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Title: Analyzing Character

Author: Katherine M. H. Blackford
Arthur Newcomb

Release date: June 1, 2004 [eBook #12649]
Most recently updated: December 15, 2020

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANALYZING
CHARACTER ***

E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Sjaani,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading

Team

HTML version prepared by Sjaani

ANALYZING
CHARACTER
THE NEW SCIENCE OF
JUDGING MEN; MISFITS IN
BUSINESS, THE HOME AND
SOCIAL LIFE

BY

KATHERINE M.H.
BLACKFORD, M.D.
AND
ARTHUR NEWCOMB
1922

CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
PART ONE--ANALYZING CHARACTER IN VOCATIONAL
GUIDANCE
CHAP.
I CAUSES OF MISFITS 17
II ELEMENTS OF FITNESS 39
III CLASSES OF MISFITS 73
IV THE PHYSICALLY FRAIL 111
V THE FAT MAN 137
VI THE MAN OF BONE AND MUSCLE 157
VII SLAVES OF MACHINERY 169
VIII THE IMPRACTICAL MAN 191
IX HUNGRY FOR FAME 223
X WASTE OF TALENT IN THE PROFESSIONS 241
XI WOMEN'S WORK 261
XII SPECIAL FORMS OF UNFITNESS 267
PART TWO--ANALYZING CHARACTER IN SELECTION OF
EMPLOYEES
I THE COST OF UNSCIENTIFIC SELECTION 291
II THE SELECTION OF EXECUTIVES 303
III THE REMEDY 331
IV RESULTS OF SCIENTIFIC EMPLOYMENT 345
V IDEAL EMPLOYMENT CONDITIONS 359
PART THREE--ANALYZING CHARACTER IN PERSUASION
I THE PSYCHOLOGY OF PERSUASION 367
II SECURING FAVORABLE ATTENTION 383
III AROUSING INTEREST AND CREATING DESIRE 391

IV INDUCING DECISION AND ACTION 401
V EFFICIENT AND SATISFACTORY SERVICE 413
PART FOUR--PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE OF CHARACTER
ANALYSIS
THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF CHARACTER
I 429
ANALYSIS
HOW TO LEARN AND APPLY THE SCIENCE OF
II 443
CHARACTER ANALYSIS
III USES OF CHARACTER ANALYSIS 453
APPENDIX
REQUIREMENTS OF THE PRINCIPAL VOCATIONS 465

ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
Fig. Fig. Page
1. Jacob A Riis 53 35. Puccini, Composer 231
Dr. Booker T.
2. 54 36. John S. Sargent, R.A. 232
Washington
3. James H. Collins 55 37. Pietro Mascagni 233
4. H.G. Wells 56 38. Richard Burton 234
5. Henry Ford 57 39. Mendelssohn, Composer 235
6. Hugo de Vries 58 40. Massenet, Composer 236
7. Dr. Henry Van Dyke 59 41. Hon. Elihu Root (Front) 253
Dr. Beverly T.
8. 60 42. Rev. Henry Ward Beecher 254
Galloway
Rufus Isaacs, Baron
9. Richard Mansfield 125 43. 255
Reading
Hon. A.L. Cutting
10. 126 44. Hon. Elihu Root (Profile) 256
(front)
Hon. A.L. Cutting
11. 127 45. Harland B. Howe 257
(profile)
Chief Justice
12. 128 46. Justice Horace H. Lurton 258
Melville Fuller
13. Frank A. Vanderlip 129 47. Prof. William H. Burr 259
14. Hon. Joseph P. Folk 130 48. Hon. John Wesley Gaines 260
Hon. Nelson W.
15. 131 49. Hon. Joseph Walker 277
Aldrich
Well-Developed
16. 132 50. Hon. Lon V. Stephens 278
Base of Brain
17. Beaumont, Aviator 149 51. Hon. Oscar Underwood 279
18. Lincoln Beachey 150 52. Hon. Victor Murdock 280

Col. George W.
19. 151 53. Robert C. Ogden 281
Goethals
Field Marshal von
20. 152 54. Prof. P.G. Holden 282
Hindenberg
Rear Admiral Frank
21. 153 55. W. Nelson Edelsten 283
E. Beatty
William Lloyd Dr. Beverly T. Galloway
22. 154 56. 284
Garrison (Profile)
23. Samuel Rea 155 57. Conical Hands 317
Hands of Mrs. Flora E.
24. Lon Wescott Beck 156 58. 317
Durand
"Sydney Williams" Hands of Financier and
25. 197 59. 318
(front) Administrator
"Sydney Williams" Hands of Engineer and
26. 198 60. 318
(profile) Expert Mechanic
Prof. Adolph von
27. 199 61. Long Fingers 318
Menzel
28. Edgar Allan Poe 200 62. Narrow Head 319
Samuel Taylor
29. 201 63. Sir Henry Fowler 320
Coleridge
30. Thomas De Quincy 202 64. Reginald D. Barry 321
Large Dome Above
31. O. Henry at 30 203 65. 322
Temples
32. Edwin Reynolds 204 66. Dr. V. Stefansson 323
33. John Masefield 229 67. Square Head 324
34. Edward De Reszke 230 68. Round Head 324

PREFACE
This work is a treatise upon the fascinating and valuable art of
analyzing human character. It makes no attempt to teach, as such,
the technical principles upon which this art is based. It is, rather, an
attempt to familiarize the reader with the most important of these by
the inductive method—by means of incidents and descriptions from
our records and from the biographies of well-known men. Some
effort has been made, also, to give the reader the benefit of the
authors' experience and observation in vocational counsel,
employment, and salesmanship.

In the preparation of this work, we have drawn copiously from our
records of individuals and firms. It should be borne in mind by the
reader that, for obvious reasons—except in one or two cases—the
details of these narratives have been so altered as to disguise the
personalities and enterprises involved, the essentials being
maintained true to the record.

New York City, January 3, 1916. THE AUTHORS.

INTRODUCTION
"There is one name," says Elbert Hubbard, "that stands out in history
like a beacon light after all these twenty-five hundred years have
passed, just because the man had the sublime genius of discovering
ability. That man is Pericles. Pericles made Athens and to-day the
very dust of the street of Athens is being sifted and searched for
relics and remnants of the things made by people who were
captained by men of ability who were discovered by Pericles."

The remark of Andrew Carnegie that he won his success because he
had the knack of picking the right men has become a classic in
current speech. Augustus Caesar built up and extended the power of
the Roman Empire because he knew men. The careers of
Charlemagne, Napoleon, Disraeli, Washington, Lincoln, and all the
empire builders and empire saviours hold their places in history
because these men knew how to recognize, how to select, and how
to develop to the highest degree the abilities of their co-workers. The
great editors, Greeley, Dana, James Gordon Bennett, McClure,
Gilder and Curtis, attained their high station in the world of letters
largely because of their ability to unearth men of genius. Morgan,
Rockefeller, Theodore N. Vail, James J. Hill, and other builders of
industrial and commercial empires laid strong their foundations by
almost infallible wisdom in the selection of lieutenants. Even in the
world of sports the names of Connie Mack, McGraw, Chance,
Moran, Carrigan and Stallings shine chiefly because of their keen
judgment of human nature.

If the glory that was Greece shone forth because Pericles kindled its
flame, then Pericles in any time and amongst any people would
probably have ushered in a Golden Age. Had Carnegie lived in any
other day and sought his industrial giants, he would no doubt have
found them. If a supreme judge of latent talent and inspirer of high
achievement can thus always find material ready to his hand, it
follows that humanity is rich in undiscovered genius—that, in the

race, there are, unguessed and undeveloped, possibilities for a
millennium of Golden Ages. Psychologists tell us that only a very
small percentage of the real ability and energy of the average man is
ever developed or used.

"Poor man!" says a reviewer, speaking of a contemporary, "he never
discovered his discoverer." The man who waits for his Pericles
usually waits in vain. There has been only one Pericles in all history.
Great geniuses in the discovery, development, and management of
men are rare. Most men never meet them. And yet every man can
discover his discoverer.

Self-knowledge is the first step to self-development. Through an
understanding of his own aptitudes and talents one may find fullest
expression for the highest possibilities of his intellect and spirit. A
man who thus knows himself needs no other discoverer. The key to
self-knowledge is intelligent, scientific self-study.

In the year 1792, Mahmoud Effendi, a Turkish archer, hit a mark with
an arrow at 482 yards. His bow, arrows, thumbring and groove are
still on exhibition in London as proof of the feat. His prowess lay in
his native gift, trained by years of practice, to guess the power of his
bow, the weight and balance of his arrow, and the range and
direction of his target; also, the sweep of the wind. This he gained by
observations repeated until the information gathered from them
amounted to almost exact knowledge. Thousands of gunners to-day
hit a mark miles away, with a 16-inch gun, not because they are
good guessers, but because, by means of science, they determine
accurately all of the factors entering into the flight of their projectiles.
Pericles judged men by a shrewd guess—the kind of guess called
intuition. But such intuition is only a native gift of keen observation,
backed by good judgment, and trained by shrewd study of large
numbers of men until it becomes instinctively accurate.

In modern times we are learning not to depend upon mere guesses
—no matter how shrewd. Mahmoud Effendi could not pass on to
others the art he had acquired. But the science of gunnery can be
taught to any man of average intelligence and natural aptitudes.

Pericles left posterity not one hint about how to judge men—how to
recognize ability. Humanity needs a scientific method of judging
men, so that any man of intelligence can discover genius—or just
native ability—in himself and others.

As the result of our ignorance, great possibilities lie undeveloped in
nearly all men. Self-expression is smothered in uncongenial toil.
Parents and teachers, groping in the dark, have long been training
natural-born artists to become mechanics, natural-born business
men to become musicians, and boys and girls with great aptitudes
for agriculture and horticulture to become college professors,
lawyers, and doctors. Splendid human talent, amounting in some
cases to positive genius, is worse than wasted as a result.

In our experience, covering years of careful investigation and the
examination of many thousands of individuals, we have seen so
much of the tragedy of the misfit that it seems at times almost
universal. The records of one thousand persons taken at random
from our files show that 763, or 76.3 per cent, felt that they were in
the wrong vocations. Of these 414 were thirty-five years old or older.
Most of these, when questioned as to why they had entered upon
vocations for which they had so little natural aptitude, stated that
they had either drifted along lines of least resistance or had been
badly advised by parents, teachers, or employers.

We knew a wealthy father, deaf to all pleas from his children, who
spent thousands of dollars upon what he thought was a musical
education for his daughter, including several years in Europe. The
young lady could not become a musician. The aptitude for music
was not in her. But she was unusually talented in mathematics and
appreciation of financial values, and could have made a marked
success had she been permitted to gratify her constantly reiterated
desire for a commercial career. This same father, with the same
obstinacy, insisted that his son go into business. The young man
was so passionately determined to make a career of music that he
was a complete failure in business and finally embezzled several
thousand dollars from his employer in the hope of making his escape

to Europe and securing a musical education. Here were two human
lives of marked talent as completely ruined and wasted as a well-
intentioned but ignorant and obstinate parent could accomplish that
end.

A few years ago a young man was brought to us by his friends for
advice. He had been educated for the law and then inherited from
his father a considerable sum of money. Having no taste for the law
and a repugnance for anything like office work, he had never even
attempted to begin practice. Having nothing to do, he was becoming
more and more dissipated, and when we saw him first had lost
confidence in himself and was utterly discouraged. "I am useless in
the world," he told us. "There is nothing I can do." At our suggestion,
he was finally encouraged to purchase land and begin the scientific
study and practice of horticulture. The last time we saw him he was
erect, ruddy, hard-muscled, and capable looking. Best of all, his old,
petulant, dissatisfied expression was gone. In its place was the light
of worthy achievement, success, and happiness. He told us there
were no finer fruit trees anywhere than his. Such incidents as this
are not rare—indeed, they are commonplace. We could recount
them from our records in great number. But every observant reader
can supply many from his own experience.

Thousands of young men and women are encouraged, every year,
to enroll in schools where they will spend time and money preparing
themselves for professions already overcrowded and for which a
large majority of them have no natural aptitudes. A prominent
physician tells us that of the forty-eight who were graduated from
medical school with him, he considers only three safe to consult
upon medical subjects. Indeed, so great is the need and so
increasingly serious is it becoming, as our industrial and commercial
life grows more complex and the demand for conservation and
efficiency more exacting, that progressive men and women in our
universities and schools and elsewhere have undertaken a study of
the vocational problem and are earnestly working toward a solution
of it in vocational bureaus, vocational schools, and other ways, all
together comprising the vocational movement.

Roger W. Babson, in his book, "The Future of the Working Classes:
Economic Facts for Employers and Wage Earners," says: "The
crowning work of an economic educational system will be vocational
guidance. One of the greatest handicaps to all classes to-day is that
90 per cent of the people have entered their present employment
blindly and by chance, irrespective of their fitness or opportunities.
Of course, the law of supply and demand is continually correcting
these errors, but this readjusting causes most of the world's
disappointments and losses. Some day the schools of the nation will
be organized into a great reporting bureau on employment
opportunities and trade conditions, directing the youths of the nation
—so far as their qualifications warrant—into lines of work which then
offer the greatest opportunity. Only by such a system will each
worker receive the greatest income possible for himself, and also the
greatest benefits possible from the labors of all, thus continually
increasing production and yet avoiding overproduction in any single
line." That the main features of the system suggested by Mr. Babson
are being made the basis of the vocational movement is one of the
most hopeful signs of the times.

Dr. George W. Jacoby, the neurologist, says: "It is scarcely too much
to say that the entire future happiness of a child depends upon the
successful bringing out of its capabilities. For upon that rests the
choice of its life work. A mistake in this choice destroys all the real
joy of living—it almost means a lost life."

Consider the stone wall against which the misfit batters his head:

He uses only his second rate, his third rate, or even less effective
mental and physical equipment. He is thus handicapped at the start
in the race against those using their best. He is like an athlete with
weak legs, but powerful arms and shoulders, trying to win a foot race
instead of a hand-over-hand rope-climbing contest.

Worse than his ineptitude, however, is the waste and atrophy of his
best powers through disuse. Thus the early settlers of the Coachela
Valley fought hunger and thirst while rivers of water ran away a few
feet below the surface of the richly fertile soil.

No wonder, then, that the misfit hates his work. And yet, his hate for
it is the real tragedy of his life.

Industry, like health, is normal. All healthy children, even men, are
active. Activity means growth and development. Inactivity means
decay and death. The man who has no useful work to do sometimes
expresses himself in wrong-doing and crime, for he has to do
something industriously to live. Even our so-called "idle rich" and
leisure classes are strenuously active in their attempts to amuse
themselves.

When, therefore, a man hates his work, when he is dissatisfied and
discontented in it, when his work arouses him to destructive thoughts
and feelings, rather than constructive, there is something wrong,
something abnormal, and the abnormality is his attempt to do work
for which he is unfitted by natural aptitudes or by training.

The man who is trying to do work for which he is unfitted feels
repressed, baffled and defeated. He may not even guess his
unfitness, but he does feel its manifold effect. He lacks interest in his
work and, therefore, that most vital factor in personal efficiency—
incentive. He cannot throw himself into his work with a whole heart.

When Thomas A. Edison is bent upon realizing one of his ideas, his
absorption in his work exemplifies Emerson's dictum: "Nothing great
was ever accomplished without enthusiasm. The way of life is
wonderful—it is by abandonment." He shuts himself away from all
interruption in his laboratory; he works for hours oblivious of
everything but his idea. Even the demands of his body for food and
sleep do not rise above the threshold of consciousness.

Edison himself says that great achievement is a result, not of genius,
but of this kind of concentration in work—and, until the mediocre
man has worked as has Edison, he cannot prove the contrary. Mr.
Edison has results to prove the value of his way of working. Even our
most expert statisticians and mathematicians would find it difficult to
calculate, accurately, the amount of material wealth this one worker
has added to humanity's store. Of the unseen but higher values in

culture, in knowledge, in the spread of civilization, and in greater joy
of living for millions of people, there are even greater riches. Other
men of the past and present, in every phase of activity, have
demonstrated that such an utter abandonment to one's tasks is the
keynote of efficiency and achievement. But such abandonment is
impossible to the man who is doing work into which he cannot throw
his best and greatest powers—which claims only his poorest and
weakest.

This man's very failure to achieve increases his unrest and
unhappiness. Walter Dill Scott, the psychologist, in his excellent
book, "Increasing Human Efficiency in Business," gives loyalty and
concentration as two of the important factors in human efficiency. But
loyalty pre-supposes the giving of a man's best. Concentration
demands interest and enthusiasm. These are products of a love of
the work to be done.

The man employed at work for which he is unfit, therefore, finds it
not a means of self-expression, but a slow form of self-destruction.
All this wretchedness of spirit reacts directly upon the efficiency of
the worker. "A successful day is likely to be a restful one," says
Professor Scott,—"an unsuccessful day an exhausting one. The man
who is greatly interested in his work and who finds delight in
overcoming the difficulties of his calling is not likely to become so
tired as the man for whom the work is a burden.

"Victory in intercollegiate athletic events depends on will power and
physical endurance. This is particularly apparent in football.
Frequently it is not the team with the greater muscular development
or speed of foot that wins the victory, but the one with the more grit
and perseverance. At the conclusion of a game players are often
unable to walk from the field and need to be carried. Occasionally
the winning team has actually worked the harder and received the
more serious injuries. Regardless of this fact, it is usually true that
the victorious team leaves the field less jaded than the conquered
team. Furthermore, the winners will report next day refreshed and

ready for further training, while the losers may require several days
to overcome the shock and exhaustion of their defeat.

"Recently I had a very hard contest at tennis. Some hours after the
game I was still too tired to do effective work. I wondered why, until I
remembered that I had been thoroughly beaten, and that, too, by an
opponent whom I felt I outclassed. I had been in the habit of playing
even harder contests and ordinarily with no discomfort—especially
when successful in winning the match.

"What I have found so apparent in physical exertion is equally true in
intellectual labor. Writing or research work which progresses
satisfactorily leaves me relatively fresh; unsuccessful efforts bring
their aftermath of weariness.

"Intellectual work which is pleasant is stimulating and does not fag
one, while intellectual work which is uninteresting or displeasing is
depressing and exhausting....

"To restore muscular and nerve cells is a very delicate process. So
wonderful is the human organism, however, that the process is
carried on perfectly without our consciousness or volition except
under abnormal conditions.

"Food and air are the first essentials of this restoration. In-directly the
perfect working of all the bodily organs contributes to the process—
especially deepened breathing, heightened pulse, and increase of
bodily volume due to the expansion of the blood vessels running just
beneath the skin.

"Here pleasure enters. Its effect on the expenditure of energy is to
make muscle and brain cells more available for consumption, and
particularly to hasten the process of restoration or recuperation.

"The deepened breathing supplies more air for the oxidation of body
wastes. The heightened pulse carries nourishment more rapidly to
the depleted tissues and relieves the tissues more rapidly from the

poisonous wastes produced by work. The body, the machine, runs
more smoothly, and few stops for repairs are made necessary.

"In addition to these specific functions, pleasure hastens all the
bodily processes which are of advantage to the organism. The
hastening may be so great that recuperation keeps pace with the
consumption consequent on efficient labor, with the result that there
is little or no exhaustion. This is, in physiological terms, the reason
why a person can do more when he 'enjoys' his work or play, and
can continue his efforts for a longer period without fatigue. The man
who enjoys his work requires less time for recreation and exercise,
for his enjoyment recharges the storage battery of energy."

But the misfit can take none of this pleasure in his work. He is
unhappy because he cannot do his best; he is wretched because he
feels that he is being defeated in the contest of life; he is miserable
because he hates the things he has to do; he can take no
satisfaction in his work because he feels that it is poorly done; and,
finally, all of his joylessness reacts upon him, decreasing his
efficiency and making him a more pitiable failure.

So this is the vicious circle:

Misfit;
Inefficient;
Unhappy;
More inefficient.

Rather is it a descending spiral, leading down to poverty, disease,
crime and death.

Now, consider the man who has found his work. To him the glorious
abandonment which is the way to achievement is possible. Such a
man does not merely exist—he lives, and lives grandly. His work
gives him joy, both in its doing and in its results. It calls out and
develops his highest and best talents. He therefore grows in power,
in wisdom, in health, in efficiency, and in success. All his life runs in
an ascending spiral. No task appalls him. No difficulty daunts him.

He may work hard—terribly hard. He may tunnel through mountains
of drudgery. He will shun the easy ways and leave the soft jobs to
weaker men. But through it all there will be a song in his heart.

Work to such a man is as natural an expression as hunger, or love,
or pleasure, or laughter. He returns to it with zest and eagerness.
Such a man's work flows out from his soul. It is an expression of the
divine in him.

The almost universal cry for leisure is due to the almost universal
unfitness of men and women for their tasks. The wise man knows
that there is no happiness in leisure. The only happiness is self-
expression in useful work. And so we come again to the problem of
fitting the man to his work. Every man is a bundle of possibilities.
Every man has a right to usefulness, prosperity and happiness.
These are possible only through knowledge of self, knowledge of
others, knowledge of work, and the ability to make the right
combination of self and others and work.

Man has learned much about the material universe. Nearly
everything has been analyzed and classified. Man weighs,
measures, tests, and in others ways scrupulously determines the
fitness of every bit of material that goes into a machine before it is
built. There are scientific ways of selecting cattle, horses, and even
hogs for particular purposes. Purchasing departments of great
commercial and industrial institutions maintain laboratories for the
determination, with mathematical exactitude, of the qualifications and
fitness to requirements of all kinds of materials, tools and equipment.
And yet, when it comes to the choice of his own life work, the
guidance of his children in their vocations, or the selection of
employees and co-workers, the average man decides the entire
matter by almost any other consideration than scientifically
determined fitness. He takes counsel with personal prejudices, with
customs and traditions, with pride, or with fear—or he leaves the
decision to mere guess-work, or even chance.

It is time, therefore, that man should learn about himself and others,
and especially about those things which are vital to even a moderate

enjoyment of the good things of life.

Two diametrically opposite states of mind have been responsible for
this lack of careful study of the aptitudes, characteristics, and
qualifications of man and the ways of determining them in advance
of actual performance. The first of these has been characterized by
loose thinking, unscientific methods, arbitrary and complicated
systems—- such as palmistry, astrology, physiognomy, phrenology,
and others of the same ilk. In these systems, some truth, patiently
learned by sincere and able workers, has been befogged and
contaminated by hasty conclusions of the incompetent and clever
lies of charlatans. Thus the whole subject has fallen into disrepute
with intelligent people. Ever since the earliest days of recorded
history there have been attempts at character reading. Many
different avenues of approach to the subject have been opened;
some by sincere and earnest men of scientific minds and scholarly
attainments; some by sincere and earnest but unscientific laymen;
and some by mountebanks and charlatans. As the result of all this
study, research and empiricism, a great mass of alleged facts about
physical characteristics has been accumulated. When we began our
research seventeen years ago, we found a very considerable library
covering every phase of character interpretation, both scientific and
unscientific. A great deal has been added since that time. 'Much of
this literature is pseudo-scientific, and some of it is pure quackery.

The second state of mind is a reaction from the first. Some men of
science are timid about accepting or stating anything in regard to
character analysis. They demand more than conclusive proof; what
they insist upon is mathematical accuracy. Until a man can be
analyzed in such a way as to leave nothing to common sense or
good judgment, they hesitate to acknowledge that he can be
analyzed at all. But in the very nature of the case, the science of
character analysis cannot be a science in the same sense in which
chemistry and mathematics are sciences. So far our studies and
experiences do not lead us to expect that it ever can become
absolute and exact. Human nature is complicated by too many
variables and obscured by too much that is elusive and intangible.

We cannot put a man on the scales and determine that he has so
many milligrams of common sense, or apply the micrometer to him
and say that he has so many millimetres of financial ability. Human
traits and human values are relative and can be determined and
stated only relatively. We shall, therefore, waste both time and
human values if we wait until our knowledge is mathematically exact
before we make it useful to ourselves and to others.

The sciences of medicine, agriculture, chemistry and physics are not
yet exact. They are in a state of development. We have, however,
the good sense to apply them so far as we know them, and to accept
new discoveries, new methods, and new ways of applying them, as
they come to us. And so, in the study of ourselves, let us throw aside
traditions; let us forget the mountebanks and charlatans of the past;
let us not wait for the final work of the mathematician; but, with plain
common sense, let us apply such knowledge as we have at hand.
This knowledge should be the result of careful observation, of a
careful and prolonged study of all that science has discovered in
regard to man, his origin, his development, his history, his body, and
his mind. Every conclusion reached should be verified, not in
hundreds, but in thousands of cases, before it is finally accepted.

The perfection of such a science requires the united efforts of many
investigators, experimenters, and practical workers, such as
teachers, employers, social workers, parents, and men and women
everywhere, each in his own way and in the solution of his own
problems. Were a uniform method adopted and made a part of the
vocational work of our social settlements, our public schools, our
colleges and universities, and other institutions, also by private
individuals in selecting their own vocations; were uniform records to
be made and every subject analyzed followed up, and his career
studied, we should, in one generation, have data from which any
intelligent, analytical mind could formulate a science of human
analysis very nearly approaching exactitude.

As a result of the application of such a uniform method, the
principles of human analysis would rapidly become a matter of

common knowledge and could be taught in our schools just as we
to-day teach the principles of chemical, botanical, or zoological
analysis. In the industries, the scientific selection, assignment and
management of men have yielded increases in efficiency from one
hundred to one thousand per cent. The majority of people that were
dealt with were mature, with more or less fixity of character and
habits. Many of them were handicapped by iron-clad limitations and
restrictions in their affairs and in their environments. What results
may be possible when these methods, improved and developed by a
wider use, are applied to young people, with their plastic minds and
wonderful latent possibilities, we cannot even venture to forecast.

While we are accustomed to thinking of unfitness for our tasks as the
one form of maladjustment due to our ignorance of human nature in
general and individual traits in particular, there are other forms
which, in their own way, cause much trouble and the remedying of
which leads to desirable results. These are many and varied, but
may be grouped, perhaps, most conveniently under two or three
general headings.

