The San Francisco call., 1910-06-26

X7OU can't have both. 50 you may
as we'll settle on which you'd
- rather have.
ideals. my friend, idealsl" says the
artist and we see him sleeping on
park bench, content in the possession Of
one cent. which means the certainty of q
bun for breakfast on the morrow. A
single bun in advance Is sufficient, he
would tell us. If no thoughts of it's in
adequacy be allowed to linger after the
last bit. Eat merely to hive and that
your ideal may not perish with you;
partake with no undue relish lest you
encourage appetite. Dwell not in antici-
patton on the coming bun; the morrow.
with its meals, will take care of itself
In other words, keep close watch on
the lofty ideal lest you lose it in the
mad rush of the bread line; and this
unworldly individual holds to his on
ward and upward" song with a persist
ence that gives pause to the weaker
among his listeners.
A beautiful theory can always carry
away the rev, but what OF the many?
The lump sum- comes down with
thud delightful to the ear-the greedy
American ear-because somewhere IN
the background of the national con-
sciousness rests the accepted fact that
the world Of men and women as a
whole. wants nights lodging and an
the great majority would not have
given up wonderful chances in the
dim and misty" for the actual custard
1t has beea generally conceded that
there is no lifelong satisfaction in
roaming the streets without a meal
ticket. and only the rare soul is will
ing TO exchange "a local habitation''
for some vague ideal.
Life satisfies, this rare one tells us.
SO long as he can see beyond. He would
rather live in what some people call
discomfort than ''eke out miserable,
conventional existence. When the tur-
mol of life gets too insistent he goes
especial charm IN shutting out tenn
porary hunger and clamoring land
lady.
Now. the sculptor. or poet, or what
ever this curious creature happens To
be, assures himself that he has a right
to live beside the vision" but he never
stops TO realize that we have the vision
of his emaciated face instead OF some
thing glorihed to look at. Rawboned
humanity Is not pleasant sight. and
his gaunt and ggewsome smile haunts
our sleeping and our waking hours in
a way that stamps him something OF a
criminal in the general estimation. Were
he able to assume the final responsibility
for his physical condition land who
knows that the mental side won't enter
in0. he might keep on singing his song
TO his hearts content, but with this ma n
responsibility is out of the question: he
is no more able to grapple with it than
with the missing meal or the onnf-
present landlady. and when the price OF
Il is due, his brother-man, or some
sister-woman viii foot the bill
There are other barnacles who cling to
some floating vessel. and they are worse.
although a certain family likeness
brings them together The fashionable
tdealist is~worse, because he is his own
ideal. and there's nothing lofty to make
him even bearable.
While our friend, the poet-sculptor.,
asks, in reality, nothing but room In
the universe TO live alongside OF the
vision, the wouid-be millionaire is human
sponge and the climber rolled into ons.
and the rungS of the ladder on which
he mounts-or tries tony friends,
are you and yours. Had you thought
OF thatf