New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1916-12-03

HNHE small boy Tor HfiSchiei' mo o'u'i
sister for style; the maiden aunt for
propriety; but for all-round, bred-in-
tho homo vanity seek the man who insists he
doesn't care a snap what anybody thinks OF
him.
Which philosophical utterancc brings US
plump up to a problem that no psychologist has
succeeded in solving. Why is it that $4,000
a.vear business man is afraid TO sccost STA
week shoe sinner and inquire the direction TO
the nearest subway. cigar store or postoffice, as
the case may be?
For six hours a day he may dictate the imam
cisl destinies Of the nation and keep every de-
tail Of gigantic deals within his grasp. But
ths minute he finds himself outside the Office
in a strange neighborhood he loses all Of that
dominating personality which tells high-priced
lawyers and Al business men where they get
Of. He shrinks from asking even lettering
old apple woman what street he is walking on
Why is It, you ask me! Vanity. There you
whose nerve and force Of character have made
him q Colossus Of finance simply won't admit
10 a stranger that he doesn't know how long II
takes to walk TO the Christopher Street ferry
or where the Metropolitan Museum is.
Take the case Of certain Wall Street CAPT
tslist, whose nane is on the first pages Of the
newspapers six days Of week. Not long since
this capitalist had occasion TO make q call on
man whose Offices, in building which ',
almost as familiar to New Workers as the
Woolworth Tower, are not more than five min
utes' walk from his own. 1t just happened that
he was little bit uncertain about where tho
building he was looking for was situated. His
stcnographer, his Office boy or the elevator man
could have directed him in minute. But did
he inquire? No. He spent thirty-hve minutes
walking up one street and down the other until
Fate led him to it.
Figures bore us, but in the interests Of eff
cheney let us pursue the subject further. This
capitalist lived up to all the traditions Of Wall
Street giants mmortalized by the writers Of
business romances. He worked but four hours
for that niggardly twenty thousand per day.
Time is money when one tolls like that, and he
had wasted just about $4,000 worth, because
he was too proud to ask his way.
No doubt you smiled over your bacon and
eggs one morning not long ago when you read
about the colonel who had led his New York
troops a haf-hours march in the wrong direc
ton over burning, desert waste Of Texas
prairie. He had started for the reviewing
ground, but came Unexpectedly to fork in the
road OF two paths he chose one, without
knowing whether he was right or wrong. 1t
happened he was wrong, but the troops who
knew did not dare tell their leader Of his mis-
take. Dutifully, they walked up the road and
then marched back again because their colonel
was too vain to ask where he was going, even
when facing tie peril Of plain and fancy ban
diting just over the border.
All men are brothers under the skin when it
comes to this reticence about asking their way.
An unhyphenated American came into town
from Poughkeepse last week to spend his vaca-
ton and s25. Under his arm he carried
kodak, which represented the savings Of
lifetime in trading stamps. The New York
Guide in his pocket recommended walk across
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