him, you may be sure of that.’ THE CONDUCTOR DID NOT LOOK AS JOYOUS AS ONE MIGHT HAVE THOUGHT HE WOULD, but on the contrary looked sickly anil uncomfortable. He stood around a little, then said : ‘ I think something ought to be done to him now. I'll discharge him.’ ‘ Discharge him ? What good would that do ? Don’t you think it would be better wisdom to teach him better ways and keep him ? ’ ‘ Well, there’s something in that. What would you suggest ? ’ ‘ He insulted the old gentleman in presence of all these people, how would it do to have him come and apologise in their presence 2 ’ ‘ I’ll have him here right off. And I want to say this : If people would do as you’ve done, and report such things to me instead of keeping mum and going off and blackguarding the road, you’d see a different state of things pretty soon. I’m much obliged to yon.’ The brakeman came and apologized. After he was gone the major said : ‘ Now, you see how simple and easy that was. The ordinary citizen would have accomplished nothing—the brother-in-law of a director can accomplish anything he wants to.’

‘ But are you really the brother-in-law of a director ? ’ ‘ Always. Always when the public interests require it. I have a brother-in-law on all the boards —everywhere. It saves me a world of trouble.’ ‘ It is a good wide relationship.’ ‘ Yes, I have over three hundred of them.’ ‘ Is the relationship never doubted by a conductor ? ’ ‘ I have never met with a case. It is the honest truth —I never have.’ ‘ Why didn’t you let him go ahead and discharge the brakeman, in spite of your favourite policy? You know he deserved it.’ The major answered with something which really had a sort of distant resemblance to impatience : ‘ If you would stop and think a moment you wouldn’t ask such a question as that. Is a brakeman a dog, that nothing but dogs’ methods will do for him ? He is a man, and has a man’s fight for life. And he always has a sister, or a mother, or wife and children to support. Always—there are no exceptions. When you take his living away from him you take theirs away too —and what have they done to you ? Nothing. And where is the profit in discharging an uncourteous brakeman and hiring another just like him ? It’s unwisdom. Don’t you see that the rational thing to do is to reform the brakeman and keep him ? Of course it is.’

Then he quoted with admiration the conduct of a certain division superintendent of a railroad in a case where a switchman of two years’ experience was negligent once and threw a train off the track and killed several people. Citizens came in a passion to urge the man’s dismissal, but the superintendent said : ‘ No, you are wrong. He has learned his lesson, he will throw no more trains off the track. He is twice as valuable as he was before. I shall keep him.’ We had only one more adventure on the trip. Between Hartford and Springfield the train-boy came shouting in with an armful of literature and dropped a sample into a slumbering gentleman's lap, and the man woke up with a start. He was very angry, and he and a couple of friends discussed the outrage with much heat. They sent for the parlour-car conductor and described the matter, and were determined to have the lioy expelled from his situation.

THE THREE COMPLAINANTS WERE WEALTHY HOLYOKE MERCHANTS,

and it was evident that the conductor stood in some awe of them. He tried to pacify them, and explained that the boy was not under his authority, but under that of one of the news companies, but he accomplished nothing. Then the major volunteered some testimony for the defence. He said :

‘I saw it all. You gentlemen have not meant to exaggerate the circumstances, but still that is what you have done. The boy has done nothing more than all tiainboys do. If you want to get his ways softened down and his manners reformed, I am with you and ready to help, but it isn’t fair to get him discharged without giving him a chance. ’

But they were angry and would hear of no compromise. They were well acquainted with the president of the Boston and Albany, they said, and would put everything aside next day and go up to Boston and fix that boy. The major said he would lie on hand too, and would do what he could to save thelioy. One of the gentlemen looked him over, and said :

‘ Apparently, it is going to be a matter of who can wield the most influence with the president. Do you know Mr. Bliss personally ?' The major said, with composure : ‘ Yes ; he is my uncle.’ The effect was satisfactory. There was an awkward silence for a minute or more, then the hedging and the halfconfessions of over-haste and exaggerated resentment began, and soon everything was smooth and friendly and sociable, and it was resolved to drop the matter and leave the boy's bread anil butter unmolested.

It turned out as I had expected ; the president of the road was not the major’s uncle at all—except by adoption, and for this day and train only. We got into no episodes on the return journey. Probably it was because we took a night train and slept all the way. We left New York Saturday night by the Pennsylvania road. After breakfast, next morning, we went into the parlour-car, but found it a dull place and dreary. There were but few people in it and nothing going on. Then we went into the little smoking compartment of the same car and found three gentlemen in there. Two of them were grumbling over one of the rules of the road—a rule which forbade card-playing on the trains on Sunday. They hail started an innocent game of high-low-jack and been stopped. The major was interested. He said to the third gentleman : ‘ Did you object to the game ?’ ‘ Not at all. lam a Yale professor and a religious man, but my prejudices are not extensive.’ Then the major said to the others : ‘ You are at perfect liberty to resume your game, gentlemen ; no one here objects.’ One of them declined the risk, but the other one said he would like to begin again if the major would join him. So they spread an overcoat over their knees and the game proceeded. Pretty soon the parlour car conductor arrived, and said brusquely : ‘ There, there, gentlemen, that won't do.’ PUT UP THE CARDS—IT’S NOT ALLOWED.’ The major was shuffling. He continued to shuffle, and said : ‘ By whose orders is it forbidden ?’ ‘ It’s my order. I forbid it.’ The dealing began. The major asked : ‘ Did you invent the idea ?’ ‘ What idea ?’ ‘ The idea of forbidding card-playing »n Sunday.’ ‘ No—of course not.’ ‘ Who dill!’ ‘The company.’ ‘ Then it isn’t your order, after all, but the company’s. Is that it ?’