First, there is the relationship between employers and employees.
The disturbances and inharmony which mark this relationship, and
have marked it throughout human history, are due as much,
perhaps, to misunderstanding of human nature as to any one other
cause. When employers select men unfitted for their tasks, assign
them to work in environments where they are handicapped from the
start, and associate them together and with executives in
combinations which are inherently inharmonious, it is inevitable that
trouble should follow.

The larger aspects of the employment problem are treated in the
second part of this book. Inasmuch, however, as the subject has
been more fully discussed in another volume,[1] no attempt is made
to go into details.

Adjustment to environment means very largely the ability
successfully to associate with, cooperate with, and secure one's way
among one's fellow men. In order to be successful in life, we must

first live on terms of mutual cooperation with our parents; second,
secure the best instruction possible from our teachers; third, make
social progress; fourth, secure gainful employment, either from one
employer, as in the case of the laborer and the executive, or from
several, as in the cases of professional men. Having secured
employment, our progress depends upon our ability to attain
promotion, to increase our business or our practice, to add to our
patrons. Salesmen must sell more, and more advantageously.
Attorneys must convince judges and juries, as well as obtain desired
testimony from witnesses. Preachers and other public speakers of all
classes must entertain, interest, arouse, and convince their
audiences. Writers must each appeal successfully to his particular
public as well as to his publisher. Engineers must establish and
sustain successful relationship with clients, employers, and
employees.

In the third part of this book, therefore, we deal more or less at
length with the psychological processes of persuasion and their
application in various forms and to the varied personalities of those
whom we wish to persuade.

Finally, in the fourth part, we devote three chapters to a
consideration of the Science of Character Analysis by the
Observational Method, the principles of which underlie all of the
observations and suggestions appearing in the first three parts.

In presenting the material in this volume, our aim has been not to
propound a theory, but merely to make practical, for the use of our
readers, so far as possible, the results of our own experiences in this
field.

[1]The Job, The Man, The Boss, by Katherine M.H. Blackford, M.D.,
and Arthur Newcomb.

PART ONE
ANALYZING CHARACTER IN VOCATIONAL GUIDANCE

Analyzing Character

CHAPTER I
CAUSES OF MISFITS

"Blessed is the man who has found his work."—Carlyle.

Only the rarest kind of soul has a clear call to his vocation. Still rarer
is he who, knowing his work, can create circumstances which will
permit him to do it. Of the thousands of young people who have
sought us for counsel, only a very small percentage have had even a
vague idea of what they are fitted to do, or even what they wished to
do. Strange to say, this lack of definite knowledge as to vocation
holds true of those who have just graduated from college or
university. Many a college graduate has said to us: "Why, I shall
teach for a few years until I have fully made up my mind just what I
wish to do. Then I shall take my post-graduate course in preparation
for my life work." Even so late a decision as this often proves
unsatisfactory.

IGNORANCE AND PURPOSELESSNESS

The causes for uncertainty as to work are many and varied. And yet
all the many causes can be traced to two fundamental deficiencies in
human nature which are but poorly supplied in our traditional
systems of training and education. The first of these is, of course,
ignorance—ignorance of self, ignorance of work, ignorance on the
part of parents, teachers, and other advisors; ignorance on the part
of employers. As a race, we do not know human nature; we do not
know how to determine, in advance of actual, painful and costly
experience, the aptitudes of any individual. We blunder a good deal
even in trying to learn from experience. We do not know work; we do
not know its requirements, its conditions, its opportunities, its
emoluments. And so, in our ignorance, we go astray; we lead others
astray. We neglect important and vital factors in human success and
happiness because we do not know how important and how vital

they are. Our ignorance of their importance is due to our ignorance
of human nature and of work.

A second cause for our uncertainty lies in the almost universal
human habit of purposelessness. Drifting, not steering, is the way of
nearly all lives. It is hard mental work to plan, to consider, to study, to
analyze; in short, to think. Someone has said that the average man
would rather lie down and die than to take the trouble really to think.
It is easier to await the knock of opportunity than to study her ways
and then go out and capture her. She treads paths which may be
known. She has a schedule which may be learned. She may thus be
met as certainly as by appointment. Those who await her knock at
the door may be far from where she passes.

We in America, especially, place altogether too high a value on our
ingeniousness, our resourcefulness. We therefore put off the evil
day. We say to ourselves: "There is plenty of time. I'll manage
somehow or other when the time comes for action." We are rather
proud of our ability to meet emergencies. So we do not plan and take
precautions, that emergencies may not arise. It is too easy to drift
through school and college, taking the traditional, conventional
studies that others take, following the lines of least resistance,
electing "snap courses," going with the crowd. It is too easy to take
the attitude: "First I will get my education and develop myself, and
then I will know better what I am fitted to do for a life work." And so
we drift, driven by the winds of circumstance, tossed about by the
waves of tradition and custom. Eventually, most men find they must
be satisfied with "any port in a storm." Sailors who select a port
because they are driven to it have scarcely one chance in a
thousand of dropping anchor in the right one.

In our ignorance, we do not know how fatal to success and
happiness is this lack of purpose. We fail to impress it upon our
youth. And, when one demands chart and compass, we cannot
supply them. No wonder belief in luck, fate, stars, or a meddling,
unreasonable Providence is almost universal!

Ignorance and lack of definite purpose, the two prime causes of
misfits, have many different ways of bungling people into the wrong
job and keeping them there.

IMMATURE JUDGMENT

The first of these is immaturity of judgment on the part of young
people. There is a popular fallacy that the thing which a young man
or a young woman wants most to do must be the thing for which he
or she is preeminently fitted. "Let him follow his bent," say some
advisors, "and he will find his niche." This does not happen often.
The average young man is immature. His tastes are not formed. He
is undeveloped. His very best talents may have never been
discovered by himself or others. It is well known to those who study
children that a boy's earliest ambitions are to do something he thinks
spectacular and romantic. Boys long to be cab drivers, locomotive
engineers, policemen, cowboys, soldiers and aviators.

A little nephew of ours said he wanted to be a ditch-digger. Asked
why, he said: "So I can wear dirty clothes, smoke a pipe, and spit
tobacco juice in the street." The little fellow is really endowed with an
inheritance of great natural refinement and a splendid intellect. As he
grows older, his ideals will change and he will discover there is much
to ditch-digging besides wearing dirty clothes, smoking a pipe, and
expectorating on the public highways. He will also learn that there
are things in life far more desirable than these glorious privileges. Of
course, these are mere boyish exuberances, and most people do not
take them seriously. On the other hand, they illustrate the unwisdom
of trusting to the unguided preferences of a youthful mind. The
average young man of twenty is only a little more mature than a boy
of ten. He still lacks experience and balance.

Those of us who have passed the two-score mark well know how
tastes change, judgments grow more mature, ideas develop, and
experience softens, ripens or hardens sentiment as the years go by.
It is unquestionably true that if children were given full opportunity to
develop their tastes and to express themselves in various ways and
then given freedom of choice of their vocations, they would choose

more wisely than they do under ignorant, prejudiced, or mistaken
judgments of parent or teacher. Yet the tragedy of thousands of lives
shows how unscientific it is to leave the choice of vocation to the
unguided instincts of an immature mind.

INFLUENCE OF ASSOCIATION

Boys and girls often choose their careers because some popular
friend or associate exerts an undue influence upon them. George is
going to be a doctor. Therefore Joseph decides he, too, will be a
doctor. Mary looks forward to being a teacher. Mary is the very
intimate chum of Josephine. Then Josephine decides, also, that she
is going to be a teacher. We knew one earnest and popular young
man in college who persuaded about three dozen of his associates
to join him in preparation for the foreign mission field. In one class in
college a fad caused several young men to lose good opportunities
because they decided to take up the practice of medicine. In one
high school class, several young men became railroad employees
because the most popular of their number yearned to drive a
locomotive. And this enterprising youth, with parental guidance and
assistance, became a lawyer.

POOR JUDGMENT OF PARENTS

Parental bad judgment is one of the most frequent causes of misfits.
Even when parents are sincere and try to be wise, choice of a child's
life work is very difficult for them. In the first place, they either
underestimate or overestimate their children. What parent, worthy of
the high privilege, can be absolutely impartial in judging the talents of
his child? Arthur Brisbane says that Nature makes every baby look
like a genius in his mother's eyes, so that she will gladly sacrifice her
life, if necessary, for her child. It may be a wise provision, but it does
not tend to make parents reliable guides to vocations for their
offspring.

Then, many parents do not know work. They do not understand the
demands of the different professions. Their point of view is narrowed
by their own experiences, which have been, perhaps too harsh,

perhaps too easy. Many parents have a narrow, selfish, rather
jealous feeling that their children cannot be any more intelligent than
they are. "The old farm was good enough for me; it is good enough
for my son"; "the old business was good enough for me; it is good
enough for my son." This is the attitude. This is why many parents
either refuse their children the advantages of an education and insist
upon their going to work at an early age, or compel them to take a
hated schooling.

On the other hand, there are parents who consider their children
prodigies, geniuses, intended to occupy some great and magnificent
position in the world. Most frequently they hold their judgment
entirely apart from any real talents on the part of the child. Few
human woes are more bitter than the disappointment and heartache
of both parent and son when a young man who might have been a
successful and happy farmer or merchant fails utterly as an artist or
writer.

Parents often persuade their children to enter vocations upon the
flimsiest possible pretexts. Almost every child takes a pencil and tries
to draw, yet there are many parents who spend thousands of dollars
in trying to make great artists of children who have only the most
mediocre artistic ability. Mere purposeless drawing of faces and
figures is an entirely different thing from the drudgery necessary to
become a great artist. The mere writing of little essays and
compositions is quite a different thing from the long, hard training
necessary to become a writer of any acceptability. Merely because a
child finds it easier to dawdle away the hours with a pencil or a brush
than to go into the harvest field or into the kitchen is not a good
reason for supposing that this preference is an indication of either
talent or genius.

A parent's judgment of the requirements of a profession is oftentimes
most amusingly erroneous. We remember a father who told us that
he was quite certain that his son was born to be a ruler of men.
When we asked why, he told us in all seriousness that from early
childhood his boy's blood boiled with indignation against people who

had committed indignities upon kings and princes. Of course, in one
sense of the word, this parent was insane, and yet his bad judgment
was scarcely more ridiculous than that of many other parents. We
have met parents who seemed to think that success in the practice
of law depended wholly upon the ability to make speeches. We have
seen other parents who thought that success in banking depended
upon the ability to count money and hold on to it. Even intelligent
people have the false idea that an architect needs only to be a good
draughtsman. The number of people who imagine that success in
business is won by shrewdness and sharp practice is very large.

PARENTAL PREJUDICES

Parents are often influenced by the most irrelevant of prejudices in
counseling their children as to vocation. A man who has had an
unfortunate experience with a lawyer is very likely to oppose
strenuously any move on the part of his son to study and practice
law. Many practical men have intense prejudices against art, music,
literature, and other such professions for their sons. The number of
parents who are prejudiced against a college education is legion. On
the other hand, there are a goodly number of men who are
prejudiced against any vocation for their sons which does not involve
a college education.

Many parents who have worked hard and toiled unremittingly at any
particular profession oftentimes feel that they want their children to
do something easier, something requiring less drudgery, and so
bitterly oppose their following in their fathers' footsteps. On the other
hand, many fathers are domineering in their determination that their
sons shall follow the same vocation in which they made their
success.

Parents are often prejudiced in favor of vocations followed by dear
friends or by men whom they greatly admire. A successful lawyer,
preacher, engineer, or business man will influence the choice of
vocations for the children of many of his admiring friends and
acquaintances.

Multitudes of parents have foolish prejudices against any kind of
work which soils the hands or clothing—even against the dinner-pail.
On the other hand, hard-fisted parents may have prejudices against
any vocation which keeps the hands soft and white, and the clothing
clean and fine.

Thus, in many ways do the prejudices of parents, based upon
ignorance, work tragedy in the lives of children. Either through a
sense of duty and loyalty or because they have not sufficient solid
masonry in their backbones, children follow the wishes of their
parents and many all but ruin their lives as a result.

"THE LEARNED PROFESSIONS"

One of the most disastrous prejudices upon the part of parents is
that in favor of what are called "the learned professions." To make a
lawyer, a physician, or a minister of one's son is held to be the
highest ambition on the part of large numbers of otherwise intelligent
fathers and mothers. The result of this kind of prejudice on the part
of so many parents is that the so-called learned professions are
over-crowded—and overcrowded with men and women unfitted for
their tasks, both by natural inheritance and by education and
training. There follows mediocre Work, poor service, low pay,
poverty, disease, and misery.

FAMILY TRADITIONS

There are traditions in some families which carry their curse along
with them down through the generations. There are families of
preachers, families of soldiers, families of lawyers, families of
physicians, families of teachers. Many a young man who would have
otherwise been a success in the world has toiled along at a poor,
dying rate, trying to live up to the family tradition and make a
success of himself as a teacher, or lawyer, when he ought to have
been a mechanic, an actor, or a banker.

Another form of parental prejudice is a father's desire to have his son
become a success in the vocation which he himself longed to enter,

but could not. "My father is a successful business man," said a
young man to us not long ago. "When he was a young man he
wanted to enter law school and practice law, but because of lack of
funds and because he had to support his widowed mother's family,
he did not have the opportunity. All his life he has regretted that he
was unable to realize his ambition. From my earliest years he has
talked to me about becoming a great lawyer; he spent thousands of
dollars in sending me through high school, college and law school;
he has given me years of post-graduate work in law. I have now
been trying to practice law for two years and have made a complete
failure of it. Yet, so intense is his desire that I shall realize his
ambition, that he is willing to finance me, in the hope that, eventually,
I may be able to succeed in the practice of law. And yet I hate it. I
hate it so that it seems to me I cannot drive myself ever to enter a
law office for another day."

POOR JUDGMENT OF TEACHERS

When bad judgment and prejudice of parents do not interfere with a
child's development and his selection of a vocation, he is often
turned into wrong channels by the bad judgment of his teacher or
teachers. It is natural for many teachers to try to influence their
favorite pupils to enter the teaching profession in the same special
branch to which the teachers themselves are attached. We once
knew a professor of Latin who was an enthusiast on the subject. As
the result of his influence, many of his students became teachers of
Latin. Teachers, like parents, also frequently fail to see the
indications of aptitude where it is very great.

Like parents, teachers also are oftentimes ignorant of the
requirements of work. They are frequently narrow in their training
and experience, and therefore do not understand much about
practical life, practical work, and practical requirements. Many
teachers, even college professors, seem to be obsessed with the
idea that a student who learns a subject easily will be successful in
making a practical application of it. Not long ago a student in
engineering in one of our most prominent universities came to us for

consultation. He told us that his professors all agreed that he was
well fitted to succeed as an engineer. He, however, had no liking for
the profession and did not believe that he would either enjoy it or be
successful in it. Our observations confirmed his opinions. It turned
out that his instructors thought him qualified for engineering merely
from the fact that he learned easily the theoretical principles
underlying the practice.

ECONOMIC NECESSITY

Perhaps one of the most potent causes of misfits in vocation is
economic necessity. The time comes in the life of most boys when
they must earn their own living or, perhaps, help support the parental
family. In such a case, a search is made for a job. Local conditions,
friendship, associations, chance vacancies—almost any
consideration but that of personal fitness governs in the choice of the
job. Once a boy is in a vocation, he is more than likely to remain in it
—or, because of unfitness, to drift aimlessly into another, for which
he is even less adapted. An entertaining writer in the "Saturday
Evening Post" has shown how the boy who accidentally enters upon
his career as a day laborer soon finds it impossible to graduate into
the ranks of skilled labor. He remains not only a day laborer, but an
occasional laborer, his periods of work interspersed with longer and
longer periods of unemployment. Unemployment means bad food,
unwholesome sanitary conditions and, worst of all, bad mental and
moral states. These are followed by disease, incompetency,
inefficiency, weakness, and, in time, the man becomes one of the
unemployed and unemployable wrecks of humanity. Crime then
becomes practically the only avenue of escape from starvation or
pauperism.

Thousands of young men taking a job, no matter how they may
dislike the work, feel compelled to remain in it because it is their one
hope of income. The longer they remain in it the harder it is for them
to make a change. Sad, indeed, is the case of the boy or girl who is
compelled, in order to make a living or to help support father, mother,
brothers and sisters, to drop into the first vacancy which offers itself.

RESTLESSNESS

The restlessness of many a boy and girl results in his or her choice
of an utterly wrong vocation. Boys whose parents would be glad to
see them through college or technical school cannot wait to begin
their careers. Impatient and restless, they undertake the work which
will yield quick results rather than develop their real talents or seek
opportunities for advancement of which they are by nature capable.
Over and over again those who come to us for consultation say:
"Father would have been willing to have put me through school, but I
couldn't wait; I simply had to get out and have my own way. I have
never ceased to regret it. Now I have to work hard with my hands;
with a proper education, and in my right job, I could have used my
head." The reader has doubtless heard many such stories from
friends and acquaintances. The world is full of misfits who failed of
their great opportunity because they were too restless, too impatient,
to make proper preparations for their life work. This restlessness,
unfortunately, is a characteristic of many of the most energetic, most
capable, and most intelligent young people, to whom an education
would be worth much, to whom proper training and preparation
would bring unusual self-development. It is, therefore, of the highest
importance that the young man or young woman and his or her
parents or guardian should be especially cautious when there is this
feeling of intense eagerness to begin work.

VERSATILITY

Perhaps one of the most difficult causes of misfits to overcome is
versatility. He who can do many things well seems always to have
great difficulty in fixing upon any one thing and doing that supremely
well. The versatile man is usually fond of variety, changeable, fickle;
he loves to have many irons in the fire; he likes to turn from one kind
of work to another. It is his great failing that he seldom sticks at any
one thing long enough to make a marked success of it. Because of
his great versatility, too, he is often a serious problem, even for those
who can study his case scientifically. It is difficult to give him counsel
and it is even more difficult for him to give heed to that counsel when

it has been given. The one hope of the exceedingly versatile
individual is to find for himself some vocation which has within it an
opportunity for the exercise of many different kinds of talents, and for
turning quickly from one kind of work to another. Routine, monotony,
detail work, and work which is confining in its character and presents
a continual sameness of environment, should be avoided by this
type of individual.

MEDIOCRITY AND UNGUESSED TALENTS

The inability to do any one thing particularly well is, in its way, as
serious a handicap in the selection of a vocation as great versatility.
One who can do nothing well finds it just as hard to decide upon a
vocation as one who can do everything well. Perhaps the large
majority of those who come to us for consultation do so because
they feel that they have no particular talent. Oftentimes this is the
case. But frequently there are undeniable talents which have simply
never been discovered and never developed. Even in the case of
those with no particular talent, there is always some combination of
aptitudes, characteristics, disposition, and other circumstances
which makes one particular vocation far more desirable than any
other. It is most important that the individual with only a moderate
inheritance of intelligence and ability should learn to invest his little in
the most profitable manner possible.

Those who escape wrong choice of vocation on account of their own
bad judgment and errors in selection; who are not turned aside into
the wrong path by the bad judgment, prejudices, and other errors of
parents; who escape from the clutches of sincere and well-meaning,
but unwise, teachers; who are not thrown into the nearest possible
vacancies by economic necessity; who do not fall short of their full
opportunities because of restlessness; who do not have their
problems complicated by too great versatility or too little ability, still
have many a rock and shoal to avoid.

BLUNDERS OF EMPLOYERS

One very frequent cause of misfits in vocation is the bad judgment of
employers. This bad judgment, like that of parents and teachers,
arises from ignorance—ignorance of human nature, of the particular
individual, and, strange to say, of the requirements of the work to be
done. Whole volumes could be written on the bad judgment of
employers in selecting, assigning, and handling their employees.
This, however, is not the place for them. Neither is this the place for
the discussion of the remedies to be applied.

Even after the young man has entered a vocation and found that he
does not fit in it, there is plenty of opportunity for him to make a
change if he is made of the right stuff and can secure the right kind
of counsel and guidance. But this "IF" is a tremendously big one.

Many causes—both inside and outside of himself—tend to prevent
the average man from changing from a vocation for which he is not
fit to one in which he is fit. Perhaps a brief consideration of some of
these factors in the problem may be of assistance to you.

SOCIAL AMBITION

One reason for continuing in the wrong vocation is social ambition.
Rightly or wrongly—probably wrongly—there are certain vocations
which entitle one to social recognition. There are others which seem,
at least, to make it difficult for one to secure social recognition.
Social ambition, therefore, causes many a man to cling desperately
to the outskirts of some profession for which he is unfitted, in the
everlasting hope of making a success of it and thus winning the
social recognition which is his supreme desire.

Poor, short-sighted, and even blind, victims of their own folly!

They do not see that any work which is human service is honorable.
They miss the big truth that the man who delivers better goods or
renders better service than other men is not only entitled to profit, but
also has, by divine right, unassailable social standing.

LAZINESS

One of the most potent causes of failure is laziness. And the worst
form of the malady is mental laziness. Once a man is in any line of
work, he simply remains there by following the lines of least
resistance. It requires, in the first place, hard mental effort to decide
upon a new line of work. It requires analysis of work, analysis of
one's self, of conditions, and of environment, in order to make an
intelligent and worthy change. Not only this, but an advantageous
change in vocation usually involves additional study, additional
training, hard, grinding work in preparation for the new task. And it is
altogether too easy for the lazy man to drift along, mediocre and
obscure, in some vocation for which he is poorly fitted than to go
through the grueling, hard work of preparing himself for one in which
he will find an opportunity for the use and development of his highest
and best talents.

LACK OF OPPORTUNITY

Many men do not change their vocations, when they find that they
are misfits, because of lack of opportunity. There may be no real
chance for them in the locality where they live and conditions may
make it almost impossible for them to leave. Of course, the strong,
courageous soul can make its own opportunities. Theoretically,
perhaps, everyone can create circumstances. But, in real life, there
are comparatively few strong, courageous souls—few who can
mould conditions to their will. Probably, however, the average man
could do much more than he does to improve his opportunities were
it not for inertia, lack of self-confidence, and lack of courage, all of
which he could overcome if he would.

It is oftentimes the case that the man who desires to make a change
feels that the only work which would appeal to him is in a profession
or trade already overcrowded. This may be true in the locality where
he lives, but there is always room for every competent man in any
truly useful kind of work. For the man who is well qualified, by natural
aptitudes and training, no profession is overcrowded.

LACK OF EDUCATION AND TRAINING

Many men of intelligence, who, perhaps, know what their calling
should be, are compelled to continue in work which is uncongenial
and for which they are poorly fitted because of their lack of education
and training. Hundreds of men and women come to us, only to find
that they have started in the wrong work and have remained in it so
long that a change to their true vocation is practically impossible.
They have assumed responsibilities which they cannot shirk. The
education and training needed would take too long and would cost
too much. Yet many have toiled away at night and in odd moments
on correspondence courses or in night schools, and have thus,
finally, won their way to their rightful places in the work of the world.
But at what a cost!

It is of the highest importance that every individual should learn as
early as possible in life what career he is best fitted to undertake.
Every year spent in mistaken preparation or uncongenial
employment makes proper training more expensive and more
difficult. There are many arts which, perhaps, cannot be learned
properly after one has reached maturity. It is said that no one has
ever become a great violinist who did not begin his study of the
instrument before the age of twelve. However that may be,
psychologists and anatomists agree in informing us that the brain of
a human being is exceedingly plastic in childhood, and that it
gradually grows more and more impervious to impressions and
changes as the individual matures. Sad, indeed, is the case,
therefore, of the individual who waits to learn what his vocational
fitness is until he is fully mature and is, perhaps, loaded up with the
cares and responsibilities of a family, and cannot take either the time
or the money to secure an education which his natural aptitude and
his opportunities demand.

DEFICIENT SELF-CONFIDENCE

Many men remain in uncongenial occupations because they lack
confidence in themselves. This is distressingly common. Everywhere
we find men and women occupying humble positions, doing some
obscure work, perhaps actually frittering away their time upon trifles

and mere details, doing something which does not require accuracy,
care, responsibility, or talent, merely for fear they may not be able to
succeed in a career for which they are eminently fitted.

On one occasion a young man of the most undoubted dramatic
talent and oratorical ability sought us for counsel. "I have always
felt," he said, "a strong inner urge, sometimes almost irresistible, to
go upon the platform or the stage. But, because I have lacked
confidence in myself, I have always, at the last moment, drawn back.
The result is that to-day I am dissatisfied and unhappy in the work I
am doing. I do it poorly. I long constantly for an opportunity to
express myself in public. Years are going by, I have not developed
my talent as I should, and I am beginning to feel that my case is
hopeless." This lack of self-confidence is more common by far than
many people would imagine. Arthur Frederick Sheldon has said:
"Most men accomplish too little because they attempt too little." Our
observations incline us to believe that this is the truth. Taking
humanity as a whole, far more men fail because they try to do too
little than because they try to do too much. Humanity is a great mine
of undiscovered and undeveloped talents. It follows that we fall far
short of our best because we do not expect and demand enough of
ourselves.

CONSERVATISM

A man came to us for consultation in regard to his vocation. Just why
he had come, it afterward turned out, it was hard to see. Perhaps he
only wanted to settle matters in his own mind without taking definite
action upon them. He was engaged in mercantile business, a
business left to him by his father. He hated it. After a careful analysis,
we informed him that he had undoubted scientific talents, and that,
with training, he could make a name for himself in research and
discovery. He was overjoyed at this information, but he manifested
no disposition to change his vocation. He said: "Much as I dislike the
mercantile business, I hate to change. A change will mean selling
out, upsetting my whole mode of life and activity, removing into a
different community, beginning a new life in many of its phases. I

cannot look forward to such a complete revolution with any degree of
pleasure, so I guess I will have to keep along in the old store, much
as I would like to devote the rest of my life to test-tubes, crucibles,
and scales."

There are many such men. Change is more hateful to them than
unloved work. They fall into grooves and ruts. They would rather
continue in their well-worn ways than to go through the mental
anguish of breaking old ties, remaking methods of life and work,
moving away from friends and relatives, and otherwise changing
environment, conditions, and employment.

LACK OF COURAGE

Many men have self-confidence and yet lack courage. That may
seem to be a paradoxical statement, but if the reader will study
carefully some of the men he knows, he will understand that this is
the truth. Men may have plenty of confidence in themselves, but they
may lack the courage to face difficulties, to overcome obstacles, to
meet hard conditions, to pass through disagreeable experiences.
Such are the men who lack the initiative, the push, the
aggressiveness, to do as well as they know how, to do as much as
they can, to undertake the high achievement for which they have the
ability. The cases of such men would be hopeless were it not for the
fact that some powerful incentive, like an emergency or necessity,
some tremendous enthusiasm, some strong determination, some
deep conviction, urges them on to the expression of the fulness of
their powers. Lacking even any of these, it is possible for the man
who lacks courage to develop it.

Courage is developed by doing courageous acts. The man who feels
that he lacks courage, who knows that he needs to forget his fears
and his anxieties, has half won his battle. Knowing his deficiencies,
he can by the very power of his will compel himself to courageous
words and acts, thus increasing and developing his courage and, as
a result, his efficiency.

LACK OF AMBITION

Finally, people do not undertake work in their proper vocations
because of a lack of ambition. This is, indeed, a fundamental
deficiency. Perhaps it underlies many of those we have already
described. Certain it is that we usually obtain what we most earnestly
and ardently desire. Someone has said that when a man knows
definitely and in detail just exactly what he desires, he is halfway
toward attainment. Now, a man does not know definitely and in detail
what he wants unless he wants it so intensely that it is always in his
mind; he thinks about it, dreams of it, and paints mental pictures of
himself enjoying it; perhaps spends hours in working out the detail of
it. When a man has an ambition which drives him on to this kind of
mental exercise, he usually has one which overcomes his inertia,
burns out his laziness, triumphs over his lack of confidence in
himself, urges him out of grooves and ruts, and enables him to
overcome deficiencies in education and training, is an incentive to
him for the creating of opportunities where none exist, gives him
courage for anything, and kindles ever afresh his enthusiasm and
determination. There is no obstacle so great that it will not dissolve
and vanish away into thin air in the heat of such an overwhelming
desire and ambition as this.

We need to remind ourselves, however, that even the most ardent
ambition goes astray unless it is guided by accurate knowledge.
Many a man has attacked his problem with great courage and high
ambition, only to meet defeat because, through lack of knowledge,
he has chosen a career for which he was unfitted.

These, then, are some of the reasons people go into and remain in
vocations where they do not fit. They are the reasons, also, why so
many men are failures or near-failures. Any man is a failure in just
the degree in which he falls short of developing and using his best
and highest talents and powers.

William James, the psychologist, has said that most men use only a
very small percentage of their real abilities. Harrington Emerson,
efficiency engineer, says that the average man is only twenty-five per
cent efficient and that his inefficiency is due to unfitness for the work

he is trying to do. Students of economics say that only ten per cent
of all men are truly successful. In this chapter we have presented
many of the reasons for the misfit and failure. Some of them are
chargeable to parents, teachers, and employers. But the most
serious belong rightfully at the door of the individual himself. "The
fault, dear Brutus," says Cassius, "is not in our stars, but in
ourselves, that we are underlings."

It is highly desirable that parents, teachers, and other guides and
advisors of the young should fully inform themselves about human
nature and about work. They ought to rid their minds of prejudice
and thus free themselves from unwise tradition and useless
conventionality. Above all, they need to arouse themselves to the
vital importance of ideals—of a clear, definite purpose, based upon
accurate knowledge and sound judgment—in other words, upon
common sense. This is the vocational problem.

FACTORS OF THE VOCATIONAL PROBLEM

The vocational problem consists, first, of the need of accurate
vocational analysis; second, of the need of wise vocational counsel;
third, of the need of adequate vocational training; fourth, of the need
of correct vocational placement.

It is obvious that the vocational problem cannot be adequately
solved by dealing with pupils or clients in groups or classes. It is a
definite, specific, and individual problem. Group study is interesting
and instructive, but, alone, does not give sufficient knowledge of
individual peculiarities and aptitudes. It is obvious from the foregoing
analysis of the vocational problem that it is practically identical at all
points with the problem of scientific employment. Just as the highest
efficiency of the employment department depends upon accurate
analysis of the job and of the man, so the highest usefulness of the
vocational bureau or vocational counsellor depends upon complete
and exact knowledge of the requirements in different lines of
endeavor, and the ability to analyze human nature accurately. It is
obvious that wise counsel cannot be given, adequate training cannot

be prescribed, and correct placement is impossible until these
analyses have been properly made.

The child or adult of unusual ability, with well-marked inclinations and
strong in the fundamentals of character, is never difficult to analyze,
counsel, train, or place. If given an opportunity to gain knowledge,
and freedom in the exercise of choice, he will almost surely gravitate
into his natural line of work. He is not the real problem of the
vocational expert. But the vast majority of children are average, or
even mediocre. They show little inclination toward any study or any
work. They have weaknesses of character that will inevitably
handicap them, no matter what vocation they enter. They are the real
problem. There is another class, almost equally distressing. They are
the people who are brilliant, who learn easily, and who are so
adaptable that they can turn their hands to almost anything. They are
usually so unstable in temperament that it is difficult for them to
persist in ny one kind of endeavor long enough to score a success.

METHODS OF ANALYSIS IN USE

The need, in dealing with these problems, for some more reliable
guide than the young person's inclinations and preferences has
deeply impressed itself upon those engaged in vocational study and
vocational work. They are earnestly seeking to find some better way.
To this end, we have the questionaire, by which is brought out
between the lines, as it were, the particular aptitudes and disposition
of the subject. And this method is not without its advantages. We
have also psychological tests. These are of fascinating interest and
have yielded some valuable results. Some vocational workers use
the psychological tests and some do not. Even those who are most
enthusiastic for them admit that they are complicated, that they
require expensive apparatus and specially trained examiners, and
that even the best results obtainable cover a very narrow field in the
character and aptitudes of the subject.

UNIFORM METHOD NEEDED

The present need is for some uniform, readily applicable,
inexpensive, and comprehensive method of analysis. The
advantages of such a method are immediately apparent. First, its
uniformity would permit the making of records for comparison,
covering a very wide range of subjects, environment, and vocations.
Second, even the simplest classifications, which are readily learned
and easily applied by the inexpert, would yield tangible and
measurable results and would be far better than the present
unstandardized and wholly unscientific methods. Third, were such a
uniform method adopted and made a part of the vocational work of
our institutions; were uniform records to be made and wisely used,
we should soon have a body of useful knowledge on this subject.
Fourth, as the result of the application of such a uniform method, text
books and charts could be prepared which would form the basis of
popular education in vocational guidance.

But this book will find its way into the hands of many whose own
vocational problems cry out for solution. Such need first to know
themselves, to know their aptitudes and talents, whether developed
or undeveloped. They need to study vocations—to know everything
about the kinds of work they might do, from their requirements to
their possibilities twenty, thirty, or forty years in the future. Finally,
they need the courage, self-confidence, industry, progressiveness,
and ambition to throw off the shackles of circumstance and, in the
light of scientific truth, to press forward to the achievement, success,
fulness of life, and happiness possible through development and use
of all their powers.

CHAPTER II
ELEMENTS OF FITNESS

In our study are two small pieces of clear white marble. Each of them
is decorated with a beautifully designed little flower in natural color.
This flower is depicted by the skillful inlaying of semi-precious
stones. These marbles came from Agra, India. They are samples of
the handiwork which makes the Taj Mahal one of the most beautiful
structures in the world. In the fitting of this inlay work the stones—
some of them almost as hard as diamonds—are cut and polished to
nearly mathematical accuracy of size and shape. But the more
carefully and exactly these are made, the more badly they fit and the
worse failure is the whole design, unless the spaces intended for
them in the marble are likewise cut and prepared with nicety and
accuracy. In the selecting of a life work, similarly, the same care must
be taken in learning accurately the requirements of work—the exact
size and shape, as it were, of each vocation—as is spent upon
learning the exact qualifications of each individual. Both require
common sense and intelligent judgment.

We measure a man's height in centimeters or inches. Pounds and
ounces or grams and centigrams offer us exact standards of
measuring his weight. But there are no absolute standards for
measuring the man himself, and probably there never can be.
Human values, therefore, can be standardized only relatively. By the
study of large groups we can, however, ascertain approximately the
average or normal. In this way, physical standards have been set up
as to pulse rate, temperature, respiration, etc. Chemical analysis
determines norms of blood composition, and microscopic
investigation determines the average number of blood corpuscles
per cubic centimeter. The Binet-Simon mental tests are based upon
certain approximate averages of intelligence and mental
development established in the same way. The Münsterberg

associated-word test of intelligence and other psychological
experiments are among the efforts made to establish such
standards. These are valuable as far as they go and probably yield
all the information that their originators claim for them, which,
unfortunately, is not a great deal. By time and motion studies, we are
enabled to set up standards of efficiency that work out well in
practice. All these, however, still leave us in the dark as to the man
himself—his honesty, his loyalty, his highest and best values.

ELEMENTS OF THE VOCATIONAL PROBLEM

But, granted for the moment that we could devise and successfully
apply exact and accurate standards of measurement for human
beings, our work would be only partially done. Any mechanic knows
that it is a sad waste of time and pains to standardize tenons, with
micrometer and emery paper, to a thousandth of an inch, so long as
the mortises are left unstandardized. A valuable man makes an
unusual record on the staff of some employer. Other employers
immediately begin to lay plans to entice him away. Transferred to
another organization, he may prove mediocre, or even undesirable,
in his services. Hiring "stars" away from other employers has proved
disastrous so many times that the practice is no longer common.
Many a flourishing and fruitful tree has been transplanted, only to
wither and die—a tragedy involving the tree itself and both orchards.
Measured by every known standard, a man thus enticed away may
be close to 100 per cent efficient, but the man is only one ingredient
in the compound from which results are expected. To know and to
rate his aptitudes, abilities, personality, and possibilities is of the
highest importance, but these cannot be rated except in relation to
his work and to his environment. These are the other two ingredients
in the compound. It is quite obvious that all standards for judging
men—and for self-analysis—must vary with relation to the work they
are to do and the environment in which they are placed.

The important factors of any vocation may be classified very broadly
under three heads, namely, nature, position, and requirements.
Chart I gives a classification of work, with a few suggestive

subdivisions, under each of these three general heads. The
meanings of the subdivisions listed under "Nature" and "Position" are
clear.

CHART I
Physical
Mental
Combination of Physical and Mental
Professional
Commercial
Nature.......... {Industrial
Fine
Coarse
Light
Heavy, etc.

Executive
{
Work.... Position........ { Subordinate
Staff

Physical
Moral
Intellectual
Emotional
Requirements.... {
Volitional
Aptitudes
Experience
Training, etc.

PHYSICAL REQUIREMENTS

Work has its physical requirements as to size, build, strength,
endurance, freedom from tendencies to disease, agility, and inherent
capacity for manual and digital skill. It may also have certain
requirements as to eyesight, hearing, reaction time, muscular co-
ordination, sense of touch, and even, in some particular places,
sense of smell and sense of taste. Moral requirements may vary

from those of a hired gunman to those of a Y.M.C.A. secretary or a
bank cashier.

INTELLECTUAL REQUIREMENTS

Intellectual requirements and requirements in aptitudes, experience,
and training vary, of course, with every kind of work, and almost with
every particular job. One most valuable division of people
intellectually is as to capacity of intellect. Some people have fine
intellects, capable of great accomplishments in the way of education
and training. They are particularly fitted for intellectual work; they
have mental grasp; they comprehend; they reason; they have good
judgment; they learn easily; they remember well. In every way their
intellects are active, energetic, capable. Other people have only
moderate intellectual capacity. They express themselves best in
physical activity or in the direct, man-to-man handling of others.
Their few intellectual activities may be exceedingly keen and
accurate—or slow, dull, and vague. People with small intellectual
capacity sometimes have remarkable vigor and clearness of mind in
some one direction—such as finance, promotion, commerce;
judgment of people, horses, cattle, or other living beings; mechanics,
invention, music, art, poetry, or some other narrow specialty. Some
intellects, in other words, are simply incompetent—others, merely
narrow.

People can also be divided, intellectually, into two other classes, the
theoretical and the practical. The man with a theoretical intellect is
thoughtful, meditative, reflective. His mind works slowly; it is
interested in philosophy, in theories, in abstractions, and is capable
of dealing with them. On the other hand, it is not particularly well
qualified for observing practical things, and for making a practical
application of the theories it learns so easily and in which it takes so
great an interest. This is the intellect of the philosopher, the dreamer,
the educator, the preacher, the writer, the reformer, the poet. This is
particularly the intellect of reason, of logic, of ideas and ideals.
Whether found amongst the world's leaders or in the lowliest walks
of life, its function is always that of dealing with theory, finding out

reasons, putting together logical arguments, teaching others and
dealing with abstractions. Oftentimes this type of intellect is so
impractical that its possessor never possesses anything else.
Literature abounds in the tragic tales of philosophers, poets,
reformers, and dreamers who starved beautifully and nobly. Every-
day life sees thousands more blundering along, either cursing their
luck or wondering why Providence withholds its material gifts from
people so deserving as they.

Over against this is the practical, matter-of-fact, analytical intellect—
the intellect which demands facts and demands them quickly; the
intellect which is quick in its operations, impatient, keen, penetrating,
intolerant of mere theories and abstractions, not particularly strong in
reason and logic, but exceedingly keen and discriminating in regard
to the facts. This is the intellect which deals with things, with the
material universe, with laws and principles, based upon accurately
determined facts. This is the intellect of the preeminently practical
man.

Some intellects are particularly fine in critical powers; some have
splendid financial ability; some are artistic and musical; some have
almost miraculous instinct in mechanical affairs; some are scientific;
others are mechanical; still others are inventive. There are many
intellects, of course, which combine two or more of these qualities,
as, for instance, an intellect blessed with both financial and
organizing ability. This is the intellect of the captain of industry, of the
multi-millionaire. Then there is the intellect which combines financial,
inventive, and organizing ability. This is the intellect of Edison, of
Westinghouse, of Curtis, of the Wright brothers, of Marconi, and of
Cyrus McCormick. Herbert Spencer was blessed with an intellect
capable of both philosophic and scientific thought, both theoretical
and practical. Spencer had also great organizing ability, but he
devoted it to the organizing of a system of philosophy based upon
his scientific researches.

EMOTIONAL REQUIREMENTS

Emotional requirements are many and varied; even more numerous
and of greater variety than intellectual requirements, perhaps. Some
vocations require great courage, others not; some require a great
deal of sympathy; others demand a certain hardness and control of
the sympathies. There are vocations which require a keen sense of
justice; others in which the presence or absence of a sense of justice
is not essential. And so, there must be taken into consideration
requirements for honor, for love, for loyalty, for dependableness, for
enthusiasm, for unselfishness, for caution, for prudence, for religion,
for faith, for hope, for optimism, for cheerfulness, for contentment, for
earnestness, and for reverence.

THE COMPLEXITY OF HONESTY

Honesty is laid down by all authorities on employment as absolutely
essential to success in any vocation, but there are many kinds of
honesty and many standards of honesty. As a matter of fact, each
man has his own standard of honesty. After all, it is, perhaps, not so
much a question of what a man's standards are as how well he lives
up to them. We recall, especially, the cases of two men associated
together in business. One man set his standards high. Intellectually,
he knew the value of ethics in conduct. He truly wished to make
practical in his dealings the high principles he admired. But his
cupidity was strong and his will and courage were weak, so he
oftentimes argued himself, by specious casuistry, into words and
acts which were untruthful and dishonest. Oftentimes, indeed, they
came dangerously near to actual crimes against the laws of the
State. The other man had rather limited standards of honesty. His
motto was, "Let the buyer beware!" If those with whom he dealt were
as strong and intelligent as he, and he was clever enough to take
advantage of them, he regarded the spoils as rightfully his. It was all
in the game. "I don't squeal when they catch me napping," he said,
"and why should I look out for their interests?" But he never took
advantage of the weak, the ignorant, the inexperienced, or the too
credulous. His word was as good as gold. His principles were few
and intensely practical, and he would willingly lose thousands of
dollars rather than violate one of them.

Honesty is a complex virtue. It means, fundamentally, just and
honorable intentions. But it involves, also, knowledge of what is right,
a keen and discriminating sense of justice, a true sense of values,
courage and will-power to carry out honest intentions, and, finally,
sufficient earning power to meet all righteous obligations. Dishonest
acts result far more often from ignorance, warped sense of justice,
inability to appreciate values, cowardice, weak will, or incompetence,
than from wrong intent. Whether or not any individual is endowed
with the necessary honesty for success in any particular vocation is,
therefore, a problem which can be settled only by careful analysis of
all its requirements. Law and banking both require a high degree of
honesty, but the kinds are different.

THE HIGH QUALITY OF COURAGE

Next to honesty, perhaps, courage is most important. The individual
who lacks courage shows no initiative; he has no ability to fight his
own battles, to stand by his guns, to assert and maintain his
convictions and his rights. He is, therefore, always a misfit in any
vocation where he is required to take the initiative, to step out and
assume responsibilities, to guide and direct the work of others, to
meet others in, competition, to discipline others, to defend himself
against the attack of others, to defend the rights of those depending
upon him as employees, or stockholders, or partners. He may be
excellently qualified as a research worker, an experimenter, an
administrator of affairs, a teacher, a writer, a lecturer, an artist, or in
almost any kind of work where initiative, aggressiveness, and
fighting ability are not prime essentials.

PRUDENCE

Almost as important in its bearing upon vocational fitness as honesty
and courage is prudence. This is the quality which causes men to
bear responsibility faithfully; it is that which makes effective in them a
sense of duty. It is the emotional quality which leads men to take
precautions, to provide against the future. It is that which prevents
them from recklessness in expenditure or speculation, from
carelessness, from irresponsibility. It is an absolutely essential

quality wherever dependability is required; where one is expected to
assume and to carry responsibility, to see that things are done
accurately that necessities are provided, that emergencies are
prevented.

On the other hand, there are many vocations in which too great
prudence, too great caution, is a handicap instead of an advantage.
The man who is too cautious, who bears responsibility too heavily, is
not fitted for positions and vocations which involve a certain amount
of personal danger. He is also likely to be too conservative to enter
upon vocations in which a considerable element of speculation is
involved. He is not disposed to take chances; he is too apprehensive
and too much given to anxiety to be involved in any vocation where
there is uncertainty as to outcome. Many vocations also require a
fine blending of prudence with a willingness to take chances and a
certain degree of recklessness.

THE ELEMENTS OF ENVIRONMENT

Such is any kind of work in which the results are not tangible and
immediately and constantly measurable. In our practice we meet
many who grow impatient, apprehensive, and even discouraged
when knowledge of success of their efforts is deferred—or is even
problematical. These people would far rather work in a subordinate
position at a small salary, certain to be paid every pay day, than to
make twice as much money on a commission basis but not be
certain just how much they would be paid on pay day. Thus it is clear
that a salesman on a commission basis must have a dash of
recklessness in him, and yet, if he is selling high priced goods and
wishes to build a permanent business, must be careful and prudent
in handling his trade.

The essential elements of environment and their subdivisions are
shown in Chart 2. A brief discussion of some of these may clarify the
subject.

CHART 2

Policy of House
Moral
Physical
Standards............. { Commercial
Artistic
Etc.

Physical Surroundings. { In Place of Business
In Locality
In Home
Personal Preference
{
Environment... Management............ { Personality

Superior Executive.... { Personal Preference
Personality
Methods
In Business
Associates............ { In Locality
Socially

Hours of Labor
Periods of Rest
Temperature
Compensation
Working Conditions.... { Opportunities
Underground
Elevation
Danger
Etc.

POLICY AND STANDARDS

For a man faithfully and loyally to live up to and represent the policy
of the house is obviously necessary. But oftentimes it takes rather
definite characteristics to do this.

Every business institution has, or should have, its moral,
commercial, financial, artistic, and other standards with reference to
personnel, according to the character of the business and other
important considerations. And the man who contemplates work with
any firm will examine himself to see whether he can harmonize
happily with these standards. In like manner, every profession and
art has its traditional standards and ethics, which should be
considered.

PHYSICAL SURROUNDINGS

In selecting his vocation, the wise man ascertains his fitness for its
physical surroundings. Some men cannot work permanently indoors,
underground, in a high altitude, in a hot or cold climate, in a damp or
a dry climate, in high or low artificial temperature, in the midst of
noise or dust or chemical fumes, or by artificial light, or in a locality
where certain social advantages do not exist or where satisfactory
homes cannot be rented or purchased. Some men are not fitted for
city life; others are not fitted for country life. All these and other facts
should be taken into consideration with reference to surroundings.

MANAGEMENT AND SUPERIORS

The management of every place has its personal preferences, not
based on efficiency. We once knew a manager who was so
distressed by impediments of speech that he could not endure
persons with these peculiarities in his organization, although their
manner of speech had nothing to do with the quality of their work.
Every manager has some more or less marked idiosyncrasies, and
these must be known and studied by prospective employees. The
personality of the management and its effect upon the worker under
its direction and leadership are other important factors. The manager
who is a keen, positive driver will get good results with a certain type
of people in his organization, but only with a certain type. The
efficiency of every man in the organization is also conditioned very
largely upon the personal preferences, personality, and methods of
his immediate superior—his foreman, gang-boss, or chief. Certain
types of men harmonize and work well together. Other types are

antagonistic and discordant. By their very nature they cannot work in
the harmony which is essential to efficiency. In making choice of
work, the man with good judgment scrutinizes all these important
elements.

ASSOCIATES AND SOCIAL ADVANTAGES

Every vocation has its social environment. There are fellow
employees, or professional associates, inevitable in the work itself;
also the particular class of society fixed by locality, income, or the
standing of the vocation.

This chart may seem, at first sight, to be complex. It must
necessarily be so, since it is arranged to cover all professions and
trades and all industrial and commercial positions, from the
presidency of a corporation, general managership of a railroad, sales
management of a factory, or cashiership of a bank, as well as less
exalted jobs, down to those requiring little, if anything, more than
brute strength. Obviously, not all of these facts need to be
considered by every aspirant, but only those which have a bearing
upon his particular case. The tendency, however, is to neglect
important factors rather than to waste time over those which are
unimportant.

PERSONAL ELEMENTS OF THE PROBLEM

Having determined, in the manner indicated, the standards of work
and of the environment, the man is ready to examine himself to
determine where he fits. There are six headings under which he may
classify the various items of information needed in fitting himself to
work and environment. These are health, character, intelligence,
disposition to industry, natural aptitudes, and experience, as shown
in Chart 3. This chart does not, of course, present a complete and
detailed list, but it is suggestive.[2] It would not be true to say that
any one of these is absolutely more important than the other. They
are all important. Their relative importance may be determined by
the vocation to be considered.

[2] See more detailed lists in appendix.

HEALTH

Consider the question of health. We include all a man's physical
attributes under health. The classification is somewhat arbitrary, but
it will be understood. A man must consider himself as to his size, as
to his strength, as to his endurance, as to his condition of body
(which shows habits), as to his predisposition to health, as to
disease, as to his moral health, as to his sobriety, as to his sanity,
etc.

CHART 3
Size
Endurance
Condition of Body
In other words, what
Predispositions
his physical value is for
Health........ { Morality
a given work in a given
Sobriety
environment
Sanity
Etc.

Honesty
Truthfulness
Loyalty
Discretion and
Prudence
Character..... { Enthusiasm
Courage
Steadfastness
Dependability
Etc., etc

Intelligence..
{ Ability to Learn
Ability to
Understand and
Follow Instructions

Judgment
Memory
Observation
Expression... { Speaking
Writing
Imagination
Reason
Etc., etc.

Energy
Love of Work
Willingness
Disposition to
Industry { Perseverance
Decision
Etc., etc.

Natural
Aptitudes....... { Financial
Commercial
Mechanical
Artistic
Judicial
Executive
Selling
Advertising
Agriculture
Medical
Educational
Legal
Engineering
Floricultural
Horticultural
Stock Breeding
Speed
Accuracy
Patience

Attention to Detail

Education
Experience.............. { Training
Previous Record

Without at least fair physical fitness for his work and for his
environment, no man can do efficient work in any position.

CHARACTER

The second element is character. A man may rate well in all the six
fundamentals with the exception of one, honesty, and he is not worth
heat and light and floor space, to say nothing of wages. Dishonest
men do not do honest work. The man who is deficient in honesty, in
truthfulness, in loyalty, is not really fit for any kind of work in a world
where men are interdependent—where the law of compensation is
rigidly enforced. We have chosen just a few qualities under the head
of character: honesty, truthfulness, loyalty, discretion, prudence,
enthusiasm, courage, steadfastness, and dependability. We might go
on and on, adding initiative, justice, kindness, good nature, courtesy,
punctuality, etc.

INTELLIGENCE

The third criterion is intelligence. Intelligence, of course, relates to
mental ability—ability to learn and to understand and follow
instructions. Employers are slowly reaching the conclusion that
unintelligent labor is the most expensive kind of labor. The man who
is unintelligent cannot be taught. Employers cannot give him
instructions and feel absolutely sure that he understands them, or,
even if he understands them, that he will carry them out properly.
Among the qualities which are included under intelligence are
judgment and memory, the powers of observation, expression in
speaking or in writing, imagination, reasoning power, and all other
qualities which are purely intellectual. Most unintelligent people are
merely mentally asleep. They need to awaken, to be on the alert,

really to take the trouble to think. Many people have capacity for
thought who do not use it.

INDUSTRY

The fourth element is disposition to industry. Some wag once said:
"All men are lazy, but some are lazier than others." It might sound
better to say that all men are industrious, but some men are more
industrious than others. There is such a quality of body and mind as
the quality of predisposition to action and industry. Industry is very
largely dependent upon energy. Energy depends upon oxygen. If
one sits in a room that is stuffy and not well ventilated, one soon
becomes stupid, sleepy, and not particularly acute mentally. In other
words, he is partly starved for oxygen. Now, let him go out into the
open air and breathe plenty of oxygen into his lungs. In a little while
he raises his chest and brings up the crown of his head and takes
the positive physical attitude. He is more energetic. He is eager for
activity—for work. Some people are naturally deficient in depth,
activity, and quality of lung power. They do not breathe in or use
much oxygen, so they are lacking in energy. Such people are not
predisposed to industry. Love of work—love of the game that causes
a man to be interested in every phase of his work—is not, however,
wholly dependent upon energy. It is something in the very heart and
fiber of the man. Willingness to work, perseverance in work, and
decision come under disposition to industry.