‘ Yes. But you don’t stop playing ; I have to require you to stop playing immediately.’ ‘ Nothing is gained by hurry, and often much is lost. Who authorised the company to issue such an order?’ ‘ My dear sir, that is a matter of no consequence to me, and—’

‘ But you forget that you are not the only person concerned. It may lie a matter of consequence to me. It is indeed a matter of very great importance to me. I cannot violate a legal requirement of my country without dishonouring myself ; I cannot allow any man or corporation to hamper my lilierties with illegal rules—a thing which railway companies are always trying to do—without dishonouring my citizenship. So I come back to that question : By whose authority has the company issued this order ?’ ‘ I don’t know. That’s their affair.’

‘ Mine, too. I doubt if the company has any right to issue such a rule. This road runs through several States Do you know what State we are in now, and what its laws are in matters of this kind?’

‘lt’s laws do not concern me, but the company's ordem do. It is my duty to stop this game gentlemen, and it must be stopped.’ ‘Possibly; but still there is no hurry. In hotels they post certain rules in the rooms, but they always quote passages from the State law as authority for these requirements. I see nothing posted here of this sort. I “lease produce your authority and let us arrive at a decision, for you see, yourself, that you are marring the game.’ ‘ 1 have nothing of the kind, but I have my orders, and that is sufficient. They must be obeyed.’ • Let us not jump to conclusions. It will lie better all around to examine into the matter without beat or haste, and see just where we stand, liefore either of us makes a mistake—for the curtailing of the lilierties of a citizen of the United States is a much more serious matter than yon and the railroads seem to think, and it cannot be done in my person until the curtailer proves his right to do so. Now ’

‘ My dear sir, ici’ZZ you put down those cards’’ ‘All in good time, perhaps. It depends. You say this order must lie obeyed. Must. It is a strong word. You see, yourself, how strong it is. A wise company would not arm you with so drastic an order ivs this, of course, without appointing a penalty for its infringement. < ftherwise it runs the risk of being a dead letter and a thing to laugh at. What is the appointed penalty for an infringement of this law ?’

‘ Penalty ? I never heard of any.’ ‘ Unquestionably you must lie mistaken. Your company orders you to come here and RUDELY BREAK UP AN INNOCENT AMUSEMENT, and furnishes you no way to enforce the order ? Don’t you see that that is nonsense? What do you <Zo when people refuse to obey this order ? Do you take the cards away from them ?’ •No.’ ‘ Do you put the offender off at the next station ?' ‘ Well, no—of course we couldn’t if he had a ticket.’ ‘ Do you have him up before a court ?’ The conductor was silent and apparently troubled. The major started a new deal, and said : ‘ You see that yon are helpless, and that the company has placed you in a foolish position. You are furnished with an arrogant order, and you deliver it in a blustering way, and when you come to look into the matter you find you haven’t any way of enforcing obedience.’ The conductor said, with chill dignity :

‘ Gentleman, you have heard the order, and my duty is ended. As to obeying it or not, you will do as you think fit’—and he turned to leave.

‘ But wait. The matter is not yet finished. I think you are mistaken about your duty being ended : but if it really is, I myself have a duty to perform, yet.’ ‘ How do you mean ?’ ‘Are you going to report my disobedience at headquarters in Pittsburg ?’ ‘ No. What good would that do ?’ ‘ You must report me, or I will report you.’ ‘ Report me for what ?’ ‘ For disobeying the company’s orders in not stopping this game. As a citizen it is my duty to help the railway companies keep their servants to their work.’ ‘ Are you in earnest ? ’ ‘ Yes, lam in earnest. 1 have nothing against you as a man, but I have this against yon as an officer—that you have not carried out that order, and if you do not report me I must report you. And I will.' The conductor looked puzzled and was thoughtful a moment, then he burst out with—- ‘ I seem to lie getting niysiZ/’into a scrape !

it’s all a MUDDLE ; 1 can’t make head HR TAIL OP IT : *t’s never happened before ; they always knocked under and never said a word, and so 1 never saw how ridiculous that stupid order with no penalty is. I don’t want to report anybody, and I don’t want to be reported—why, it might do me no end of harm ! Now do go on with' the game—play the whole day if you want to—and don’t let’s have any more trouble about it '. ’ ‘No, I only sat down here to establish this gentleman's rights—he can have his place, now. But liefore you go, won’t you tell me what you think the company made this rule for? Can you imagine an excuse for it? I mean a rational one—an excuse that is not on its face silly, and the invention of an idiot?’