Photo by F.
Gutekunst,
Phila. Fig. 1.
Jacob A. Riis,
Journalist,
Author and
Philanthropist. A
man of unusual
intellectual
power,
observation,
reason, memory,
logic, and
analysis, with
high ideals,
great love for
humanity,
especially the
weak and
helpless; good
powers of
expression,
sense of humor,
courage, and
determination.
Note large
development of
upper part of
head; fairly well
developed
brows; high
dome over
temples; height
and width of
forehead,
especially
across center;

full lips; well
developed nose;
strong chin; and
alert, poised,
kindly
expression.

Copyright by
Underwood &
Underwood.
New York. Fig.
2. Dr. Booker T.
Washington.
Very ambitious,
practical,
energetic, self-
reliant,
persistent,
determined,
capable of rule.
Note high head;
high, sloping
forehead,
prominent at the
brows; large
nose, high in the
bridge; and long,
straight upper
lip.

Fig. 3. James H.
Collins, Author. A
splendid
example of
intellectual type
with good bone
and muscle. Has
excellent
balance of
mechanical and
commercial
understanding,
keen judgment
of men, practical
sense, and fine
determination,
with sentiment,
sympathy,
friendliness, and
faith. Note high,
medium-wide
head, especially
high in center
above temples
and wide and full
through center
of forehead;
prominence of
brows; width
between eyes;
full, cleanly
modeled lips;
strong nose and
chin; and keen,
pleasant,
friendly, spirited
expression.

Fig. 4. H.G.
Wells, Novelist
and Economist.
A man of
physically frail
type, with
natural
mechanical
leanings.
Inventive,
creative,
industrious,
humanitarian.
Because of his
mechanical
ability, he uses
his creativeness
for constructing
novels dealing
with mechanical
invention.
Because of his
humanitarian
instincts, he
writes of social
and economic
world problems.
Note large upper
portion of head,
especially from
center of
forehead to
sides of head;
also prominence
of brows; large
nose, and long
head.

Copyright
American Press
Association. Fig.
5. Mr. Henry
Ford,
Automobile
Manufacturer
and
Philanthropist.
Mr. Ford is of the
physically frail
type, with a
goodly
admixture of the
bony and
muscular
element. His
natural
mechanical
bent, therefore,
took the
intellectual form
of invention and
organization. His
sentiment,
responsiveness,
sympathy, and
idealism are
shown by high,
rather narrow
head, fine
texture, height of
head just above
temples, and
gentle, kindly,
genial
expression.

Fig. 6. Hugo de
Vries, Botanist.
An example of
physically frail
type. Very
careful,
accurate,
painstaking, and
patient in mental
work. Also very
thoughtful, mild
in disposition,
but determined
and persistent.
Note large
development of
upper part of
head; long,
narrow face;
long nose;
narrowness of
head just above
ears; slight
squareness of
chin, and
serious,
thoughtful
expression.

Copyright by B.
F. McMann Fig.
7. Dr. Henry Van
Dyke, United
States Minister
to Holland,
Author, Scholar,
and Poet. A
good example of
physically frail
type, with slight
tendency to
bone and
muscle. Refined,
intellectual,
sensitive,
responsive,
optimistic, but
well-balanced,
poised, and
keenly
discriminating.
Dr. Van Dyke
shows his
tendency to
physical activity
in his love for
the out-of-doors.
Note large
development of
upper portion of
head; slight
squareness of
jaw; height of
head above
temples,
especially in

center; fine
texture;
excellent
balance of
features, and
calm, poised,
thoughtful, but
kindly
expression.
Photo by
American Press
Association. Fig.
8. Dr. Beverly T.
Galloway,
Assistant
Secretary of
Agriculture.
Physically frail,
but mentally
very active. Said
to be one of the
greatest living
authorities on
plant culture.
Slight
squareness of
build indicates
tendency to
interest in out-of-
door matters,
which, on
account of large
development of
mental qualities,
he expresses in
an intellectual
way.

NATURAL APTITUDE

The fifth criterion is natural aptitude. Everyone has observed that
some people are naturally commercial. We have seen a boy take a
penny to school, buy a slate pencil or a lead pencil with that penny,
and trade that for an old pocket knife, the knife for something else,
and keep on swapping until he had a gun, a set of chess, a bag of
marbles, and several other important boys' acquisitions, all from that
one penny. Another boy takes penny after penny to school and he
never has anything to show for it You know such boys—and grown
people, too. Every individual has some such aptitudes—either latent
or developed, either mediocre or marked—and his aptitudes fit him
better for some one vocation than for any other.

EXPERIENCE

The sixth point to be considered is experience. One might be fitted
for a vocation with all of the five points that we have enumerated,
and yet not have either the education or the training for it. What shall
he do? Theoretically and ideally, every individual should be carefully
and thoroughly trained, from his earliest childhood, for the vocation
for which he is physically, mentally, and morally fitted. But this
seldom happens—and can happen but seldom so long as parents
and teachers remain ignorant of human nature and of work. A hard
problem, then, confronts the young man or young woman past
school days and not trained for the right calling. He or she must
decide whether to compromise upon work as nearly right as possible
or to make the necessary sacrifices to obtain education, training, and
experience. There is much evidence in favor of choosing either horn
of the dilemma. A most successful manufacturer called upon us
recently. We told him that, with proper training, he would have been
even more successful and far better satisfied in the legal profession.
"I know you are right," he said. "I have always regretted that
circumstances prevented my taking a law course as a young man.
However, I have an extensive law library, do practically all the legal
work for my firm, and am often consulted on obscure legal points
relative to the manufacturing business by lawyers of some renown."

Abraham Lincoln, the farmhand and flatboatman, began the study of
grammar at twenty-two and of law still later. Elihu Burritt, "The
Learned Blacksmith," who lectured in both England and America,
taught himself languages and sciences while working eleven hours a
day at the forge.

We enjoy the acquaintance of a woman physician of considerable
prominence who did not enter medical college until she was more
than fifty years of age. Henry George was a printer who studied
economics after he was twenty-seven years old. Frederick Douglass
was a slave until he was twenty-one, yet secured a liberal education,
so that he became a noted speaker and writer. The following from
"Up from Slavery,"[3] by the late Booker T. Washington, shows what
can be done by even a poor black boy, without money or influence,
to win an education:

[3] Doubleday, Page & Company, Garden City, New York.

BOOKER T. WASHINGTON'S STORY

I determined when quite a small child that, if I accomplished nothing
else in life, I would in some way get enough education to enable me
to read common books and newspapers. Soon after we got settled in
some manner in our new cabin in West Virginia, I induced my mother
to get hold of a book for me. How or where she got it I do not know,
but in some way she procured an old copy of 'Webster's Blue-back
Spelling-book,' which contained the alphabet, followed by such
meaningless words as 'ab,' 'ba,' 'ca,' and 'da.' I began at once to
devour this book, and I think that it was the first one I ever had in my
hands. I had learned from somebody that the way to begin to read
was to learn the alphabet, so I tried in all the ways I could think of to
learn it—all, of course, without a teacher, for I could find no one to
teach me. At that time there was not a single member of my race
anywhere near us who could read, and I was too timid to approach
any of the white people. In some way, within a few weeks, I
mastered the greater portion of the alphabet. In all my efforts to learn
to read my mother shared fully my ambition and sympathized with
me and aided me in every way that she could. Though she was

totally ignorant so far as mere book knowledge was concerned, she
had high ambitions for her children, and a large fund of good hard
common sense, which seemed to enable her to meet and master
every situation. If I have done anything in life worth attention, I feel
sure that I inherited the disposition from my mother.

The opening of the school in the Kanawha Valley brought to me one
of the keenest disappointments that I ever experienced. I had been
working in a salt-furnace for several months, and my stepfather had
discovered that I had a financial value, and so, when the school
opened, he decided that he could not spare me from my work. This
decision seemed to cloud my every ambition. The disappointment
was made all the more severe by reason of the fact that my place of
work was where I could see the happy children passing to and from
school morning and afternoon. Despite this disappointment,
however, I determined that I would learn something anyway. I
applied myself with greater earnestness than ever to the mastering
of what was in the blue-back speller.

My mother sympathized with me in my disappointment and sought to
comfort me in all the ways she could and to help me find a way to
learn. After a while I succeeded in making arrangements with the
teacher to give me some lessons at night, after the day's work was
done. These night lessons were so welcome that I think I learned
more at night than the other children did during the day. My own
experiences in the night-school gave me faith in the night-school
idea, with which, in after years, I had to do both at Hampton and
Tuskegee. But my boyish heart was still set upon going to day-
school and I let no opportunity slip to push my case. Finally I won,
and was permitted to go to the school in the day for a few months,
with the understanding that I was to rise early in the morning and
work in the furnace till nine o'clock, and return immediately after
school closed in the afternoon for at least two hours more of work.

The schoolhouse was some distance from the furnace, and as I had
to work till nine o'clock, and the school opened at nine, I found
myself in a difficulty. School would always be begun before I reached

it, and sometimes my class had recited. To get around this difficulty I
yielded to a temptation for which most people, I suppose, will
condemn me; but since it is a fact, I might as well state it. I have
great faith in the power and influence of facts. It is seldom that
anything is permanently gained by holding back a fact. There was a
large clock in a little office in the furnace. This clock, of course, all
the hundred or more workmen depended upon to regulate their
hours of beginning and ending the day's work. I got the idea that the
way for me to reach school on time was to move the hands from
half-past eight up to the nine o'clock mark. This I found myself doing
morning after morning, till the furnace 'boss' discovered that
something was wrong, and locked the clock in a case. I did not mean
to inconvenience anybody. I simply meant to reach that schoolhouse
on time.

When, however, I found myself at the school for the first time, I also
found myself confronted with two other difficulties. In the first place, I
found that all of the other children wore hats or caps on their heads,
and I had neither hat nor cap. In fact, I do not remember that, up to
the time of going to school, I had ever worn any kind of covering
upon my head, nor do I recall that either I or anybody else had even
thought anything about the need of covering for my head. But, of
course, when I saw how all the other boys were dressed, I began to
feel quite uncomfortable. As usual, I put the case before my mother,
and she explained to me that she had no money with which to buy a
'store hat,' which was a rather new institution at that time among the
members of my race and was considered quite the thing for young
and old to own, but that she would find a way to help me out of the
difficulty. She accordingly got two pieces of 'homespun' (jeans) and
sewed them together, and I was soon the proud possessor of my first
cap.

My second difficulty was with regard to my name, or rather, a name.
From the time when I could remember anything I had been called
simply 'Booker.' Before going to school it had never occurred to me
that it was needful or appropriate to have an additional name. When
I heard the school roll called, I noticed that all of the children had at

least two names, and some of them indulged in what seemed to me
the extravagance of having three. I was in deep perplexity, because I
knew the teacher would demand of me at least two names, and I had
only one. By the time the occasion came for the enrolling of my
name, an idea occurred to me which I thought would make me equal
to the situation; and so, when the teacher asked me what my full
name was, I calmly told him 'Booker Washington,' as if I had been
called by that name all my life; and by that name I have since been
known. Later in my life I found that my mother had given me the
name of 'Booker Taliaferro' soon after I was born, but in some way
that part of my name seemed to disappear and for a long while was
forgotten, but as soon as I found out about it I revived it, and made
my full name, 'Booker Taliaferro Washington.' I think there are not
many men in our country who have had the privilege of naming
themselves in the way that I have.

The time that I was permitted to attend school during the day was
short, and my attendance was irregular. It was not long before I had
to stop attending day-school altogether, and devote all of my time
again to work. I resorted to the nightschool again. In fact, the greater
part of the education I secured in my boyhood was gathered through
the night-school after my day's work was done. I had difficulty often
in securing a satisfactory teacher. Sometimes, after I had secured
someone to teach me at night, I would find, much to my
disappointment, that the teacher knew but little more than I did.
Often I would have to walk several miles at night in order to recite my
night-school lessons. There was never a time in my youth, no matter
how dark and discouraging the days might be, when one resolve did
not continually remain with me, and that was a determination to
secure an education at any cost....

After I had worked in the salt-furnace for some time, work was
secured for me in a coal mine, which was operated mainly for the
purpose of securing fuel for the salt-furnace.

In those days, and later, as a young man, I used to try to picture in
my imagination the feelings and ambitions of a white boy with

absolutely no limit placed upon his aspirations and activities. I used
to envy the white boy who had no obstacle placed in the way of his
becoming a Congressman, Governor, Bishop, or President by
reason of the accident of his birth or race. I used to picture the way
that I would act under such circumstances; how I would begin at the
bottom and keep rising until I reached the highest round of success.

One day, while at work in the coal mine, I happened to overhear two
miners talking about a great school for colored people somewhere in
Virginia. This was the first time that I had ever heard anything about
any kind of school or college that was more pretentious than the little
colored school in our town.

In the darkness of the mine I noiselessly crept as close as I could to
the two men talking. I heard one tell the other that not only was the
school established for the members of my race, but that
opportunities were provided by which poor but worthy students could
work out all or a part of the cost of board, and at the same time be
taught some trade or industry.

As they went on describing the school, it seemed to me that it must
be the greatest place on earth, and not even Heaven presented
more attractions for me at that time than did the Hampton Normal
and Agricultural Institute of Virginia, about which these men were
talking. I resolved at once to go to that school, although I had no idea
where it was, or how many miles away, or how I was going to reach
it; I remembered only that I was on fire constantly with one ambition,
and that was to go to Hampton. This thought was with me day and
night.

In the fall of 1872, I determined to make an effort to get there,
although, as I have stated, I had no definite idea of the direction in
which Hampton was, or of what it would cost to go there. I do not
think that anyone thoroughly sympathized with me in my ambition to
go to Hampton, unless it was my mother, and she was troubled with
a grave fear that I was starting out on a wild-goose chase. At any
rate, I got only a half-hearted consent from her that I might start. The
small amount of money that I had earned had been consumed by my

step-father and the remainder of the family, with the exception of a
very few dollars, and so I had very little with which to buy clothes and
pay my traveling expenses.

Finally, the great day came and I started for Hampton. I had only a
small, cheap satchel that contained what few articles of clothing I
could get. My mother, at the time, was rather weak and broken in
health. I hardly expected to see her again, and thus our parting was
all the more sad. She, however, was very brave through it all. At that
time there were no through trains connecting that part of West
Virginia with eastern Virginia. Trains ran only a portion of the way,
and the remainder of the distance was traveled by stage-coaches.

The distance from Malden to Hampton is about five hundred miles. I
had not been away from home many hours before it began to grow
painfully evident that I did not have enough money to pay my fare to
Hampton.

By walking, begging rides, both in wagons and in the cars, in some
way, after a number of days, I reached the city of Richmond, Virginia,
about eighty-two miles from Hampton. When I reached there, tired,
hungry, and dirty, it was late in the night. I had never been in a large
city before, and this rather added to my misery. When I reached
Richmond I was completely out of money. I had not a single
acquaintance in the place, and, being unused to city ways, I did not
know where to go. I applied at several places for lodging, but they all
wanted money, and that was what I did not have. Knowing nothing
else better to do, I walked the streets. In doing this I passed by many
food-stands, where fried chicken and half-moon apple pies were
piled high and made to present a most tempting appearance. At that
time it seemed to me that I would have promised all that I expected
to possess in the future to have gotten hold of one of those chicken
legs or one of those pies. But I could not get either of these, nor
anything else to eat.

I must have walked the streets till after midnight. At last I became so
exhausted that I could walk no longer. I was tired; I was hungry; I
was everything but discouraged. Just about the time when I reached

extreme physical exhaustion, I came upon a portion of a street
where the board sidewalk was considerably elevated. I waited for a
few minutes, till I was sure that no passers-by could see me, and
then crept under the sidewalk and lay for the night upon the ground,
with my satchel of clothing for a pillow. Nearly all night I could hear
the tramp of feet above my head. The next morning I found myself
somewhat refreshed, but I was extremely hungry, because it had
been a long time since I had had sufficient food. As soon as it
became light enough for me to see my surroundings I noticed that I
was near a large ship, and that this ship seemed to be unloading a
cargo of pig iron. I went at once to the vessel and asked the captain
to permit me to help unload the vessel in order to get money for
food. The captain, a white man, who seemed to be kind-hearted,
consented. I worked long enough to earn money for my breakfast,
and it seems to me, as I remember it now, to have been about the
best breakfast that I have ever eaten.

"My work pleased the captain so well that he told me if I desired, I
could continue working for a small amount per day. This I was very
glad to do. I continued working on this vessel for a number of days.
After buying food with the small wages I received there was not
much left to add to the amount I must get to pay my way to
Hampton. In order to economize in every way possible, so as to be
sure to reach Hampton in a reasonable time, I continued to sleep
under the same sidewalk that gave me shelter the first night I was in
Richmond.

"When I had saved what I considered enough money with which to
reach Hampton, I thanked the captain of the vessel for his kindness
and started again. Without any unusual occurrence I reached
Hampton, with a surplus of exactly fifty cents with which to begin my
education. To me it had been a long, eventful journey, but the first
sight of the large, three-story, brick school building seemed to have
rewarded me for all that I had undergone in order to reach the place.

"It seemed to me to be the largest and most beautiful building I had
ever seen. The sight of it seemed to give me new life. I felt that a

new kind of existence had now begun—that life would now have a
new meaning. I felt that I had reached the promised land, and I
resolved to let no obstacle prevent me from putting forth the highest
effort to fit myself to accomplish the most good in the world.

"As soon as possible after reaching the grounds of the Hampton
Institute, I presented myself before the head teacher for assignment
to a class. Having been so long without proper food, a bath, and
change of clothing, I did not, of course, make a very favorable
impression upon her, and I could see at once that there were doubts
in her mind about the wisdom of admitting me as a student. I felt that
I could hardly blame her if she got the idea that I was a worthless
loafer or tramp. For some time she did not refuse to admit me;
neither did she decide in my favor, and I continued to linger about
her, and to impress her in all the ways I could with my worthiness. In
the meantime, I saw her admitting other students, and that added
greatly to my discomfort, for I felt, deep down in my heart, that I
could do as well as they, if I could only get a chance to show her
what was in me.

"After some hours had passed, the head teacher said to me: 'The
adjoining recitation room needs sweeping. Take the broom and
sweep it,'

"It occurred to me at once that here was my chance. Never did I
receive an order with more delight. I knew that I could sweep, for
Mrs. Ruffner had thoroughly taught me how to do that when I lived
with her.

"I swept the recitation room three times. Then I got a dusting cloth
and I dusted it four times. All the woodwork around the walls, every
bench, table, and desk, I went over four times with my dusting cloth.
Besides, every piece of furniture had been moved and every closet
and corner of the room had been thoroughly cleaned. I had the
feeling that, in a large measure, my future depended upon the
impression I made upon the teacher in the cleaning of that room.
When I was through, I reported to the head teacher. She was a
Yankee woman, who knew just where to look for dirt. She went into

the room and inspected the floor and closets; then she took her
handkerchief and rubbed it on the woodwork, about the walls, and
over the table and benches. When she was unable to find one bit of
dirt on the floor, or a particle of dust on any of the furniture, she
quietly remarked: 'I guess you will do to enter this institution.'

"I was one of the happiest souls on earth. The sweeping of that room
was my college examination, and never did any youth pass an
examination for entrance into Harvard or Yale that gave him more
genuine satisfaction. I have passed several examinations since then,
but I have always felt that this was the best one I ever passed."

If Lincoln, Burritt, Booker T. Washington, and thousands of others,
with all their handicaps, could secure needed education for their life
work, why should any man remain in an uncongenial calling? There
is danger that we may give our boys and girls too much help; that life
be made too easy for them; that their moral backbones may grow
flabby by reason of too much support. Normal young people do not
need aid and support. They need guidance and direction—and the
majority of them, either the sharp spur of necessity or the relentless
urge of an ambition which will not be denied. Almost without
exception we have found that the only difference between genius or
millionaire and dunce or tramp is a willingness to pay the price.

THE PRICE OF SUCCESS

From an unknown author comes the all-important question to every
seeker for success:

"You want success. Are you willing to pay the price for it?

"How much discouragement can you stand?

"How much bruising can you take?

"How long can you hang on in the face of obstacles?

"Have you the grit to try to do what others have failed to do?

"Have you the nerve to attempt things that the average man would
never dream of tackling?

"Have you the persistence to keep on trying after repeated failures?

"Can you cut out luxuries? Can you do without things that others
consider necessities?

"Can you go up against skepticism, ridicule, friendly advice to quit,
without flinching?

"Can you keep your mind steadily on the single object you are
pursuing, resisting all temptations to divide your attention?

"Have you the patience to plan all the work you attempt; the energy
to wade through masses of detail; the accuracy to overlook no point,
however small, in planning or executing?

"Are you strong on the finish as well as quick at the start?

"Success is sold in the open market. You can buy it—I can buy it—
any man can buy it who is willing to pay the price for it."

CHAPTER III
CLASSES OF MISFITS

To the casual observer, humanity seems to be divided into countless
different kinds of people. In fact, it is often said that of all the millions
of people on the earth, no two are just alike. Some writers on
vocational guidance, indeed, express discouragement. They see
humanity in such infinite variety that it is impossible ever to classify
types. Therefore, they mourn, the vocational expert cannot judge of
aptitudes except by trial in various kinds of work until, finally, real
native talents appear in actual accomplishment. The anthropologist,
however, easily divides mankind by means of several broad
classifications, A few distinct variations, easily recognizable by the
anthropological expert, put every one of the billion and one-half
people on the face of the earth in his particular class.

In the same way, to the casual observer, it no doubt seems that the
number and kind of misfits is so great that any attempt to analyze
them and classify them must meet with failure. Those, however, who
have studied the problem and have met and talked with thousands of
those struggling against the handicap of unloved and difficult work,
find a few classes which include nearly all of them. Just as there are
two fundamental reasons why men and women select wrong
vocations, and a few common variations upon these two reasons, so
there are just a few general ways in which people select the wrong
vocations. An examination of some of these will be illuminating to the
reader.

THE PHYSICALLY FRAIL

In the beginning of the life of the race all men hunted, fished, fought,
danced, sang, and loafed. These were the only manly vocations.
There were no clerks, no doctors, and, perhaps, no priests. In some
races and under some conditions to-day, all of the men are hunters

and fishers, or shepherds and stock-raisers, or all the men till the
field. Some years ago, in our country, practically all the male
population worked at the trade of agriculture, there being only a few
preachers, doctors, lawyers, merchants, and clerks.

In the nations of Europe to-day people are born to certain
professions or born to a certain narrow circle of vocations; some
people are born to manual labor, and, having once performed
manual labor, are thereby firmly fixed in the class of those who earn
their living by their hands; others are born in a class above that, and
will suffer almost any privation rather than earn their living by manual
labor. In the United States this same feeling is becoming more and
more prevalent. Our physical work is nearly all of it done by those
who came to us from across the sea, and native-born Americans
seek vocations in some other sphere.

The common school is everywhere, and education is compulsory.
The high school is also to be found in all parts of the country. There
are also business colleges, technical schools, academies,
universities, colleges, professional schools, correspondence schools,
and other educational institutions of every possible kind. These are
patronized by the native-born population as well as by many of those
who come to us from foreign lands. The result is that, of the first
great class which we shall treat, there are comparatively few in
relation to the whole population. Even though this is true, there are
all too many.

The first class of misfits is composed of those who are too frail for
physical labor and who are not well enough educated to take their
places amongst clerical or professional workers. These unfortunates
do not like hard, manual work; they cannot do it well; they are
outclassed in it. They do not hold any position long; they are
frequently unemployed; and they are often compelled to live by their
wits. As a general rule, those in this class are well equipped
intellectually by nature, and would have responded splendidly to
educative efforts if they had been given an opportunity. People of
this class lack physical courage. They shrink from hardship and will

do almost anything to escape physical suffering. It is this lack of
courage, as well as their inability to make a decent living out of their
hands and muscles, that leads them, in so many cases, to unlawful
means.

As a general rule, people of this type have considerable natural
refinement, and refinement is always expensive. They are the kind of
people of whom it is often said that they have "champagne tastes
and beer incomes." It is difficult for them to finance themselves, with
any degree of frugality or economy, upon the small and precarious
income they earn at manual labor. This is the class of people who
sometimes become counterfeiters, sneak thieves, pickpockets,
forgers, gamblers, stool pigeons, second-story workers, and petty
criminals along other lines which do not require physical courage,
strength, and force. Of course, the great majority of these misfits do
not enter upon a life of crime. They are, however, poor, often in
need, sometimes pauperized, and, as a general rule, their lives are
short and miserable. There are those, also, whose cases are not so
extreme. Unfitness for manual labor results merely in bare living, a
life of comparative poverty, and general lack of success.

THE FAT MAN

Another class of those who are physically unfit for hard, manual
labor are those who are too stout. The fat man is, by nature, fitted to
sit in a large, luxurious chair and direct the work of others. He is too
heavy on his feet for physical work, as a general rule, and is also too
much disinclined to physical effort. It is a well-known fact that, almost
without exception, fat men are physically lazy. The natural work,
therefore, of the stout man is executive work, banking, finance,
merchandising, handling of food products, and the arbitration of
differences between his fellow men. Fat men are natural bankers,
financiers, lawyers, judges, politicians, managers, bakers, butchers,
grocers, restaurant owners, preachers, and orators. If, however, the
man of this type does not secure sufficient education and training to
enable him to undertake one of these professions, but grows up with
no other ways to satisfy his wants than by the exercise of his

muscles, he is greatly handicapped in the race for success. It is not
usual, however, to find a man of this type amongst the ranks of the
poor. Most of them are fairly well supplied with means, and usually
have plenty to eat, plenty to wear, and a good place to sleep.

In order to obtain the things he desires, the man who has no aptitude
for physical labor on account of his great bulk sometimes turns his
attention to crime. This type of man may be a gambler, a grafting
politician, a confidence man, a promoter of wild-cat stocks or bonds,
the man who sits behind the scenes and directs a band of criminals
or, perhaps, a whole community of them, or in some other way preys
upon the gullibility of the public.

Naturally, there are fat men, also, who are honest and high-
principled in their intentions and who still have not fitted themselves
for their true vocation in life. Such men, like those who are physically
frail and honest, drag through a miserable existence, never fully
realizing their possibilities, or expressing themselves; never finding
an outlet for their real talents; never making the success of life which
they might have made with sufficient training and in their true
vocations.

THE MAN OF BONE AND MUSCLE

Just as there were, doubtless, thousands of men too frail or too
corpulent for physical work who were compelled to do it in the days
when practically all men were either farmers or carpenters and
builders, so to-day there are thousands of men far too active for
clerical work who are compelled to do it because certain circles in
society have a prejudice against manual labor. There is a type of
man whose bony and muscular system predominates in his
organization. This type of man loves the out-of-doors; freedom is to
him a physical and moral necessity. He hates, and even grows
irritable under, restraint. He demands physical activity; his muscles
call for exercise; his whole physical being is keen for life in the open,
with plenty of activity. Yet this type of man, by thousands, is
sentenced to spend his life behind the counter or chained to a desk.
He is as unhappy there, and almost as badly placed, as if he were,

indeed, in prison. Look around the parks, the roads, the athletic
fields, the lakes and streams, the woods, and all out-of-door places
in this country and you will find this man taking a brief rest from his
prison cell, engaged in strenuous forms of muscular activity—tennis,
golf, baseball, football, lacrosse, cross-country running, boating,
swimming, yachting, motoring, horseback riding, hunting, fishing,
exploring, mountain climbing, ranching—in many ways seeking to
find an outlet for his stored-up physical energy.

WORK FOR THE ACTIVE MAN

There is plenty of room for the mental capacity, the executive ability,
and the splendid organizing genius of this type of man in outdoor
work. Our great forests and fields are not producing twenty-five per
cent of the amount of wealth that they should produce, under even
such scientific methods as are known at present. But these are only
the beginning. There is an opportunity for those with both mental and
physical aptitudes to undertake the solution of the problem. The
resources of the universe are infinite. There is no parsimony in
Nature. There is plenty and to spare for all.

Recently there has been a great deal said about the fact that all of
the land on the surface of the earth has now been occupied by
mankind; that hereafter, food products will become higher and higher
in price; that each of us will have to be satisfied with a little less
wealth than formerly; that rents will be higher; that the price of land
will steadily increase—that, already, there is not enough of the bare
necessities of life to go around. This is cited as the cause of
pauperism and given as an excuse for war. May not this attitude be
mistaken? We have not yet scratched the surface of the possibilities.
These out-of-door men are fitted by nature to take the scientific
truths discovered by those better fitted to sit indoors, and make
practical application of them to the problems of increasing the wealth
of the race. If a boy in Alabama can grow 232 bushels of corn on one
acre of ground, then farmers all over the country can grow at least
100 bushels of corn on an acre which now yields an average of 25 to
30 bushels. By scientific methods, Eugene Grubb has grown a

thousand bushels of potatoes upon an acre of Wyoming land. A
considerable addition will be made to the wealth of the race when a
thousand other Eugene Grubbs arise and increase the productivity of
thousands of other acres of potatoes.

THE BORN LEADER OF MEN

In his excellent little book, "The Art of Handling Men,"[4] Mr. James
H. Collins says:

Broadly speaking, the personal equation is that Something in a man
that makes him effective in managing other men.

It is the difference between the fellow who lets a political club, a
military company or a factory force go all to pieces, and some other
fellow who can put the pieces together again, or rather, draw them
together instantly. For the man who reorganizes without this
Something is like the chap who cleans his own clock—he usually
has a few pieces of the organization left over because they wouldn't
fit in anywhere. The personal equation is magnetic. It comes along
and acts, and every part falls into place, and the organization is
capable of performing a lot of new functions.

Not one person in five hundred possesses the faculty. Those who
don't, like to comfort themselves with the assurance that it is a gift
which Providence forgot to hand out to them. Innumerable stories
grow up around the man who does possess it. One glance from his
eagle eye, people say, and he reads you through. One word, and he
enforces instant obedience. Thus the personal equation is glorified
and mystified. But men who really have this valuable Something
seldom make much mystery about it. They insist it is largely a matter
of common sense, which everyone ought to have at their disposal.

[4] Henry Altemus Company, Philadelphia.

The personal equation has an interesting way of raising moral
issues.

One morning in August, 1863, a young clergyman was called out of
bed in a hotel at Lawrence, Kansas. The man who called him was
one of Quantrell's guerrillas, and he wanted him to hurry downstairs,
and be shot. All over the border town that morning people were
being murdered. A band of raiders had ridden in early to perpetrate
the Lawrence massacre.

The guerrilla who called the clergyman was impatient. The latter,
when fully awake, was horrified by what he saw going on through his
window. As he came downstairs the guerrilla demanded his watch
and money, and then wanted to know if he was an abolitionist. The
clergyman was trembling. But he decided that if he was to die then
and there, it would not be with a lie on his lips. So he said, yes, he
was, and followed up the admission with a remark that immediately
turned the whole affair into another channel.

He and the guerrilla sat down on the porch, while people were being
killed through the town, and had a long talk. It lasted until the raiders
were ready to leave. When the clergyman's guerrilla mounted to join
his confederates he was strictly on the defensive. He handed back
the New Englander's valuables and apologized for disturbing him,
and asked to be thought well of.

That clergyman lived many years after the Lawrence massacre.
What did he say to the guerrilla? What was there in his personality
that led the latter to sit down and talk? What did they talk about?

'Are you a Yankee abolitionist?' the guerrilla had asked.

'Yes—I am,' was the reply, 'and you know very well that you ought to
be ashamed of what you're doing.'

This drew the matter directly to a moral issue. It brought the guerrilla
up roundly. The clergyman was only a stripling beside this seasoned
border ruffian. But he threw a burden of moral proof on to the raider,
and in a moment the latter was trying to demonstrate that he might
be a better fellow than circumstances would seem to indicate.

After waking this New Englander to kill him on account of his politics,
he spent twenty minutes on the witness stand trying to prove an alibi.
He went into his personal history at length. He explained matters
from the time when he had been a tough little kid who wouldn't say
his prayers, and became quite sentimental in recalling how one thing
had led to another, and that to something worse, and so on, until—
well, here he was, and a mighty bad business to be in, pardner. His
last request, in riding away, was: 'Now, pardner, don't think too hard
of me, will you?'

The personal equation is eternally throwing the burden of proof on
the people it controls, and forever raising moral issues. The man
who has it may operate by no definite plan, just as this clergyman
had none for saving his own life. But he will be a confidence man of
the most subtle character. His capacity for expecting things of those
under him will be tremendous. Subordinates may never have
demanded much of themselves. But for him they will accomplish
wonders, just because he expects them to.

Three men were placed at the foreman's desk of a growing factory.
Each had technical knowledge enough to run a plant three times the
size. But all failed. The first was an autocrat, who tried to boss from a
pedestal, and the men didn't like him. The next was a politician,
whom the men liked thoroughly—which was his shortcoming, for he
tried to run the place as they thought it should be run. As for the
third, he tried to run it on nerves, to do everything himself, to be
everywhere at once. He didn't fail, really—he snapped like a fiddle-
string. By that time working tension was relaxed and production
wabbling on the down-peak. Nobody knew who was in charge, or
what would happen.

Then along came a fourth candidate, with an abnormally developed
bump of expectation. He knew how to approve and encourage.
Sometimes he said pleasantly: 'I knew you could do that, Bill,' Again,
he put it ironically: 'I didn't think you had it in you.' But his strong
point was expectation. With apparent recklessness he gave out work
two sizes too large for everybody. If a subordinate was a No. 7 man

he handed him a No. 9 job as a matter of course, and usually the
latter grew up to it. The politician had tried this same scheme, but
introduced it backward. Taking a No. 7 man into a corner, he told him
impressively that he was a No. 9 and promoted him on the spot, and
warned him to say nothing about it to anybody else. Then the man
tried to swell to fit the office instead of growing to fit the work. But
this fourth candidate made everybody see that doing No. 9 was more
creditable than just being it. So everybody became interested in the
work, and nothing else.

There was another suggestive point. Taking charge after three
foremen had failed, the factory was naturally full of nasty cliques,
each with its unhealthy private interest. The new man broke up these
cliques by introducing a new interest so big that it swallowed all the
little interests, like Aaron's rod. That interest was to turn out work of
such quality and in such quantities that the factory could get
contracts in competition with an older rival, and provide steady
employment.

That this faculty for putting people under obligation is more the man
than a method, however, is shown in one of Daudet's delightful little
sketches, the story of a head clerk in a French Government bureau
who, on getting a fine promotion, wrote home to his father describing
his new chief's homely appearance with light-hearted raillery. Next
morning on his desk lay his own letter, initialed by his chief. It had
been intercepted by the secret service. The chief allowed him to
suffer in apprehension one day, and then told him that his
indiscretion should rest between themselves. 'Try to make me forget
it,' he said, and the incident hung like a dagger over the clerk's head.

Some time after, the latter caught one of his own subordinates
stealing from the cash box, and repeated his superior's tactics, even
to the formula, 'Try to make me forget it.' With tears in his eyes the
subordinate thanked him for his clemency—and a few days later,
rifled the safe and fled! The moral of which seems to be that, if the
clerk had been enough of a judge of men to use his chief's method

effectively, he would never have fallen into the asininity of writing
such a letter.

"Those who complain that it is impossible to win the confidence of
subordinates might observe the extremely simple fashion in which
the man with this Something does the trick—by giving people his
own confidence first.

"He has the knack, not only of interesting others, but of keeping up
his own interest; in fact, he is often so absorbed in his existence, his
work, and the people around him that he is not aware that there is
such a malady as lack of interest.

"He has a heartiness and vitality and geniality quite characteristic, or
a misanthropy that is hearty, vital, and optimistic—geniality inside
out. The milk of human kindness sometimes comes in a dry form."

THE MAN OF SUPREME ABILITY

In his valuable treatise on "The Twelve Principles of Efficiency,"[5]
Mr. Harrington Emerson says:

Industrial plants remind me of automobiles. The plants themselves
may be more or less good, but on what kind of roads are they
running? The philosophy of efficiency is for an industrial plant—for
any enterprise, activity, or undertaking—what a network of good
roads is for automobiles. Undoubtedly, even on poor roads,
automobiles may make some progress, but the worse the road, the
more elementary must be the means of locomotion.

[5] The Engineering Magazine Company, New York.

Railroads, high-roads, by-roads, bridle-paths, footpaths, mountain
climbs! The unlettered mountaineer of all countries is the best man
for the last, and it takes the best kind of trained climbing expert to
emulate him; but as the road is improved shoes are exchanged for
horses, horses for bicycles, a change from one kind of muscular
effort to another; bicycles for automobiles, automobiles for railroad

trains, both these latter using uncarnate energy instead of muscular
or incarnate energy. The all-round skill of the mountaineer becomes
the subdivided, specialized skill of many different men, who are
supplemented with increasingly complex equipment.

The philosophy of efficiency is to be used to build roads along which
any organization can travel with the least friction and the greatest
advantage, and the more ramified and involved the business, the
more is the philosophy needed.

However, no highly complex automobile, even with the best network
of roads, can make any great progress unless in the hands of a
skilled directing intelligence; no highly complex human enterprise,
though it uses all the principles of efficiency, can make any great
progress unless guided by a skilled intelligence.

On personality, on the wisdom of the individual, whether locomotive
engineer or von Moltke, whether the manager of a plant employing
ten men or Judge Gary, chairman of the board of the gigantic Steel
Corporation, will depend the ultimate value of all that creative
physical or philosophical ability has brought together.

Recently there was submitted to me in the office of one of Chicago's
greatest businesses the draft of its organization. No man can pass
on the merits of the details of a complicated organization without
long and intimate acquaintance with its workings. Seeing the plan of
the Chicago plant, pressed for a suggestion, I said: 'Your chart is
upside down; the president belongs at the bottom, sustaining and
carrying, through his organization, all the operations of the plant.
Because he is in supreme authority he has the responsibility of
making available for everyone, down to the tool, all the wisdom in the
universe in order that each may fulfil perfectly its special duty and
task.'

Whether on the grounds of Long Branch, on the desert trail, in a
section, department, division, or plant of a great manufacturing
concern or railroad; whether on the deck of a battleship or on a

battlefield, what is wanted is a leader who can swing and manage
what has been entrusted to him.

It has become the fashion in history to decry the strong-man theory,
to turn for understanding to evolution, to explain the strong man as
the inevitable accident of the moment. There is evolution; there
comes, at last, opportunity, but only rarely does the strong man
arise; hence we have England, not Norway or Sweden or Holland;
hence we have Prussia, not Saxony; Germany, not Russia; Italy, not
Portugal; France, not Spain; Japan, not Siam or Korea.

In 1536 was born in Japan an undersized, monkey-faced boy of
good but poor parentage, who, at the age of thirteen, resolved to
make himself the chief power in the distracted kingdom. For 200
years the militant barons had warred against each other, each trying
to grab, annex, and hold what he could.

The boy, Hideyoshi, deliberately visited the different courts, picked
out the baron he thought most endowed with suitable character,
succeeded with great difficulty in entering his service in the humblest
position, and then steadily and inevitably rose, firstly because he
could read human character and always knew almost as soon as
they did themselves what his and his lord's enemies were plotting,
and secondly, because he was always prepared in advance for any
undertaking and skilled in carrying out. Thus, when scarcely more
than a child, he reduced the cost of firewood used in the palace to
less than one-half; a little later he rebuilt the castle walls in three
days, a task estimated as requiring sixty days; again, single-handed,
he secured provinces that armies had failed to conquer.

By gifts of tact, of insight, of diligence, of readiness, that each one of
us thinks he possesses, that any one of Nippon's 30,000,000
inhabitants might have possessed and exercised, Hideyoshi rose,
step by step, until he directed and guided the whole country, his
general, Iyeyasu, becoming the first of the Tokugawa dynasty, which
lasted from 1603 to 1867, with headquarters at Yeddo (Tokyo).

Temuchin, Jenghis Khan, born in a tent in 1162, son of a petty
Mongolian chieftain, succeeded his father when only thirteen years
old. Many of the tribes immediately rebelled, but Temuchin held his
own in battle and in counsel against open enemies and insidious
traitors, until his empire extended from the China Sea to the frontier
of Poland—an empire larger than modern Russia, the largest the
world has ever seen.

The man of supreme ability is the one who has supernal ideals, who
recognizes and uses those underlying principles without which
human effort is futile, its results ephemeral. The man of supreme
ability is the one who can create and control an organization founded
on and using principles to attain and maintain ideals, who then is
able to assemble for the use of his organization the incidentals of
land, of men and money (Labor and Capital), of buildings and
equipment, of methods and devices. All these incidentals make for
volume, for quantity, for man's work instead of woman's work, but
they do not make for the spirit, nor for the quality, nor for the
excellence of work.

THE ELEMENTS OF EXECUTIVE ABILITY

We have quoted thus at length from Mr. Collins and Mr. Emerson to
show the inbornness, so to speak, of real executive ability. The art of
handling men depends upon certain inherent aptitudes plus a certain
amount of the right kind of training. A very large class of executives
lacks the aptitude; a still larger class lacks the right kind of training. It
is possible, of course, to give training to those who have the
aptitude. It is impossible to give training which will make efficient
executives of those who are deficient in the natural aptitudes. The
result of all this is that we have a very large class of misfits; men
who, for some reason or other, have been promoted into executive
positions and who do not have the proper qualifications. These men
suffer; those under them suffer; those who employ them suffer.

Some men are too active themselves ever to be good directors of
the activities of other men. They cannot sit back quietly and direct
others. They demand expression in action. They are, therefore,

always thrusting aside their subordinates and doing the thing
themselves, because they lack the ability to teach others to do the
work and to do it correctly. When such men are compelled to wait for
others to accomplish things, they grow irritable, impatient, and lose
control of themselves and, therefore, of the situation. They are not
ideal executives and do not, as a general rule, rise to very high
executive positions. They ought not to attempt to do executive work.

There are others who are too easy-going to command men. They
permit their men to get too close to them, and they feel too
sympathetic toward them. They are likely, also, to be partial, not to
demand or exact enough, and, therefore, their departments are
always behind, never quite coming up to quota.

TWO TYPES OF EXECUTIVES

There are two distinct types of executives. There is the impatient,
driving, quick, keen, positive, irritable type. This man can get good
results from a certain type of worker, but he only irritates, frightens,
and drives to sullen resistance other types. The other is the mild,
kindly, persuasive, patient, enduring, persistent, determined type of
executive, who wins his success by attracting to himself the intense
loyalty and devotion of his men. Both types are successful, but they
are successful with different kinds of men. The employer who selects
executives, therefore, needs to bear this in mind, and to select the
right type of men to work under his various lieutenants. On the other
hand, men who take executive positions should see that they secure
for themselves the type of workers from whom they can secure
results. This will not be easy, because, as a general rule, an
executive tends to surround himself with men of his own type, which
is usually a mistake. Men, in selecting positions, should also bear
this truth in mind. They should know the kind of executive under
whom they can do their best work, and, if at all possible, work under
this kind of superior officer.

SLAVES TO MACHINERY

In an earlier chapter of this book we referred to the type of boy or girl
who is too restless to study, to continue in school; who is eager to
begin his life work; who therefore leaves school at an early age and
takes up some work for which he is then fitted, but which, in after life,
he finds to be uncongenial and unprofitable. As a general rule, such
individuals are ambitious—oftentimes exceedingly ambitious. They
find, as they grow older, however, that they have not sufficient
education and training to enable them to realize their ambitions.
Thousands upon thousands of these condemn themselves to mere
unskilled manual labor.

It is not to be wondered at that these boys and girls leave school,
because in school they are compelled to sit quietly and to try to learn
things in which they are not interested out of dry, unprofitable books.
Such pupils need to spend a great part of their time out-of-doors.
They can be thus taught far more easily, will take a greater interest in
their studies, and can gain both knowledge and skill which will be
more valuable to them in the world of work. They also need to be
taught indoors manual training, domestic science, printing, laundry
work, scientific horticulture, scientific agriculture, dairying, and many
other such branches. The recently projected vocational schools,
continuation schools, half-time schools, and other such contrivances
for giving the boy or the girl an opportunity to learn a useful trade
while he is mastering the three R's, are a very important and
valuable step in the right direction; With an opportunity thus to find
expression for his mechanical ability and his great activity, the boy
will be encouraged to remain longer in school.

Those who have left school at an early age on account of
restlessness should take very seriously to heart the fates of tens of
thousands of men and women before them who have done the same
thing and who have made a failure of their lives, because they did
not have sufficient education and training with which to realize their
aspirations.

THE IMPRACTICAL

It has been frequently remarked that this is a commercial age. Our
great captains of industry, our multi-millionaires, have, most of them,
made their fortunes in commerce. This is an age, perhaps—
especially in the United States—which rather makes a hero of the
business man. For this reason there are many who are ambitious for
commercial success. Every year thousands upon thousands of
young men and women leave school in order to enter business. By a
very natural psychological paradox, there seems to be a fascination
about commerce and finance for many young people who have little
aptitude for these vocations. Many people, feeling their deficiencies,
yearn to convince themselves and others that they are not deficient.
It is only another phase of the fatality with which a Venus longs to be
a Diana and a Minerva a Psyche. Thousands enter business who
have no commercial or financial ability. They cannot know the
requirements; they cannot understand the fundamental principles of
business. Commercially they are babes in the woods. Therefore they
go down to bankruptcy and insolvency, to their great detriment and
to the injury of many thousands of others.

These young people are too impractical for business. They may
have a theoretical understanding of it, and an intellectual desire to
succeed. But, as a result of their impractical type of mind, they
neglect details, they overlook important precautions, they are,
oftentimes, too credulous, too easily influenced. They usually make
poor financiers; they do not make collections well; they are
incautious in extending credit and in maintaining their own credit;
often they are inefficient and wasteful in management; they do not
take proper account of all the costs in fixing prices; they enter into
foolish contracts; make promises which they are unable to keep, and
oftentimes, as a result of too great optimism, undertake far more
than is commercially feasible.

HUNGRY FOR FAME

The same strange quirk in human nature which takes the impractical
into the marts, takes many ambitious but inherently unfit into art and
literature. The stage-struck girl who has not one scintilla of dramatic

ability is so common as to be a joke—to all but herself and her
friends. Every editor is wearied with his never-ending task of
extinguishing lights which glow brightly with ambition but have no
gleam of the divine fire. Teachers of art and music, both in this
country and abroad, are threatened with insanity because of the
hordes of young men and women who come to them with money in
their hands, demanding to be made into famous artists and
musicians, not having been born with genius. Some of these
unfortunates spend years of time and thousands of dollars in money
attempting to fit themselves for careers, only to end in utter failure.
Some, even after they have made a comparative failure of their
education, eke out a tortured existence, hoping against hope for the
golden crown of fame and fortune.

In sober truth the fatal lack in most of these disappointed seekers is
not that they have no talent, but that they are too lazy mentally to
make a real success of the natural aptitudes they have. They lack
"the infinite capacity for taking pains." They are deluded by the idea
that success depends upon inspiration—that there is no perspiration.
Yet every great writer, every great musician, every great actor, every
great author, knows that there is no fame, there is no possibility of
success, except through the most prolonged and painstaking
drudgery.

"LIFE IS BRIEF—ART IS LONG"

Perhaps no actor of modern times had greater dramatic talents
inborn than Richard Mansfield, yet here is the story of how Richard
Mansfield[6] worked, toiled, starved and suffered in achieving
success in his art:

His friends crowded St. George's Hall for his first appearance. It was
observed, as he uttered the few lines of the Beadle, that he was
excessively nervous. When, later in the evening, he sat down at the
piano and struck a preliminary chord, he fainted dead away.

[6] From "Richard Mansfield," by Paul Wilstach. Charles Scribner's
Sons, New York.

Mr. Reed relieved him of his position at once. In discharging him, he
said: 'You are the most nervous man I have ever seen,' It was not all
nervousness, however. Mansfield had not eaten for three days. He
had fainted from hunger.

"Mansfield was now on evil days, indeed. He moved into obscure
quarters and fought the hard fight. It was years before he would
speak of these experiences. In fact, he rarely ruminated on the past
in the confidences of either conversation or correspondence.
Memory troubled him little and by the universal quotation it withheld
its pleasures. He dwelt in the present, with his eyes and hopes on
the future. It was always the future with him. No pleasure or
attainment brought complete satisfaction. He looked to the past only
in relation to the future; for experience, for example, for what to
avoid.

"Once, when at the meridian of his fame, he was asked to lecture
before the faculty and students of the University of Chicago. For his
subject he chose, 'On Going on the Stage.' That he might exploit to
those before him the reality of the actor's struggle, he lifted for the
first time a corner of that veil of mystery which hung between his
public and his past, and told of these early London days:

"For years I went home to my little room, if, fortunately, I had one,' he
said, 'and perhaps a tallow dip was stuck in the neck of a bottle, and
I was fortunate if I had something to cook for myself over a fire, if I
had a fire. That was my life. When night came I wandered about the
streets of London, and if I had a penny I invested it in a baked potato
from the baked-potato man on the corner. I would put these hot
potatoes in my pockets, and after I had warmed my hands, I would
swallow the potato. That is the truth.'

"At length, his wardrobe became so reduced that attendance at any
but the most informal entertainments became out of the question,
and finally he had to give up these. Soon he was inking the seams of
his coat, and wandered about shunning friends, for fear they would
learn to what a condition he was reduced.

"'Often,' he admitted, 'I stayed in bed and slept because when I was
awake I was hungry. Footsore, I would gaze into the windows of
restaurants, bakeries, and fruit shops, thinking the food displayed in
them the most tempting and beautiful sight in the world. There were
times when I literally dined on sights and smells,'

"He did every species of dramatic and musical hack work in drawing
rooms, in clubs, and in special performances in theatres. Sometimes
he got into an obscure provincial company, but he said that his very
cleverness was a kind of curse, since the harder he worked and the
better the audiences liked him, the quicker he was discharged. The
established favorites of these little companies always struck when a
newcomer made a hit.

"Richard Barker was the stage manager and Mansfield could never
please him. After trying again and again, he once cried: 'Please,
Barker, do let me alone. I shall be all right. I have acted the part.' 'Not
you,' declared Barker. 'Act? You act, man? You will never act as long
as you live!'

"The recollection of the rebuffs, poverty, starvation, inability to find
sympathy, because, possibly, of the pride which repelled it, the ill-
fortune which snatched the extended opportunity just as he was
about to grasp it, the jealousy of established favorites of the
encroaching popularity of newcomers, the hardships of provincial
travel and life in a part of the country and at a time when the play-
actor was still regarded as a kind of vagabond and was paid as such,
the severity of the discipline he encountered from the despots over
him—all painted pictures on his memory and fed a fire under the
furnace of his nature which tempered the steel in his composition to
inflexibility. The stern rod of discipline was held over him every
moment and often fell with unforgetable severity. He was trained by
autocrats in a school of experience more autocratic than anything
known to the younger actors of this generation.

"When the part of Chevrial was given to him, Mansfield was
fascinated with his opportunity, but he kept his counsel. He applied
every resource of his ability to the composition of his performance of

the decrepit old rake. He sought specialists on the infirmities of
roués; he studied specimens in clubs, on the avenue, and in
hospitals; and in the privacy of his own room he practiced make-ups
for the part every spare moment. The rehearsals themselves were
sufficiently uneventful. He gave evidence of a careful, workmanlike
performance, but promise of nothing more.

"While he was working out the part Mansfield scarcely ate or slept.
He had a habit of dining with a group of young Bohemians at a table
d'hôte in Sixth Avenue. The means of none of them made regularity
at these forty-cent banquets possible, so his absence was
meaningless. One evening, however, he dropped into his
accustomed chair, but tasted nothing.

"'What's the matter, Mansfield?' asked one of the others.

"To-morrow night I shall be famous,' he said. 'Come and see the
play,'

"His friends were accustomed to lofty talk from him. His prophecy
was answered with a light laugh and it had passed out of their
memories as they drifted into the night. This was one of those
intuitions to which he often confessed, and it told him that the years
of apprenticeship were behind him and the artist in him was on the
eve of acknowledgment.