‘ Why, surely I can. The reason it was made is plain enough. It is to save the feelings of the other passengers the religious ones among them, 1 mean. They would not like it, to have the Sabbath desecrated by eard-playing on the train.’

‘I just thought as nincli. They are willing to desecrate it themselves by travelling on Sunday, but they are not willing that other people

‘By gracious, you’ve hit it ! I never thought of that liefore. The faet is, it is a silly rule when you come to look into it.’

At this poiiit the train-conductor arrived and was going to shut down the game in a very high-handed fashion, but the parlour-conductor stopped him and look him aside to explain. Nothing more was heard of the matter. I was ill in l>ed eleven days in Chicago ami got no glimpse of the Fair, for 1 was obliged to return east as soon as I was able to travel. The major secured and paid for a stateroom in a sleeper the day before we left, so that I could have plenty of room and be comfortable ; but when we arrived at the station a mistake had lieen made and our car had not l>een put on. The conductor bad reserved a section for us it was the best lie could do, lie said, But the major said we were not in a hurry, ami would wait for the car to be put on. The conductor responded with pleasant irony : ‘ It may lie that you are not in a hurry, just as you say, but we are. Come, get alsiard, gentlemen, get aboard—don’t keep us waiting.’ But the major would not get alioard himself nor allow me to do it. He wanted his ear, and said he must have it. This made the hurried and perspiring conductor impatient, and he said :

‘ Its the best we can do— we can’t do impossibilities. You will take the section or go without. A mistake has been made and can’t be rectified at this late hour. It’s a thing that happens now’ and then, and there is nothing for it but to put up with it and make the best of it. Other people do.’

‘ Ah, that is just it, you see. If they had stuck to their rights and enforced them you wouldn’t be trying to trample mine under foot in this bland way now. I haven’t any disposition to give you unnecessary trouble, but it is my duty to protect the next man from this kind of imposition. So I must have my car. Otherwise I will wait in Chicago and sue the company for violating its contract.’ * Sue the company ?—for a thing like that'. ’ ‘ Certainly.’ ‘ Do you really mean that ? ’ * Indeed, I do.’ The conductor looked the major over wonderingly, and then said : ‘ It beats me—it’s bran new—l’ve never struck the mate to it before. But I swear I think you’d do it. Look here, I’ll send for the station-master.’

When the station-master came he was a good deal annoyed—at the major, not at the person who had made the mistake. He was rather brusque and took the same position which the conductor had taken in the beginning; but lie failed to move the soft-spoken artilleryman, who still insisted that he must have his car. However, it was plain that there was only one strong side in this ease, and that that side was the major’s. The station-master banished his annoyed manner and became pleasant and even halfapologetic. This made a good opening for a compromise, and THE MAJOR MADE A CONCESSION. He said he would give up the engaged stateroqm, but he must have a stateroom. After a deal of ransacking, one was found whose owner was persuadable; he exchanged it for our section, and we got away at last. The conductor called on us in the evening, and was kind and courteous and obliging, and we had a long talk and got to be good friends. He said he wished the public would make trouble oftener—it would have a good effect. He said that the railroads could not be expected to do their whole duty by the traveller unless the traveller would take some interest in the matter himself.

1 hoped that we were done reforming for the trip, now, but it was not so. In the hotel car, in the morning, the major called for broiled chicken. The waiter said : ‘ It’s not in the bill of fare, sir ; we do not serve anything but what is in the bill.’

* That gentleman yonder is eating a broiled chicken.’ ‘ Yes, but that is different. He is one of the superintendents of the road.’ ‘ Then, all the more must I have broiled chicken. Ido not like these discriminations. Please hurry bring me a broiled chicken.’

The waiter brought the steward, who explained in a low and polite voice that the thing was impossible—it was against the rule, and the rule was rigid.

‘ Very well, then, you must either apply it impartially or break it impartially. You must take that gentleman’s chicken away from him or bring me one.’ The steward was puzzled, and did not quite know what to do. He began an incoherent argument, but the conductor came along just then, and asked what the difficulty was. The steward explained that here was a gentleman who was insisting on having a chicken when it was dead against the rule and not in the bill. The conductor said :

‘Stick by your rules —you haven't any option. Wait a moment—is this the gentleman ?’ Then he laughed and said: ‘Never mind your rules - it’s my advice and sound; give him anything he wants—don’t get him started on his rights, (live him whatever he asks for ; and if yon haven’t got it, stop the train and get it.’ The major ate the chicken, but said he did it from a sense of duty and to establish a principle, for he did not like chicken.

I missed the Fair, it is true, but I picked up some diplomatic tricks which I and the reader may find handy and useful as we go along.— Cosmopolitan Magazine.