"On the night of January 11, 1883, the theatre was radiant with an
expectant audience—half convinced in advance by the record of the
Union Square's past, but by the same token exacting to a merciless
degree—to see their old friends in the first performance in America of
'A Parisian Romance.'

"Mansfield made his entrance as the Baron Chevrial within a few
moments after the rise of the curtain. It was effected in an
unconcerned silence on the part of the audience.

"There were, on the other hand, the deserved receptions of old
favorites by old friends, as Miss Jewett, Miss Vernon, Miss Carey,

Mr. DeBelleville, Mr. Parselle and Mr. Whiting came upon the scene.

"When Chevrial, finding himself alone with Tirandel and Laubaniere,
exposed his amusingly cynical views of life and society, some
attention was paid to a remarkable portrait of a polished, but coarse,
gay, though aging, voluptuary. The scene was short and he was
soon off, though not without a little impudent touch, in passing the
maid in the doorway, that did not slip unnoticed. The dramatic
disclosures which followed brought the act to a close with applause
that augured well. Henri, Marcelle, and Mme. De Targy were called
forward enthusiastically.

"The second act revealed the Baron's chambers. With the exception
of two minutes, he was on the stage until the curtain fell. The Baron's
effort, so precisely detailed, to reach and raise the dumb-bells from
the floor; the inveterate libertine's interview with shrewd Rosa, the
danseuse, who took the tips he expected would impoverish her and
thus put her in his power, for the purpose of playing them the other
way: the biting deliberation of his interview with his good Baroness
and Henri, who comes to ruin himself to save his family's honor—all
held the audience with a new sensation. As he pushed his palsied
arms into his coat and pulled himself fairly off his feeble feet in his
effort to button it, turned up to his door humming like a preying
bumble-bee, faced slowly about again, his piercing little pink eyes
darting with anticipation, and off the trembling old lips droned the
telling speech: 'I wonder how his pretty little wife will bear poverty.
H'm! We shall see'—the curtain fell to applause which was for the
newcomer alone. He had interested the audience and was talked
about between the acts.

"Mr. Palmer rushed back to his dressing-room and found him
studiously adding new touches to his make-up for the next act.
'Young man,' exclaimed the manager, 'do you know you're making a
hit?' 'That's what I'm paid for,' replied Mansfield, without lowering the
rabbit's foot.

"The third act was largely Marcelle's. The Baron was on for an
episodic interval, but succeeded, in that he did not destroy the

impression already created.

"The fourth act revealed a magnificent banquet hall with a huge table
laden with crystal, silver, snowy linens, flowers, and lights. At the top
of a short stairway at the back was a gallery and an arched window
through which one looked up the green aisle of the Champs-Elysee
to the Arc de Triomphe, dimly visible in the moonlight. The Baron
entered for one last glance over the preparations for his petit souper
for Rosa and her sister of the ballet at the Opera.

"The effectiveness of his entrance was helped by his appearance
behind a colonnade, and there he stood, only half revealed, swaying
unsteadily while his palsied hand adjusted his monocle to survey the
scene. There was a flutter of applause from the audience but,
appreciatively, it quickly hushed itself. He dragged himself forward.
The cosmetic could not hide the growing pallor of the parchment
drawn over the old reprobate's skull. He crept around the table and,
with a marvellous piece of 'business' by which he held his wobbly
legs while he slowly swung a chair under him, collapsed. The picture
was terrible, but fascinating. People who would, could not turn their
heads. His valet was quick with water and held the glass in place on
the salver while he directed it to the groping arm. The crystal clinked
on Chevrial's teeth as he sucked the water.

"Presently he found his legs again and tottered up to the staircase.
The picture of the black, shrivelled little man dragging his lifeless
legs up to the gallery step by step was never forgotten by anyone
who saw it. At the top he turned and said in ominous tones: 'I do not
wish to be disturbed in the morning. I shall need a long sleep'; and
dragged himself out of sight. He had been on the stage five minutes
and had said scarcely fifty words. The picture and the effect were
unmistakable. The audience capitulated. There was a roar of
applause which lasted several minutes.

"The whispered discussion of this scene was such that scarcely any
attention was paid to the stage until the Baron returned. Almost
immediately afterward the ballet girls pirouetted into the hall in a
flutter of gauze, and the places at the tables were filled. No one

listened to the lines; all eyes in the house were focussed on the
withered, shrunken, flaccid little old Baron, who sat at Rosa's right,
ignored by everyone about him as they gorged on his food and drank
his wines.

"Soon he drew himself up on his feet and, raising his glass, said:
'Here's to the god from whom our pleasures come. Here's to Plutus
and a million!"

"The gay throng about the table echoed the toast: To Plutus and a
million!' and Chevrial continued:

"'While I am up I will give a second toast: 'Here's to Rosa! The most
splendid incarnation that I know!'

"Placing the glass to her lips for a first sip, the lecherous old pagan's
own lips sought the spot, sipped, and he sank back into his chair.

"What else went on till he rose again no one knew or minded. No
eye in the house could wander from the haggard, evil, smiling, but
sinister, old face. Presently he was up once more and, with his
raised goblet brimming with champagne, he offered a third toast:

"'Here's to material Nature, the prolific mother of all we know, see, or
hear. Here's to the matter that sparkles in our glasses, and runs
through our veins as a river of youth; here's to the matter that our
eyes caress as they dwell on the bloom of those young cheeks.
Here's to the matter that—here's to—here's—the matter—the matter
that—here's—'

"The attack had seized him. Terrible and unforgetable was the
picture of the dissolution. The lips twitched, the eyes rolled white, the
raised hand trembled, the wine sputtered like the broken syllables
which the shattered memory would not send and the swollen tongue
suddenly could not utter. For one moment of writhing agony he held
the trembling glass aloft; then his arm dropped with a swiftness that
shattered the crystal. Instinctively he groped up to the stairs for light
and air. He reeled as if every step would be his last. Rosa helped

him up to the window, but recoiled from him with a shriek. Again his
hand flew up, but there was neither glass, wine, nor words. He rolled
helplessly and fell to the floor, dead. The curtain fell.

"It was probably the most realistically detailed figure of refined moral
and physical depravity, searched to its inevitable end, the stage has
ever seen. For a moment after the curtain fell there was a hush of
awe and surprise. Then the audience found itself and called
Mansfield to the footlights a dozen times. But neither then nor
thereafter would he appear until he had removed the wig and make-
up of the dead Baron. There was no occasion to change his clothes;
he wore the conventional evening suit. The effect of shrivelled
undersizedness was purely a muscular effect of the actor. The
contrast between the figure that fell at the head of the stairs and the
athletic young gentleman who acknowledged the applause was no
anti-climax.

"Mansfield had come into his own. The superb art of his performance
had dwarfed all about it; the play was killed, but he was from that
moment a figure to be reckoned with in the history of the theatre."

It is said that when Paderewsky played before Queen Victoria, she
said to him: "Mr. Paderewsky, you are a genius." "Ah, your Majesty,"
he replied, "perhaps. But before I was a genius, I was a drudge." And
this is true. It is said that Paderewsky spent hours every day, even
after achieving his fame, practising the scale, improving his
technique, and keeping himself in prime condition.

Study the life and achievement of any great man of genius. His
genius has consisted principally in his wonderful capacity to labor for
perfection in the most minute detail. And yet most ambitious misfits
are unwilling to work hard. Their products always show lack of finish
due to slipshod methods, unwillingness to spend time, to take pains
to bring what they do up to a standard of beautiful perfection, so far
as perfection is humanly possible. Those who are mentally lazy do
not belong in an artistic vocation. There are probably many things
that they can do and do well in some less spectacular lines, some
calling that does not require such mental effort.

MISFITS IN THE PROFESSIONS

In the traditional educational system the common school is not
particularly adapted to prepare its pupils for life, but rather to prepare
them for either a high school or a preparatory school. Passing on to
the high school, the same condition prevails. The whole question in
every high school and every preparatory school is whether the
training will accredit one to certain colleges and universities. So the
traditional high school graduate is not prepared for life; he is
prepared for college or the university. He goes on to the university.
There he finds that he is being prepared chiefly for four or five
learned professions—the law, the ministry, medicine, engineering,
and teaching. In the beginning, the university was supposed to train
a man, not for work, but for leisure. The very word scholar means a
man of leisure. People were trained, therefore, not for usefulness,
but for show; not to earn their living in the world, but rather, their
living having been provided for them by a thoughtful government or a
kind-hearted parent, to present evidences of the fact. One of the
chief of such evidences was the ability to go to a college or university
and to take the time to learn a great deal of useless knowledge
about dead languages, philosophies, and dry-as-dust sciences.
While this is not true to so great an extent to-day, there is still much
of the old tradition clinging about colleges and universities, and we
are training men and women, not for commercial or industrial or
agricultural lines, but rather, for the learned professions.

THE "WHITE COLLAR MAN"

In England and other European countries no man is held to be a
gentleman who has ever earned his living by the work of his hands.
No one is accredited with standing as an amateur athlete who has
ever "lost caste" in this way. While this caste feeling is not so strong
in America as it is abroad, it still has a considerable influence upon
parents and their children in the selection of a vocation. While one
does not lose caste by doing manual labor, temporarily or as a
makeshift, he suffers socially, in certain circles, who chooses
deliberately a vocation which requires him to wear soiled clothing, to

carry a plebeian dinner-pail, and to work hard with his hands.
Because of this, many bricklayers, carpenters, blacksmiths,
shoemakers, plasterers, plumbers, and other workers, ambitious
socially for their sons, instead of teaching them trades in which they
might excel and in which there might be an unrestricted future for
them, train them for clerical and office work. Having felt the social
handicap themselves, these men and their wives determine that their
children shall belong to the class which wears good clothes, has soft,
white hands, and eats luncheon at a cafeteria—or from a paper
parcel which can be respectably hidden in an inside coat pocket. And
so there are armies of "white collar men" who would be healthier,
wealthier, more useful, and happier if they wore overalls and
jumpers.

The "typical" bank clerk is a good illustration. Pallid from long hours
indoors, stooped from his concentration upon interminable columns
of figures, dissatisfied, discontented, moving along painfully in a
narrow groove, out of which there seems to be no way, underpaid,
he is one of the tragedies of our commercial and financial age. While
the section-hand may become a section boss, a roadmaster, a
division superintendent, a general superintendent, a general
manager, and, finally, the president of a railroad; while the stock boy
becomes, eventually, a salesman, then a sales manager, and, finally,
the head of the corporation; while apprentices to carpenters,
bricklayers, and plumbers may become journeymen, and then
contractors, and, finally, owners of big buildings; while the farmhand
may become a farm owner, then a landlord, and, finally, perhaps, the
president of a bank; while a workman in a factory handling a
wheelbarrow may afterward become the president of the greatest
corporation in the world, the clerk, toiling over his papers and his
books, is almost inevitably sentenced to a lifetime of similar toil, with
small opportunities for advancement before him.

There are men fitted by inheritance and training for clerical work and
what lies beyond and above it. They are so constituted that they
have the ability to take advantage of opportunities, to forge to the
front from such a beginning, and to rise to commanding positions.

But this is not true of the men who have aptitudes which would make
them successful in active work with their hands, and afterward with
hand and brain. These men of inherent activity and skill of hand,
men whose bones and muscles were made for work, whose whole
nature calls for the out-of-doors, are doomed to stagnate, grow
discontented, and finally lose hope, if compelled by pride or bad
judgment to undertake the "white collar man's" job.

SOCIAL VALUE OF THE "WHITE COLLAR MAN"

Regarding the social deficiency of this class of worker Martha
Brensley Bruere and Robert W. Bruere, in their excellent book,
"Increasing Home Efficiency," have the following to say:

"The output of their domestic factory so far is two sons able to earn
living salaries, who are useful to the community undoubtedly, but as
easy to replace if damaged as any other standard products that
come a dozen to the box. They themselves didn't like the upper
reaches of the artisan class where they had spent their lives, so they
boosted their sons till they could make a living by the sweat of their
brains instead of the sweat of their brows. Society can use the Shaw
boys, but is it profitable to produce them at the price? The money
that made these boys into a clerk and a stenographer cost twenty
years of their parents' brain and muscle. Mrs. Shaw has bred the
habit of saving into her own bones till now, when she might shift the
flatiron, the cook stove and the sewing machine from her shoulders,
she can't let go the $10 a month her 'help' eats and wastes long
enough to straighten up her spine. These two boys and a daughter
still in the making have cost their father and mother twenty years,
which Mr. Shaw sums up by saying:

"'So, you see, the final result of making up your mind to do a thing,
including the great trouble of bringing up a family, is just getting
down to the ground and grinding.'

"Isn't it just possible that society has lost as much in the parents as it
has gained in the children? Couldn't we have got the same product

some cheaper way? Or a better product by more efficient home
management?"

WOMEN'S WORK

Perhaps the saddest of all the misfits are to be found amongst
women, or it may be that their cases seem to us to be saddest
because there are so many of them. Under the old-time regime there
was but one vocation open to women—that of wife and mother.
Regardless of aptitudes, physical strength or weakness, personal
likes or dislikes, all women were expected to marry and bear
children, and to qualify successfully for a vocation which combined
the duties of nursemaid, waitress, laundress, seamstress, baker,
cook, governess, purchasing agent, dietitian, accountant, and
confectioner. In the early days of this country, in addition to these
duties, women were also called upon to be butchers, sausage-
makers, tailors, spinners, weavers, shoemakers, candle-makers,
cheese-makers, soap-makers, dyers, gardeners, florists, shepherds,
bee-keepers, poultry-keepers, brewers, picklers, bottlers, butter-
makers, mil-liners, dressmakers, hatters, and first-aid physicians,
surgeons and nurses. In more modern times, women have entered
nearly all vocations. But even yet there is much prejudice against the
woman who "descends" out of her traditional "sphere." The woman
who is not a wife, mother, and house-keeper—or a domestic
parasite, housekeeping by proxy—loses caste among the patricians.
Many men and, on their behalf, their mothers and sisters, shudder at
the sordid thought of marrying a girl who has been so base as to
"work for her living." And so stenographers, clerks, accountants,
saleswomen, factory workers, telephone operators, and all other
women in the business world are about 99 per cent temporary
workers. Even in executive positions and in the professions, most
women look upon wages and salaries as favoring breezes,
necessary until they drop anchor in the haven of matrimony. And
even those who most sincerely proclaim themselves wedded to their
careers, in many instances, exercise their ancient privilege, change
their minds, and give up all else for husband and home.

Every normal woman was intended by nature to marry. It is right that
she should marry. She does not truly and fully live unless she does
marry. She misses deep and true joy who is not happily married—
and usually feels cheated. But the same may be said of every
normal man. The difference is that, according to tradition, marriage is
woman's career, while man may choose a life work according to his
aptitudes. Because of prejudice, however, it is rarely that the happily
married woman makes a business or professional career. Husbands,
except those who do so through necessity or those who are unafraid
of convention, do not permit their wives to work outside of the home.
Because of false pride, many men say: "I am the bread-winner. If I
cannot support my wife as she should be supported, then I do not
wish to marry." And so thousands of women sigh away their lives at
work they hate while a hungry, sad world suffers for what they would
love to do.

The waste of these misfits is threefold: First, the women lose the
opportunity for service, profit, and enjoyment which should be theirs.
Second, the world loses the excellent services which they might
render. Third, oftentimes these women are very poor housekeepers.
They simply have not the aptitudes. Their husbands and their
families suffer.

WOMEN WITHOUT HOMES

Another very large class of misfits, and, perhaps, even more to be
pitied than any other, is composed of the women who are compelled
to earn a living in the business world, in the professional world, or
elsewhere, whose true place is in the home. Many of these are
unmarried, either because the right man has not presented himself,
or because there are not enough really desirable men in the
community to go around. Others are widows. Still others are women
who have been deserted by their mates. Some of them are
compelled to support their parents, brothers, and sisters, or even
their husbands.

If traditional methods and courses of education miss the needs of
many of our young men, what shall we say of conventional education

for girls? Well, to tell the truth, we do not know what to say.
Educational experts, reformers, philosophers, investigators, and
editors have spoken and written volumes on the subject. Women
upon whom the different kinds of educational formulae have been
tried have also written about it. Some of them have told tragic
stories. There has been, and is, much controversy. Some say one
thing—some another—but what shall common sense say? After all,
education is rather a simple problem—in its essentials. It means
development—development of inborn talents. And education ought
especially to develop the natural aptitude of most of our girls for
efficiency in home-making and child-rearing. Most young women
enter upon the vocation of wifehood and motherhood practically
without any training for these duties.

It is as unscientific to expect all women to be successful wives and
mothers as it would be to expect all men to be successful farmers. It
is as tragic to expect an untrained girl to be a successful wife and
mother as it would be to expect an untrained boy to be a successful
physician and surgeon.

EXECUTIVES AND DETAIL WORKERS

A very broad division of misfits is into those who are fitted to do detail
work, trying to do executive work, and those who are natural-born
executives compelled to do detail work. This is a very common
cause of unfitness.

Some men love detail and can do it well. They naturally see the little
things. Their minds are readily occupied with accuracy in what seem
to others to be trifles, but which, taken together, make perfection.
They are careful; they are dependable; they can be relied upon.
Such people, however, do not have a ready grasp for large affairs.
They cannot see things in their broader aspect. They are not
qualified by nature to outline plans in general for other people to
work out in detail. They are the men upon whom the world must
depend for the careful working out of the little things so essential if
the larger plans are to go through successfully.

On the other hand, there are some people who have no patience
with details. They do not like them. They cannot attend to them. If
depended upon for exactitude and accuracy, they are broken reeds.
They forget detail.

There are many executives holding important positions and making a
sad failure of them because they are, by natural aptitudes, excellent
detail men but poor planners and executives. The following story
illustrates, perhaps, as well as anything we could present, the
qualities of these overworked, busy, busy executives who have no
right to be executives, but ought to be carrying out the plans of
someone else:

HOW SOCRATIC HELPED BRAINERD BUILD BUSINESS

People sometimes bring their business troubles to a friend whom we
shall call Socratic. And Socratic helps them out for a consideration.
His time is valuable and he bought his wisdom at a high price.

Some months ago a pompous fellow dropped in. We recognized him
as Brainerd, one of the leading business men of a small city. His
story was this: He had built up a big enterprise during the pioneer
boom days of easy money and negligible competition. Now, when
margins were closer, the pace hotter, and a half dozen keen fellows
were scrambling for their shares of a trade he had formerly

controlled jointly with one other conservative house, he found sales
falling off and his profits dwindling to a minus quantity.

Socratic heard him through; then said: "I'll look your business over,
tell you the troubles, and show you how to remedy them for one
hundred dollars."

"Oh, I couldn't afford to pay that much, the way business is now,"
Brainerd objected.

"How much, then, do you figure it would be worth to you to have your
sales and profits climb back to high-water mark?"

"Oh, that would be worth thousands of dollars, of course. But can
you guarantee me any such results?"

KEEPING THE APPOINTMENT

"Well, if you carefully study over what I tell you, and faithfully follow
my advice, and the results are not satisfactory, you need pay me
nothing. Is that agreeable?"

"Sure! If you can show me how to bring my profits back to normal, I'll
gladly pay you two hundred."

"It's a go!" said Socratic. "Have the contract drawn up ready to sign
when I call to begin my examination. When shall that be?"

"Well, let's see. I'm so all-fired busy it's hard to find time for anything.
Say early next week sometime."

"All right. What day?"

"Oh, Tuesday or Wednesday."

"Tuesday will be satisfactory. What hour?"

"Well, some time in the forenoon, I guess."

"Ten o'clock be all right?"

"Yes, ten o'clock will do."

"Very well, I'll be there at ten sharp."

Tuesday morning, at ten sharp, Socratic stood by Brainerd's desk.
Brainerd was working away like a busy little high-pressure hoisting-
engine. He looked up with a bright smile.

"Oh, it's you, is it? Sorry, but I can't do anything for you to-day. I'm
awfully up against it for time. Can't you drop in a little later in the
week?"

"What day?" Socratic asked.

"Oh, Thursday or Friday," a little impatiently.

"Thursday is all right. What hour? Ten o'clock do?"

"Yes, yes, that will do," sighed the busy, busy business man, his
nose deep in his work.

Socratic turned on his heel and walked out.

THE HEAD CLERK'S SALARY

Thursday morning he was again beside Brainerd's desk. It was easy
to see that this little buzz-fly was a mile up in the air. Hi$ coat was
off, his cuffs turned back, his collar unbuttoned, his hair mussed, and
he had a streak of soot across his nose. He hardly looked up. Just
kept chugging away like a motor-cycle going up-grade at fifty miles
an hour.

Oh, but he was the busy man!

"Sorry to disappoint you again, Socratic," he jerked out, "but I haven't
got time to breathe. You'll have to come in again."

"Making stacks of money with all this strenuous activity, I suppose?"
asked Socratic.

"Oh, no! It keeps me on the jump like a toad under a harrow to pay
expenses."

"Call that a profitable way to spend time and nervous energy so
prodigally?"

"It may not be—I suppose it isn't, but I can't help it."

"Your head clerk draws pretty good pay, doesn't he?" asked Socratic.

"Why, yes," answered Brainerd, staring.

"Probably has a bigger income to handle, personally, than you
have?"

"Oh, I guess so" You'll have to excuse me, Socratic. I'm too busy to
talk to-day."

"Queer, but your head clerk and cashier seem to have plenty of time
for conversation. They have been scrapping for fifteen minutes about
chances of the Pirates and the Cubs. You feel happy to pay people
big salaries for talking baseball?"

"No; of course not; but how can I help it? A man can't hire reliable
help for love or money in this town, and I haven't got time to watch
all of 'em."

"How would it do to have the bookkeeper check up those sales-slips
you are tearing your hair over, instead of manicuring her pretty
paddies and tucking in her scolding locks?"

"Well, she was doing something else when I began. Excuse me a
minute."

SOME FOOL EXCUSES

And Brainerd dashed away to the front of the store to wait on a
nicely dressed lady who had just come in. When he returned he said:
"I'll tell you, Mr. Socratic, I've been thinking over the matter of our
contract, and I don't believe I'm prepared to go into that thing at
present. Times are so hard and I am so rushed for time, and you
would probably recommend a lot of things I couldn't afford, and likely
couldn't work in with my present system. I guess I'll have to let it go
for the present. It would be a good thing, no doubt, but I guess I'll
have to do the best I can without it. Some time later, perhaps, I'll take
it up with you. Why, I don't even get time to read the papers, and I
certainly wouldn't have time to go into that examination with you."

"I've completed my examination," remarked Socratic.

"Why, how's that?" gasped Brainerd. "When did you do it?"

"The day you were in my office. What I have seen and heard on my
two visits here only confirms the diagnosis of your case I made then.
But the real purpose of the two calls was to endeavor to make you
see your troubles as I see them."

"I don't know what you mean, sir," said Brainerd, piqued by the
unmistakable trend of Socratic's remarks.

"I rather think you do, but I'll take no chances. Your business is
desperately ill, isn't it?"

"Yes, I guess it is," reluctantly.

"Then it needs a heroic remedy, doesn't it?"

"Possibly."

"And that remedy must be applied to the source of the trouble. Not
so?"

"Yes."

And that source is none other than Mr. James H. Brainerd. No, don't
blow up with a loud report. Listen to me. You are really too good a
business man to go to the wall for the want of a little teachableness.
You have foresight, initiative, energy, and perseverance. These are
success-qualities of a high order. But you have fallen into some very
costly bad habits.

Let me give you the names of six old-fashioned virtues that you are
going to start right in to cultivate. When you have developed them,
your profits will take care of themselves.

THE REMEDY

The first is Order. You waste seventy-five per cent of your time and
nervous energy because you let your work push you instead of
planning your work and then pushing your plan.

The second is Punctuality. You lose time, money, friends, temper,
and will-power because you are vague and careless about making
appointments and slipshod about keeping them.

The third is Courtesy. This has its source in consideration for others
and is closely allied to tact. When you ask me to come and help you,
and then tell me you are sorry you can do nothing for me, or sorry to
disappoint me, that's patronizing. When you ignore a caller and go to
reading papers on your desk, that's rudeness. And you can't afford
them in your business.

The fourth is Economy. Your time is worth more to this business than
that of all the help put together. And when you spend it doing what a
ten-dollar-a-week girl could do just as well, it is sinful extravagance.
It wastes not only your time, but hers. Worst of all, it undermines
your self-respect and her respect for you.

The fifth is Honesty. When you rush away to wait on some customer
yourself because that customer has connived with you for some
special cut rates, you may not intend it, but you are dishonest.
Business must be done at a profit and all those who share in the

privileges of buying from this store should share proportionately in
paying you your profit. If anyone doesn't pay his share, the others
have to make up for it Give everybody a square, equal deal. That will
build confidence and increase trade. And then you can leave your
salespeople to wait on all customers, giving you more time for real
management—generalship.

The sixth is Courage. It's easy enough to see obstacles, to make
excuses, to procrastinate. When a hard task has to be done, you will
find it no help to begin to catalog the difficulties. Just fear not, and do
it.

Now, you are going to cultivate these virtues, Brainerd, because you
see that I am right and because, after all, you are a man of good
judgment and reason.

"Never mind the contract. When you think my advice has proved its
value, send me what you think it is worth."

And he walked out, leaving Brainerd purple in the face with a number
of varied emotions, chief among which were outraged dignity and
warm gratitude.

While you and we know many Brainerds, there are men capable of
handling large affairs who, through lack of training, lack of
opportunity, or a choice of a wrong vocation, are sentenced to sit,
year after year, working away in an inefficient, fumbling manner, with
a mass of details which they hate and which they are not fitted to
take care of properly. Such people are often conscientious; they
have a great desire to do their work thoroughly and well, and the fact
that they so frequently neglect little details, forget things that they
ought to do, overlook necessary precautions, and otherwise fail to
perform their duties, is a matter not only of supreme regret and
humiliation to them, but of great distress to those who depend upon
them.

CAREFULNESS AND RECKLESSNESS

Carefulness and prudence are natural aptitudes. The careless man
is not wilfully careless. He is careless because he has not the
aptitudes which make a man careful. The imprudent man is not
wilfully imprudent, but because he does not have the inherent
qualifications for prudence, the taking of precautions, the wise and
careful scrutinizing of all the elements entering into success. For
some work men are required who have the natural aptitudes of
carefulness and prudence. The great tragedy is that this kind of work
is often entrusted to men who are so constituted that it is very easy
for them to take chances. The person who is naturally optimistic and
hopeful and always looks on the bright side cheerfully expects
whatever he does to "come out all right," as he expresses it. He
therefore neglects to take sufficient precautions; he does not
exercise care as he should; he takes unnecessary and unwise risks.
The result is that oftentimes his optimism turns out to be very poorly
justified. When things do go wrong on account of their carelessness,
such people may feel distressed about it for a time, but they soon
recover. They hope for "better luck next time." They expect, by their
ingenuity and resourcefulness, to more than make up for the troubles
which have come as the result of their carelessness. On the other
hand, those who are naturally careful and dependable do not have
much hope of things coming out right without eternal vigilance and
foresight. They are inherently somewhat apprehensive. They take
precautions, are on their guard, and leave no stone unturned whose
turning may insure success.

But there are certain classes of work which require a willingness to
take chances. Such enterprises are speculative. In order to be happy
in them, one must have a certain amount of optimism and
hopefulness. He must accept temporary failure without
discouragement. The heart to look on the bright side of every cloud
must be born in one. He must believe always that the future will bring
more desirable results. The careless person delights in this kind of
work. The element of chance in it appeals to his sporting blood. The
danger gives him needed excitement and thrill. The anxious,
apprehensive person has no place in such enterprises. Their
uncertainties are a drain upon his nervous system. He worries. He

makes himself ill with his anxieties and apprehensions. He is
unhappy. When disaster does happen, he takes it seriously, feels
discouraged, thinks his efforts have been of no avail, can see
nothing in the future but black ruin, and otherwise destroys not only
his joy in his work, but his efficiency and usefulness in it.

In actual practice we find both prudent and reckless misfits. Such
people are unhappy, inefficient, and usually unsuccessful. It is
strange that men do not understand, before undertaking a vocation,
so elemental and fundamental a thing as the question of
carelessness and carefulness. Yet, somehow or other, they do not.
We find thousands of men worrying, anxious, distrait, because of the
uncertainties of their businesses and the chances they have to take.
We find other thousands of men blundering, careless, optimistic,
always hopeful for better things in the future, and yet attempting to
succeed in a business which requires care, infinite pains and
precautions. Thoughtless, impulsive, frivolous people are always
trying to do work requiring careful, plodding, painstaking, methodical
ways; while thoughtful, philosophic, and deliberate people oftentimes
find themselves distressed, bewildered, and inefficient in the hurly-
burly of some swift-moving vocation.

SOME OTHER MISFITS

Mild, easy-going, timid, self-conscious men we frequently find in
vocations which require aggressiveness, courage, fighting ability,
self-confidence, and a considerable amount of hard-headed brutality.
On the other hand, we sometimes find the fighting man in a
profession which is considered to be quiet and peaceable.

Similarly, we have often seen lawyers, whose profession requires of
them a good deal of combativeness, shrewdness, a certain degree
of skepticism, and a large amount of hard-headed determination to
win, no matter what the cost, handicapped by extreme sensitiveness,
sympathy, generosity, non-resistance, credulity, humility, and self-
consciousness. Physically, they were wonderfully capable of success
as lawyers. Intellectually, they, perhaps, were even better fitted for
the profession than many of their brothers in the legal fraternity. But,

emotionally, they were absolutely unfit for the competition, the
contest, the necessity for combat and severity in the practice of law.

Contrawise, we have often seen hard-headed, shrewd, skeptical,
grasping, unprincipled, aggressive, fighting men in professions
where they did not belong; in professions requiring sympathy,
credulity, kindness, tact, generosity, unselfishness, and other such
qualities. We have not, in this chapter, outlined all of the different
classes of misfits. That would be impossible. We have, however,
referred to the most common of them. Probably nine-tenths of all the
misfits which have come under our observation could be classified
under one or more of the heads we have outlined in the foregoing
chapter.

CHAPTER IV
THE PHYSICALLY FRAIL

Some years ago there came into our offices in Boston a young man
twenty-six years of age. He was about medium height, with keen,
intelligent face, fine skin, fine hair, delicately modeled features,
refined looking hands, and small, well-shaped feet.

He was inexpensively, but neatly, dressed, and, while somewhat
diffident, was courteous, affable, and respectful in demeanor. After a
little conversation with him, we asked him if he would be willing to
appear before one of our classes and permit the students to try to
analyze him, decide what his aptitudes were, and for what profession
he was best fitted. An evening or two later he appeared and we
placed him before the class. After some little examination of his
appearance, this is the judgment passed upon him by those present:

"Fairly observant; capable of learning well through his powers of
observation; good intellect, of the thoughtful, meditative type; a fair
degree of constructive ability; in disposition, optimistic, cheerful;
inclined to take chances; sympathetic, generous, sensitive, kindly,
well disposed, and agreeable; rather lacking in self-confidence and,
therefore, somewhat diffident, but courteous and friendly in contact
with others; responsive and, therefore, easily influenced by his
associates, and affected by his environment. Lacking in sense of
justice and property sense. A man of natural refinement and refined
tastes; fond of beauty, elegance and luxury. Energetic and alert
mentally, but rather disinclined to physical effort. Somewhat deficient
in aggressiveness, but endowed with an excellent constructive
imagination, and so great mental energy that he would be able to
take the initiative in an intellectual way, especially in the formation of
plans and in the devising of means and ways. Fond of change,
variety; loves excitement; likes social life, and somewhat deficient in

constancy, conservatism, prudence, and responsibility. Keen, alert,
somewhat impatient and restless. Well fitted by nature for intellectual
work of any kind; with training would have done well as teacher,
writer, private secretary or high-class clerical worker, but expression
indicates that, through lack of training, he has failed in physical work
and has fallen into evil ways."

After this analysis had been carefully made, we excused the young
man and explained that thirteen of his twenty-six years had been
spent in jail. He had been left an orphan early in life and secured so
little education that he was almost entirely illiterate.

THE EASY DESCENT TO CRIME

As soon as he was old enough, he was set to work at the only thing
he could do, namely, manual labor. He was small and slight for his
age, and the services he was able to render were not worth much.
He, therefore, received very small pay. Because of his physical
disabilities, he was behind the other boys in his gang and suffered
frequently from the tongue-lashings of an unsympathetic foreman.
His pay was not commensurate with his tastes. He constantly felt the
desire for finer, better, cleaner things than he was able to earn. The
work was hard for him; he suffered much from the punishment
inflicted upon his tender hands, from muscular soreness and from
weariness. As the days rolled on, he grew weaker, rather than
stronger, and became weary earlier in the day. Finally, the time came
when he felt that he could endure the taunts of his foreman no
longer, and he was about to give up when the foreman, exasperated
with his inefficiency, his clumsiness, and his weakness, discharged
him.

Having been discharged, it was difficult for him to find another place
to work. At this critical stage, being out of money, and having fallen in
with idlers—and worse—he was influenced to use his keen intellect
and ability in plans and schemes, to commit a small crime, which
yielded him $10 or $15. Being a novice in crime, not naturally a
criminal, he did not protect himself from discovery and punishment,
and, as a result, was sent to a reformatory. After a short term in the

reformatory, his behavior was so good that he was released. After
his release, a kind-hearted person, who had observed him and liked
his appearance, secured another position for him. This also was at
manual labor. At first he entered upon his new work with a
determination to succeed, to live down the stain upon his character
caused by his previous speculation, and, therefore, to live an
honorable and successful life.

STRUGGLING AGAINST ODDS

He worked hard and did his best, but the best he could do was not
good enough. He possessed no manual skill, he had no strength,
and little by little he again became physically tired out, mentally
discouraged and sore, and, having once committed a crime, found it
easy to seek his former associates and drop again into the old ways.
An opportunity presented itself to rob a companion's pocket of a few
dollars, and he did so. Again he was sent to the reformatory, this
time for a longer term. Then, until he came to our office, his career
was a repetition of what has already been related. A few months or a
year or two in a reformatory, a jail, or a penitentiary, a month or two
trying to rehabilitate himself in some form of manual labor, and, then,
inefficiency, incompetency, lack of skill, lack of strength, and
discharge, to be followed by another attempt to add to his resources
by some petty crime.

For several years following this first interview with Mr. L. we followed
him, and did our best to assist him to enter upon some vocation for
which he was better fitted. Again and again we and other friends of
his helped him to secure work, but always it was the old story. His
mind was so active, so intelligent, so eager for expression, that the
drudgery, the monotony, the routine, the small pay, and the
consequent lack of the many elegances and luxuries he so strongly
desired were too much for him. His crimes were never serious, and
never those requiring great courage. He never stole any very large
sums. For this reason much of his time was spent in the work house
or in jail, rather than in the penitentiary. In addition to petty thieving,
he had acquired some little ability as a confidence man, and was

capable of ensnaring small sums from credulous or sympathetic
people on various pretexts. The last time we heard of him he had
called upon a friend of ours, professed his complete and permanent
reform, wept over his former failures, and promised faithfully—and
with the greatest possible fervency and apparent sincerity—to do
better in the future. He said that he had an opportunity to make a trip
on a whaling vessel and he thought this oportunity would be the best
thing in the world for him, as it would take him away from his old, evil
associates and give him an opportunity to save money and make
good in a new life. He wished our friend to give him $4 to buy a ticket
to New Bedford. Our friend gave him the money and also a postal
card, on which he had written his own address. "Now, L.," he said, "I
believe you, and I want you to show me that you are playing square
with me. When you get your new position and are about to sail, I
want you to write me about it on this postal card, and mail it to me so
that I will know that you are carrying out your promises."

THE OLD, OLD STORY

L. promised faithfully, and said, "I want to write a letter to my mother,
and tell her where I am going. I wish you would let me have an
envelope and a stamp." Our friend obliged him with the necessaries,
and L. left the office beaming with gratitude and profuse in his
promises to return the loan as soon as he came back from his trip on
the whaling vessel. A few days later my friend received a postal card,
dated at New Bedford, Massachusetts. In one corner of the postal
card was the notation, "Received at the post office at New Bedford in
an envelope, with a letter, requesting that it be mailed here. (Signed)
Postmaster."

Here was a man so well-intentioned by nature, of such a kindly,
sympathetic, generous disposition, so intelligent, so naturally
capable mentally that, with proper training and properly placed in a
vocation in which he could have used his talents, he would doubtless
have become an excellent asset to society.

This case is typical of many others. They have natural aptitudes
which fit them to become useful, but their talents have never been

trained, their aptitudes have never been given an opportunity to
develop. They have no inherent tendencies toward crime. In fact,
there is no "criminal" type. Most—but not all—criminals fall into their
evil ways simply because they have never been taught how to direct
their mental and physical energies in a way which will give them
pleasure, as well as profit.

DESCRIPTION OF THIS TYPE

The physically frail individual of this type is frail because the brain
and nervous system are so highly developed that they require a
great deal of his vitality and endurance to nourish them and to
sustain their activities. The result is that mental powers grow and
thrive at the expense of physical.

Such people have large heads in proportion to their bodies. Their
heads also are inclined to be very much larger above the ears and in
the neighborhood of the forehead and temples than at the jaw and at
the nape of the neck. This gives their heads a rather top-heavy effect
—like a pear with the small end down—and their faces a triangular
shape. Their jaws are usually fine and slender, and their chins not
particularly broad and strong.

Such people have very fine hair and fine skin. Their nerves are
sensitive and close to the surface. Their entire build of body is
delicate and slender. Their hands and feet also are usually delicately
and slenderly fashioned; their shoulders are narrow and oftentimes
sloping. It is folly to talk of building up rugged, muscular and bony
systems by means of strenuous exercise in people thus endowed.
Much, of course, can be done to strengthen and harden the muscles,
but they are frail physically, by nature, and can never be anything
else.

VOCATIONS FOR THE PHYSICALLY FRAIL

People with this type of organization are not inclined to be skillful
with their fingers. They do not care for physical work of any kind;
they do not take an interest in it and, therefore, cannot do it well.

Properly trained, men and women of this type take their place in the
professions. They are teachers, preachers, lawyers, educators,
reformers, inventors, authors, and artists. Among those of mediocre
abilities we find clerks, secretaries, accountants, salesmen, window
trimmers, decorators, advertisers, and others working along similar
mental lines. When such people are not trained and educated, they
are misfits always, because they do not have opportunities to use to
their fullest extent the natural intellectual talents with which they
have been endowed.

THE MENTALLY MECHANICAL

There is a type of boy who is oftentimes thrown into the wrong
vocation in life, owing to a lack of appreciation of his true abilities on
the part of parents or teachers. This boy has a large head and small
body, and is intensely interested in machinery. He probably learns to
handle tools, after a fashion, at a very early age; spends his spare
time in machine shops; is intensely interested in locomotives and
steamships, and otherwise manifests a passion for machinery and
mechanics. Oftentimes, on account of this, he is very early
apprenticed to a mechanic or is given a job in some place where he
will have an opportunity to build, operate or repair machinery.

Some years ago we visited in a family in which there was a boy of
this type. At that time his chief interest was in locomotives. He had a
toy locomotive and took the greatest delight in operating it.
Whenever he went near a railroad station he improved every
opportunity to examine carefully the parts of a locomotive and, if
possible, to induce the engineer to take him up into the cab and
show him the levers, valves and other parts to be seen there. As
soon as he was old enough, he begged his father to be permitted to
go to work in a railroad shop. Fortunately, however, his father was
too intelligent and too sensible to be misled by mere surface
indications. The boy was encouraged to finish his education. Being a
bright, capable youngster, he learned readily and rapidly. By means
of proper educational methods, giving him plenty of opportunity for
the exercise of his mechanical activities, he was induced to remain in

school until he secured an excellent college education. As he grew
older his interest in machinery did not wane. He found, however, that
it was becoming almost wholly intellectual. He lost all desire to
handle, build, operate or repair machinery. When, in later life, he
became the owner of an automobile, he was more than willing to
leave all of the details of its care to his chauffeur and mechanician.

As he cultivated his mental powers, he became more and more
interested in the use of his constructive aptitudes in the formation of
ideas. He liked to put ideas together; to work out the mechanics of
expression in writing. Instead of building machinery, he loved to build
plots. Instead of operating machinery, his abilities turned in the
direction of working out the technique of literary expression. Instead
of repairing machinery he loved rather to revise and rewrite his
stories and plays. In other words, the constructive talent, which he
had shown as a child in material mechanics, turned in the direction
of mental and intellectual construction as he grew older.

COMMERCIAL CONSTRUCTIVENESS

There are many boys who exhibit in their early years a great love of
machinery, and it is usually considered a kindness to them to
prepare them for either mechanics or engineering. In mechanical
lines, they are misfits, because they are frail and insufficient
physically. In engineering lines they are more at home, because the
engineer works principally with his brains. But very often they would
still be more at home in the realms of literature or oratory.

In a similar way boys often manifest great interest in machinery in
their youth, and afterward, if given the right opportunities, show their
constructive ability in the organization of business enterprises and
the successful devising of plans and schemes for pushing these
enterprises to success.

Sometimes those of this type of organization devote themselves
rather to invention and improvement than to the direct physical
handling of machinery. The following brief story of the struggles of
Elias Howe [7] should be an inspiration to every individual who fights

physical frailty; also, a lesson to him as to the way in which he
should express his mechanical ability:

[7] From "Great Fortunes," by James D. McCabe. Published by
George Maclean.

INTELLECTUAL TRIUMPH OF A FRAIL MAN

"Elias Howe was born in the town of Spencer, Massachusetts, in
1819. He was one of eight children, and it was no small undertaking
on the part of his father to provide a maintenance for such a
household. Mr. Howe, Sr., was a farmer and miller, and, as was the
custom at that time in the country towns of New England, carried on
in his family some of those minor branches of industry suited to the
capacity of children, with which New England abounds. When Elias
was six years old, he was set, with his brothers and sisters, to
sticking wire teeth through the leather straps used for making cotton
cards. When he became old enough, he assisted his father in his
saw-mill and grist-mill, and during the winter months picked up a
meager education at the district school. He has said that it was the
rude and imperfect mills of his father that first turned his attention to
machinery. He was not fitted for hard work, however, as he was frail
in constitution and incapable of bearing much fatigue. Moreover, he
inherited a species of lameness which proved a great obstacle to
any undertaking on his part, and gave him no little trouble all through
life. At the age of eleven he went to live out on the farm of a
neighbor, but the labor proving too severe for him he returned home
and resumed his place in his father's mills, where he remained until
he was sixteen years old.

"At the age of twenty-one he married. This was a rash step for him,
as his health was very delicate, and his earnings were but nine
dollars per week. Three children were born to him in quick
succession, and he found it no easy task to provide food, shelter and
clothing for his little family. The light heartedness for which he had
formerly been noted entirely deserted him, and he became sad and
melancholy. His health did not improve, and it was with difficulty that
he could perform his daily task. His strength was so slight that he

would frequently return from his day's work too exhausted to eat. He
could only go to bed, and in his agony he wished 'to lie in bed
forever and ever,' Still he worked faithfully and conscientiously, for
his wife and children were very dear to him; but he did so with a
hopelessness which only those who have tasted the depths of
poverty can understand.

"About this time he heard it said that the great necessity of the age
was a machine for doing sewing. The immense amount of fatigue
incurred and the delay in hand sewing were obvious, and it was
conceded by all who thought of the matter at all that the man who
could invent a machine which would remove these difficulties would
make a fortune. Howe's poverty inclined him to listen to these
remarks with great interest. No man needed money more than he,
and he was confident that his mechanical skill was of an order which
made him as competent as any one else to achieve the task
proposed. He set to work to accomplish it, and, as he knew well the
dangers which surround an inventor, kept his own counsel. At his
daily labor, in all his waking hours, and even in his dreams, he
brooded over this invention. He spent many a wakeful night in these
meditations, and his health was far from being benefitted by this
severe mental application. Success is not easily won in any great
undertaking, and Elias Howe found that he had entered upon a task
which required the greatest patience, perseverance, energy and
hopefulness. He watched his wife as she sewed, and his first effort
was to devise a machine which should do what she was doing. He
made a needle pointed at both ends, with the eye in the middle, that
should work up and down through the cloth, and carry the thread
through at each thrust, but his elaboration of this conception would
not work satisfactorily. It was not until 1844, fully a year after he
began the attempt to invent the machine, that he came to the
conclusion that the movement of a machine need not of necessity be
an imitation of the performance by hand. It was plain to him that
there must be another stitch by the aid of a shuttle and a curved
needle with the eye near the point. This was the triumph of his skill.
He had now invented a perfect sewing machine, and had discovered
the essential principles of every subsequent modification of his

conception. Satisfied that he had at length solved the problem, he
constructed a rough model of his machine of wood and wire, in
October, 1844, and operated it to his perfect satisfaction.

"It has been stated by Professor Renwick and other scientists that
Elias Howe 'carried the invention of the sewing machine further on
toward its complete and final utility than any other inventor has ever
brought a first-rate invention at the first trial.' ...

"Having patented his machine, Howe endeavored to bring it into use.
He was full of hope, and had no doubt that it would be adopted at
once by those who were so much interested in the saving of labor.
He first offered it to the tailors of Boston; but they, while admitting its
usefulness, told him it would never be adopted by their trade, as it
would ruin them. Considering the number of machines now used by
the tailoring interests throughout the world, this assertion seems
ridiculous. Other efforts were equally unsuccessful. Every one
admitted and praised the ingenuity of the machine, but no one would
invest a dollar in it. Fisher (Howe's partner) became disgusted and
withdrew from his partnership, and Howe and his family moved back
to his father's house. Thoroughly disheartened, he abandoned his
machine. He then obtained a place as engineer on a railroad, and
drove a locomotive until his health entirely broke down....

"In 1850 Howe removed to New York, and began in a small way to
manufacture machines to order. He was in partnership with a Mr.
Bliss, but for several years the business was so unimportant that
upon the death of his partner, in 1855, he was enabled to buy out
that gentleman's interest, and thus became the sole proprietor of his
patent. Soon after this his business began to increase, and
continued until his own proper profits, and the royalty which the
courts compelled other manufacturers to pay him for the use of his
invention, grew from $300 to $200,000 per annum. In 1867, when
the extension of his patent expired, it is stated that he had earned a
total of two millions of dollars by it."

STARVED BY HIS HANDS, ENRICHED BY HIS HEAD

Robert Burns was a failure as plowman and farmer. Rousseau was a
failure at every kind of physical work. Henry George nearly starved
himself and his family to death trying to make a living as a
journeyman printer. The following extract from the autobiography of
Jacob Riis[8]—another excellent example of this type of organization
—shows how useless it was for him to attempt to make his living at
physical labor:

[8] From "The Making of an American," by Jacob A. Riis. Macmillan
& Company, New York.

A missionary in Castle Garden was getting up a gang of men for the
Brady's Bend Iron Works on the Allegheny River, and I went along.
We started a full score, with tickets paid, but only two of us reached
the Bend. The rest calmly deserted in Pittsburgh and went their own
way....

The iron works company mined its own coal. Such as it was, it
cropped out of the hills right and left in narrow veins, sometimes too
shallow to work, seldom affording more space to the digger than
barely enough to permit him to stand upright. You did not go down
through a shaft, but straight in through the side of a hill to the bowels
of the mountain, following a track on which a little donkey drew the
coal to the mouth of the mine and sent it down the incline to run up
and down a hill a mile or more by its own gravity before it reached
the place of unloading. Through one of these we marched in, Adler
and I, one summer morning with new pickaxes on our shoulders and
nasty little oil lamps fixed in our hats to light us through the darkness
where every second we stumbled over chunks of slate rock, or into
pools of water that oozed through from above. An old miner, whose
way lay past the fork in the tunnel where our lead began, showed us
how to use our picks and the timbers to brace the slate that roofed
over the vein, and left us to ourselves in a chamber perhaps ten feet
wide and the height of a man.

We were to be paid by the ton, I forget how much, but it was very
little, and we lost no time in getting to work. We had to dig away the
coal at the floor with our picks, lying on our knees to do it, and

afterward drive wedges under the roof to loosen the mass. It was
hard work, and, entirely inexperienced as we were, we made but
little headway.

When toward evening we quit work, after narrowly escaping being
killed by a large stone that fell from the roof in consequence of our
neglect to brace it up properly, our united efforts had resulted in
barely filling two of the little carts, and we had earned, if I recollect
aright, something like sixty cents each. The fall of the roof robbed us
of all desire to try mining again....

Up the railroad track I went, and at night hired out to a truck farmer,
with the freedom of his hay-mow for my sleeping quarters. But when
I had hoed cucumbers three days in a scorching sun, till my back
ached as if it were going to break, and the farmer guessed he would
call it square for three shillings, I went farther. A man is not
necessarily a philanthropist, it seems, because he tills the soil. I did
not hire out again. I did odd jobs to earn my meals, and slept in the
fields at night....

The city was full of idle men. My last hope, a promise of employment
in a human-hair factory, failed, and, homeless and penniless, I joined
the great army of tramps, wandering about the streets in the daytime
with the one aim of somehow stilling the hunger that gnawed at my
vitals, and fighting at night with vagrant curs or outcasts as miserable
as myself for the protection of some sheltering ash-bin or doorway. I
was too proud in all my misery to beg. I do not believe I ever did.

There was until last winter a doorway in Chatham Square, that of the
old Barnum clothing store, which I could never pass without recalling
those nights of hopeless misery with the policeman's periodic 'Get up
there! move on!' reinforced by a prod of his club or the toe of his
boot. I slept there, or tried to when crowded out of the tenements in
the Bend by their utter nastiness. Cold and wet weather had set in,
and a linen duster was all that covered my back. There was a
woolen blanket in my trunk which I had from home—the one, my
mother had told me, in which I was wrapped when I was born; but
the trunk was in the 'hotel' as security for money I owed for board,

and I asked for it in vain. I was now too shabby to get work, even if
there had been any to get. I had letters still to friends of my family in
New York who might have helped me, but hunger and want had not
conquered my pride. I would come to them, if at all, as their equal,
and, lest I fall into temptation, I destroyed the letters. So, having
burned my bridges behind me, I was finally and utterly alone in the
city, with the winter approaching and every shivering night in the
streets reminding me that a time was rapidly coming when such a life
as I led could no longer be endured.

Not in a thousand years would I be likely to forget the night when it
came. It had rained all day, a cold October storm, and night found
me, with the chill downpour unabated, down by the North River,
soaked through and through, with no chance for a supper, forlorn
and discouraged. I sat on the bulwark, listening to the falling rain and
the swish of the dark tide, and thinking of home. How far it seemed,
and how impassable the gulf now between the 'castle,' with its
refined ways, between her, in her dainty girlhood, and me sitting
there, numbed with the cold that was slowly stealing away my
senses with my courage. There was warmth and cheer where she
was. Here an overpowering sense of desolation came upon me. I
hitched a little nearer to the edge. What if——? Would they miss me
much or long at home if no word came from me? Perhaps they might
never hear. What was the use of keeping it up any longer, with, God
help us, everything against, and nothing to back, a lonely lad?...

It was not only breakfast we lacked. The day before we had had only
a crust together. Two days without food is not good preparation for a
day's canvassing. We did the best we could. Bob stood by and
wagged his tail persuasively while I did the talking; but luck was
dead against us, and 'Hard Times' stuck to us for all we tried.
Evening came and found us down by the Cooper Institute, with never
a cent. Faint with hunger, I sat down on the steps under the
illuminated clock, while Bob stretched himself at my feet. He had
beguiled the cook in one of the last houses we called at, and his
stomach was filled. From the corner I had looked on enviously. For
me there was no supper, as there had been no dinner and no

breakfast. To-morrow there was another day of starvation. How long
was this to last? Was it any use to keep up a struggle so hopeless?
From this very spot I had gone, hungry and wrathful, three years
before when the dining Frenchmen for whom I wanted to fight thrust
me forth from their company. Three wasted years! Then I had one
cent in my pocket, I remembered. To-day I had not even so much. I
was bankrupt in hope and purpose. Nothing had gone right; and
worse, I did not care. I drummed moodily upon my book. Wasted!
Yes, that was right. My life was wasted, utterly wasted.

A voice hailed me by name, and Bob sat up, looking attentively at me
for his cue as to the treatment of the owner of it. I recognized in him
the principal of the telegraph school where I had gone until my
money gave out. He seemed suddenly struck by something.

Photo by
Marceau, N.Y.
Fig. 9. Richard
Mansfield, Actor-
Manager. A fine,
balanced
combination of
artistic talent,
creative power,
and capacity for
great emotion,
with good
judgment,
financial sense,
great energy,
great
determination,
uncompromising
devotion to
ideals, fine
powers of
expression, and
executive ability
of the driving,
compelling, rigid
type. Note high
head, domed
above temples
and wide across
center of
forehead; large
nose; long,
straight upper
lip; firm mouth;
prominent chin;
long line from
point of chin to

crown of head;
intense
expression.
Fig. 10. Hon.
A.I. Cutting
(same as Fig.
11). Intellectual,
idealistic, yet
practical; mild,
but very shrewd
and persistent;
good-natured,
friendly, social,
sympathetic,
kindly, yet with
good
commercial and
financial
judgment.
Observe height
of head, with
dome above
temples;
moderate width
of head;
pleasant, but
firm-set, mouth;
fine texture and
fine chiseling of
features; strong,
prominent chin,
and genial,
kindly, friendly
expression.

Fig. 11. Hon.
A.L. Cutting.
Ambitious,
aspiring,
hopeful,
cheerful,
friendly, social. A
good public
speaker.
Excellent
planner, prudent,
far-sighted, and
deliberate in
speech and
action. Note high
head, both at
crown and
above temples,
long behind
ears; high
forehead; well-
formed eyes and
nose, and
prominent chin.

Fig. 12. The late
Melville Fuller,
Chief Justice of
the Supreme
Court of the
United States.
Unusually keen
analytical
powers,
unaffected by
sentiment or
irrelevant
considerations.
Great ability to
get down to
essentials. Note
fullness of brows
and of upper
corners of
forehead; keen,
penetrating
eyes, and long
nose with
depressed tip.

Fig. 13. Frank A.
Vanderlip,
President of
National City
Bank, of New
York. A man of
both financial
and political
acumen—also
humanitarian.
Note high,
domed head;
width across
center and lower
part of forehead;
inclination to
stoutness; large,
well-formed
features; long
lines of face.

Copyright
American Press
Association. Fig.
14. Hon. Joseph
W. Folk, of
Missouri. A keen
politician,
shrewd lawyer,
and hard fighter.
Note height and
width of head;
large, prominent
nose; square,
firm jaw; long
upper lip;
dogged set of
mouth;
unflinching eyes,
and inclination to
stoutness.

Fig. 15. The late
Senator Nelson
W. Aldrich, of
Rhode Island.
Keen, practical
observation,
financial
judgment,
diplomacy,
shrewdness,
energy, intellect,
industry,
courage,
determination,
and command.
Note well-
developed
brows; height
and width of
forehead,
especially
across center;
long, well-
developed nose;
straight, firm
mouth; broad,
square,
prominent chin;
long ears; long
line from point of
chin to crown of
head, and keen,
shrewd, alert,
penetrating
expression of
eye.

Fig. 16.
Showing large,
well-developed
base of brain,
usually an
indication of a
tendency to
stoutness. Note
fullness of back
of head at nape
of neck.

"'Why, what are you doing here?' he asked. I told him Bob and I were
just resting after a day of canvassing.

"'Books!' he snorted. 'I guess that won't make you rich. Now, how
would like to be a reporter, if you have got nothing better to do? The
manager of a news agency downtown asked me to-day to find him a
bright young fellow whom he could break in. It isn't much—$10 a
week to start with. But it is better than peddling books, I know,'

"He poked over the book in my hand and read the title. 'Hard Times,'
he said, with a little laugh. 'I guess so. What do you say? I think you
will do. Better come along and let me give you a note to him now.'

"As in a dream. I walked across the street with him to his office and
got the letter which was to make me, half starved and homeless, rich
as Croesus, it seemed to me.

"When the sun rose I washed my face and hands in a dog's drinking
trough, pulled my clothes into such shape as I could, and went with
Bob to his new home. The parting over, I walked down to 23 Park
Row and delivered my letter to the desk editor in the New York News
Association up on the top floor.

"He looked me over a little doubtfully, but evidently impressed with
the early hours I kept told me that I might try. He waved me to a
desk, bidding me wait until he had made out his morning book of
assignments; and with such scant ceremony was I finally introduced
to Newspaper Row, that had been to me like an enchanted land.
After twenty-seven years of hard work in it, during which I have been
behind the scenes of most of the plays that go to make up the sum
of the life of the metropolis, it exercises the old spell over me yet. If
my sympathies need quickening, my point of view adjusting, I have
only to go down to Park Row at eventide, when the crowds are
hurrying homeward and the City Hall clock is lighted, particularly
when the snow lies on the grass in the park, and stand watching
them awhile, to find all things coming right. It is Bob who stands by
and watches with me then, as on that night."

TALENT IN THE BUD AND BLOSSOM

The big important lesson underlying all of these concrete examples
is that the individual of this type never ought to attempt to do any
kind of work in which success depends upon physical effort.
Whatever talents he may have will express themselves always best
in an intellectual way. It may be art, it may be music, it may be
machinery, it may be business, it may be mining or agriculture, it
may be any one of many other active pursuits which have also a

purely intellectual side. In his early youth his mind naturally turns to
the more material manifestation of his talent. But, with proper training
and given the proper opportunities, he will always gravitate surely to
the mental and intellectual phases of his bent. The boy who is
interested in machinery may become an inventor or he may become
a playwright or an author. The boy who is interested in plants and
flowers may become a botanist or a naturalist, or, perhaps, even a
poet. The boy who is deeply interested in battles and fighting may be
far better adapted to the profession of historian than to the trade of
soldier. The boy who likes to build houses and factories in his play,
and seems to be deeply interested in the construction of edifices,
may not be fitted to become a contractor or a draughtsman. If he is
of this intellectual type, he is far more likely to become an architect,
or, perhaps, to idealize his talents even further and devote himself to
literature on the subject of architecture, home planning, and home
decoration. The boy of this type, who in his youth seems to take a
particular interest in horses, cattle, dogs, and other animals, may not
necessarily be best qualified for a stock breeder or a dairyman.
Possibly he should become a veterinarian or even a physician and
surgeon. Or his bent may be in the direction of science, so that he
makes a name as a naturalist.

The first and most important thing for people of this type, and for
parents having children of this type, is to get it firmly fixed in their
minds, once for all, that they are not fitted for hard physical work.
The next important thing, of course, is to secure a broad and
complete education along general lines. If there is any striking and
particular talent along any one line, such an education is more than
likely to bring it out and to cause it to seek further development. In
case there is no such distinct predilection manifested, further and
more minute study of the individual will have to be made in order to
determine just what kind of intellectual work will give him the best
opportunities for success and happiness. Even in the want of such a
careful analysis, it is, nevertheless, true that an individual of this
type, who has no marked inclination toward any one form of mental
activity, is always far better placed, far happier, and far more
successful if trained to do any kind of intellectual work than if left

untrained and compelled to try to earn his own living by the use of
his bones and muscles.

CHAPTER V
THE FAT MAN

When we were children and went to the circus, our favorite
performer in the sawdust ring was always the clown, and our favorite
clown was the fat one. In fact, we do not remember ever having seen
a clown who was not a fat man.

Alas! how many were the tribulations of our rotund friend! How he
was buffeted, and paddled, and slapped! How often he tumbled and
fell! How maliciously inanimate objects flew up and hit him in the
face! How constantly his best efforts went for naught, how invariably
he was misunderstood! How great was the glee with which
everybody persecuted him and knocked him about the ring! And yet,
notwithstanding all his troubles, did he win from us a sympathetic
sigh or even the fraction of a tear, except tears of laughter? All his
troubles seemed funny to us.

Millions are still laughing at the comic tribulations of dear old John
Bunny, although he has gone beyond the power of things to trouble
him. We have laughed and are still laughing at Thomas Wise. From
the days of Falstaff down to those of the "movies," we have enjoyed
laughing at the plights of a fat man on the stage.

FAT MEN RULE THE WORLD

In real life it is much the same. Every fat man knows that only by
unusual patience, good nature, and friendly tolerance can he live
with his fellows. He is the butt of all jokes; he must smile at a
constant patter of pleasantries about his unusual size. He hears the
same old stupid japes over and over and over again. If he weren't
the prince of good fellows and the best-natured man in the world, it
would fare ill for those who torment him.

As a matter of fact, it may be better for the rest of us than for the fat
man that he is good natured, easy going, genial, fond of a good
laugh; because fat men rule the world. Perhaps that is why it is so
funny to us to see them in trouble. It is one of the foibles of humanity
always to find pleasure in the mishaps of its rulers and superiors.
The pranks of the schoolboy are intended to cause perplexity and
distress to his teacher. This is true of the college youth in his
playfulness. The same human trait manifests itself in a thousand
other ways.

The fat man was born to rule. He enjoys the good things of life. He is
fond of luxuries. He has a keenly developed sense of taste, and a
nice discrimination of flavor. He likes to wear good clothing. He likes
soft, upholstered chairs, comfortable beds, a goodly shelter. Like old
King Cole (always pictured in our nursery books with a Garguntian
girth), he enjoys "his pipe and his bowl and his fiddlers three." He is
fond of a good joke, and laughs more heartily than any one else at it.
In fact, enjoyment and pleasure may be said to be the keynote of the
typical fat man's personality. But he is too heavy for physical activity.
His feet are too small for the weight of his body. He does not care for
strenuous physical exercise. It is not his idea of a good time to follow
a golf ball all over a twenty-acre field. He does it only because he
thus hopes to reduce his flesh and enable himself to become once
more the romantic figure he was in his youth. For, while the fat man
may be a master of comedy, and while he may be a ruler of the
people, he is not romantic. The big fellows do not well sustain
romantic rôles, except in grand opera, where nearly everything but
the music is illusion and elusive. Our novelists all tell us that as soon
as a man's girth begins to increase, he looks ridiculous in a fine
frenzy. J.M. Barrie makes a very keen point of this in his story of
Tommy and Grizel. It was the increasing size of his waist band that
drove poor Tommy to such extreme measures as to cause his final
downfall and death. His one great aim in life was to be romantic, and
when the lady of his desires giggled about his increasing size it was
too much.

Scientific research, philosophy, and the more strenuous and
concentrated forms of mental activity seem to require a certain
degree of asceticism in order to be wholly efficient. We are told that
the person who feeds too well causes his mind to grow rather
ponderous in its movements. He is inclined to fall asleep if he
remains quiet and practices severe mental concentration for too long
a time.

HE PLANS WORK FOR OTHERS

If, therefore, the fat man cannot work at physical labor, if he is not
fitted for romance, if he is incapacitated by his love of the good
things of life for severe mental labor, what can he do to fill his purse,
supply his table, clothe his portly person, and surround himself with
the elegancies and luxuries which are so dear to his heart?

Evidently the fat man found out long ago that the eager, active,
restless, energetic, muscular, raw-boned soldier and workman was
far more interested in the exercise of his muscles and in outdoor
activity than he was in securing niceties and luxuries. He also
learned that the thinker, the philosopher, the scientific experimenter,
and all who took delight in mental effort were more deeply interested
in their studies, in their research, in their philosophies, and in their
religions than they were in money, food, clothing, and shelter. So he
set about it, with his jovial personality, his persuasiveness, and keen
sense of values, to organize the thinkers and philosophers under his
direction, so that he could take and use for himself the product of
their mental labors. He was perfectly willing to agree to feed and
take care of them, to clothe and shelter them, in return for what they
could give him. They didn't eat much. They didn't care much for fine
clothing. They were perfectly satisfied in very plain and rather ascetic
surroundings. They were, therefore, a rather inexpensive lot of
people for him to keep.

Taking the plans, schemes, inventions, and discoveries from those
who thought them out, the fat man carried them to the muscular
fellows, who were just spoiling for a fight or for some opportunity to
exercise their physical powers. These he organized into armies—to

fight, to till the soil, and to build and manufacture. These armies
carried out the ideas the fat man got for them from the lean and
hungry thinkers. They gloried in hardship. They rather enjoyed
roughing it, and took delight in privation. Therefore, they also were a
comparatively easy burden on the hands of the fat man; who was
thus enabled to sit upon a golden throne, in a comfortable palace,
surrounded by all the beauties and luxuries gathered from the four
winds, and enjoy himself while directing the work of both the
intellectual giant and the physical giant.

THE SLENDER SCHOLAR AND THE RUGGED SOLDIER

Kant, Schopenhauer, Hegel, Spencer, Emerson, and Bergson were
philosophers, and were all lean and slender men. Lord Kelvin, Lister,
Darwin, Curie, Francis Bacon, Michelson, Loeb, Burbank, and most
of our other scientists are also of the thin, lean type. Shakespeare,
Longfellow, Holmes, Ruskin, Tindall, Huxley, and a long list of other
intellectual and spiritual writers were men who never put on much
flesh. James Watt, Robert Fulton, Elias Howe, Eli Whitney, S.F.B.
Morse, Marconi, Alexander Graham Bell, the Wright Brothers, and
nearly all of our other great inventors have also been men whose
habit was slender. Alexander, Napoleon, Washington, Grant,
Kitchener, and most of our other great soldiers, while robust, are of
the raw-boned, muscular type. They do not belong in the list of the
fat men. The same is true of our great railroad builders, of Stanley,
Peary, Livingston, and other explorers, of De Palma, Oldfield,
Anderson, Cooper, Resta, and our other automobile racing kings.
You look in vain among the aviators for a huge, rotund figure. Spend
a week in New York City looking over subway workers, structural iron
workers, guards, brakemen, motormen, carpenters, bricklayers,
truckmen, stevedores, and boatmen. Go out into the country, look
over the farm hands, the gardeners, the woodsmen, and all who
work with their hands in the midst of nature, and in all the list you will
find very few, if any, fat men. Fat men are, therefore, doing neither
the actual intellectual nor the actual physical work of the world.

THE FAT MAN'S MODERN THRONE

Study butchers, bakers, chefs, provision merchants, and others who
deal in food products. Among them you will find a good many
corpulent figures. They are interested in good things to eat. They
know how to handle them. They know how to purchase them, and
they know how to sell them. They are able to tickle the palate of the
lean and hungry scholar, of the robust and active soldier or worker,
and, especially, of men as epicurean as themselves. They are,
therefore, successful in the handling of food products. Go a little
further—study foremen, superintendents, managers, and presidents
of corporations. In many a large upholstered chair, which represents,
in our modern life, the golden throne of the olden days, you will find a
fat man. Here, as of old, they are taking the ideas of the thinkers and
the muscular powers of the workers, and combining the two to make
profit for themselves. At the same time, they are finding for the
thinker a market for his ideas that he himself could never find.
Unless the fat man fed him, the lean man would become so lean that
he would finally die of starvation. The big fellow is also finding a
market for the muscular power, energy, and skill of the worker; a
market which the worker, by himself, could never find.

THE FAT MAN'S VALUABLE SERVICE

Recently we made a study of a large corporation. Amongst other
things, we found it required ten thousand dollars capital to provide
the building, machinery, help, tools, advertising, selling, and other
necessities of that business for every employee on the payroll. It also
required unusual organizing ability and unusual selling ability to
gather together the means for manufacturing the product and getting
it into the hands of the consumer. It also required considerable
genius to collect the money for the product and apply it to the needs
of the workers in the form of payroll. These services of the fat man
are often forgotten by those who work under his direction.

In order that huge industries may be built up and employment
secured for hundreds of thousands of men, large bodies of capital
must be gathered together. This is a work for financiers. Go down
into Wall Street, in New York; La Salle Street, in Chicago; State

Street, in Boston, and look over the financiers there. A considerable
number of them are fat men. Because thinkers and workers cannot
appreciate financial value, many of them complain loudly because
the fat man sits in an easy chair and reaps the profits from their
efforts. They restlessly agitate for an economic system which will
yield them all the profits from their ideas and labor. They want to
eliminate the capitalist—to condemn the fat man to a choice between
scholarship or working as they work and starvation. They know
human aptitudes so vaguely that they want to turn the corpulent into
farm hands or philosophers and the great mass of lean and bony into
financial rulers.

There is a prevalent notion among the unthinking that capital takes
about four-fifths of the products of labor's hands and keeps it. A
committee of the American Civic Federation, after three years of
careful investigation in industries employing an aggregate of ten
million workers, found that this idea is based upon the assumption
that capital gets and keeps all the gross income from production
except what is paid to labor. It leaves out of account the cost of raw
materials, the upkeep of buildings and machinery, and miscellaneous
expenses. When these are subtracted from gross income, the
committee found, labor receives two-thirds of the remainder in
wages and salaries, capital one-third for interest, upkeep of capital,
and profit.

FINANCIER AND JUDGE

With some exceptions, neither the deep thinker nor the hard physical
worker is capable of handling finances. They are lacking in financial
acumen, due, no doubt, to the fact that the thinker is interested
chiefly in the object of his thought, the worker chiefly in the exercise
of his powerful muscles. Neither of them is sufficiently eager for the
good things of life to have a true and unerring sense of financial
values. The lean man is nervous. He is inclined to be irritable; he
probably lacks patience. Therefore, he is not well qualified to judge
impartially. The active, energetic, restless man is not contented to sit
quietly for hours at a time and listen to the troubles of other people.

He must get away, be out of doors, have something to do to exercise
those splendid muscles of his. Therefore, it is left to the fat man to sit
upon the bench, to listen to tiresome details of the woe of those who
have had trouble with one another. Because he is neither nervous
nor irritable; because his mind is at rest; because he is well fed and
well clothed and has no need to be anxious, he can take time to be
impartial and to judge righteous judgment between his fellowmen.
And so you will find fat men on the bench, in politics, in the halls of
legislature, on the police force, and in other places where they have
an opportunity to use their judicial ability.

HOW MISFITS HAPPEN

So unerring is the fat man's judgment of values, as a general rule,
that it is not at all likely that he would ever find himself a misfit were it
not for the fact that many men are lean and slender or muscular and
robust up to the age of 30 or 40, and after that put on flesh rapidly.
These men, therefore, are often deceived in regard to themselves. In
the slenderness of youth, they feel active and are active. In short,
they have the qualities, in these early periods of their life, which we
should expect in men of similar build. They are, therefore, too likely
to enter upon vocations for which they will find themselves unfitted
as the years go by and they put on more flesh. It often happens that
men of this class graduate from the ranks of thinkers or workers into
the ranks of managers, financiers, bankers, and judges, as they put
on flesh and become better and better adapted for that particular
kind of work. The only trouble is that sometimes they are not well
enough trained—they do not have sufficient education for the higher
positions. In these cases they remain misfits. Oftentimes they
succeed in getting into positions of comparatively mediocre
executive nature, when they could assume and make a success of
very much higher positions if they had a true knowledge of their
vocations.

A FAT MAN'S SUCCESS

The story of Hon. Alfred L. Cutting, of Weston, Massachusetts,
perhaps illustrates as well as any other in our records the aptitudes

and vocational possibilities of this type. Mr. Cutting comes of good
old New England stock, his ancestors on both sides having settled in
Massachusetts comparatively early in the seventeenth century. His
father and his grandfather before him were merchants, and young
Alfred began working in the parental general store as soon as he
had finished school.

As a youth, Mr. Cutting was quite distinctly of the bony and muscular
type, being very active, fond of rowing and fishing, a great lover of
nature and of long tramps through the beautiful hills of eastern
Massachusetts. As he entered manhood, however, he began to put
on more flesh and to take less interest in strenuous outdoor sports.
At the same time, he began to take a hand, in a quiet, modest way,
in the town politics of Weston. While still a comparatively young man,
he was elected a member of the board of selectmen of this town and
has held this position with singular acceptability to his fellow-citizens
almost continuously ever since.

For a number of years, Mr. Cutting was associated with his father
and brother in the general store, but, as time went on, he became
ambitious to enlarge his activities. He, therefore, assisted in the
organization of the New England branch of the Sheldon School, of
Chicago, and was its manager for a number of years. When he first
undertook this work, Mr. Cutting had never made a public speech in
his life, and, while he was interested in politics and ambitious for
success along this line, he felt greatly handicapped by what he
considered to be his inability to face an audience acceptably. It was
at about this time that we first formed the acquaintance of Mr. Cutting
and, upon consultation, informed him of his natural aptitudes and
talents. He immediately began a careful study of public speaking,
supplementing this study with actual practice both in politics and in
his capacity as manager of the Sheldon School. In 1908 and 1909
he was a member of the House of Representatives for the State of
Massachusetts, gaining credit for himself as a member of important
committees and rendering to his own constituency unusually faithful
and efficient service.

SUCCESS IN EXECUTIVE CAPACITY

As manager for the Sheldon School, Mr. Cutting selected and trained
a number of salesmen and assistants in the leadership of whom he
did excellent work, he himself delivering lectures before boards of
trade, chambers of commerce, trade conventions, and other such
bodies in all parts of New England. He has since, however, given up
this particular line of work to devote himself to politics, to his civic
duties, and to the management of his growing mercantile business.
He is, at present, chairman of the board of selectmen for the town of
Weston, an office which he has held with distinction for five years.
He is also a member of the executive committee of the Republican
Club of Massachusetts. In 1913 he was the Republican candidate for
representative in Congress for the thirteenth district, at the special
election held during that year to fill the vacancy caused by the
promotion of the Hon. John W. Weeks to the United States Senate.
This was the year when the Progressive vote was very large and the
Republican candidate for governor in Massachusetts was thousands
of votes behind the Progressive. Notwithstanding this unusual
political situation, Mr. Cutting, though not elected, led his Progressive
opponent by more than 3,000 votes, and, by his splendid leadership,
helped lay the foundation for the Republican victory in the same
district the following year. At this writing, Mr. Cutting has just won a
notable victory at the polls, having been elected a member of the
board of county commissioners for Middlesex County by a very large
plurality. He carried every district in the county except two, and in
nearly every district he ran far ahead of his ticket.

POLITICAL PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICES

Mr. Cutting's ability, however, is by no means fully indicated by the
offices which he has held. He has never been an office seeker, but
has preferred rather to work as a political leader. His great interest in
politics arises, first, from his ardent desire for excellence and
efficiency in the public service. Under his leadership, the town of
Weston has built and maintains more miles of excellent roads, at
less cost to the tax payer, than any other town of its area in the

State. Its schools and other public institutions are similarly efficient
and conducted with a similar degree of economy. Second, Mr.
Cutting enjoys politics because he loves the game. Like all true
sportsmen, he plays to win, but is neither chagrined or cast down if
he loses. He is always able to rejoice with the victor if beaten in a fair
fight.

FINANCIAL ACUMEN

Mr. Cutting is one of the organizers of the Metropolitan Bank of
Boston, and a prominent member of its board of directors, thus
indicating his growing interest in financial matters.

The portraits of Mr. Cutting, shown on pages 126 and 127, are well
worthy of study. In them are evident his cheerfulness, his geniality,
his shrewdness, his friendliness, and his honesty of purpose. These
are shown largely in the expression, but also in the full, found
development of his head just above the temples, in his long back
head, and in the general squareness of the head. This squareness,
especially in the back, indicates also his prudence, his tendency to
take precautions and, through foresight, to forestall disaster. The
narrowness of the head, just above the ears, indicates mildness of
disposition and an ability to secure his ends by tact, diplomacy, and
intellectual mastery rather than by open combat and belligerency.
The fulness of the eyes indicates Mr. Cutting's command of
language, and the broad, square chin his determination and
deliberation; the long line from the point of the chin to the crown of
the head, his love of authority and his ability to lead and to rule.

INDICATIONS OF APPROACHING STOUTNESS

The man of slender build who has indications clearly marked and
easily recognizable of approaching stoutness should prepare himself
for executive, financial, judicial, or merchandising work. He should
study law, economics, finance, banking, politics, political economy,
public speaking and other such branches. If he has the ability to
write, he should prepare himself to write on financial or political
subjects. Many of our most noted political writers are fat men. Such

writers as Alfred G. Lewis, Samuel G. Blythe, and others are good
examples of this type.

Indications of approaching stoutness are not difficult to detect.
Heredity has a powerful influence. The young man who resembles
his father in facial appearance and coloring, will probably grow stout
if his father is a fat man. When the face inclines to be round, the
cheeks rather full, and the lips full, there is a fair probability that the
individual will take on flesh. A concave form of face is also another
good indication. The concave face is shown in Figure 31. It will be
seen that it is prominent at the point of the chin, and not so
prominent at the mouth, and prominent at the top of the forehead,
near the hair line, and not so prominent at the brows. The nose, also,
is inclined to be sway backed. Another indication which should have
a bearing in the choice of a vocation is the thickness of the neck,
especially, at the back, and a fulness of the back head, at the base
of the brain. Such fulness is shown in Figure 16.

Wideness of the head, in comparison with length and height, is also
another indication that the individual may put on flesh as he grows
older. The man or woman who has a majority of these indications will
do well to prepare himself or herself for a position of command.

The world is a richer, pleasanter, better fed, better clothed, and
happier place because of its fat men. It is true, they enjoy the good
things of life themselves, but, as a general rule, they also like to see
others enjoy them, and well deserve the rich rewards they reap. We
are glad that so few of them are ever poor and hungry.

Fig. 17.
Beaumont,
Aviator. His
square jaw,
strong chin,
large nose, large
ear, convex
profile, and alert,
keen expression
all indicate
activity, energy,
love of motion,
desire for speed,
and physical
courage.

Photo by Paul
Thompson. N.
Fig. 18. The late
Lincoln Beachy,
Aviator. A man of
consummate
physical courage
and coolness.
Note long lines
of face and
unusually long,
prominent chin.

Copyright by
Harris & Ewing.
Fig. 19. Col.
George W.
Goethals,
Builder of the
Panama Canal
and Governor of
Canal Zone. Of
the intellectual
but bony and
muscular type.
Short, stocky,
enduring, and
resistant. Finer
and kindlier than
Fig. 20 or Fig.
21, as shown by
texture and
expression, but
firm, dogged,
and just. A
natural-born
executive for
construction or
mechanical
work. Note firm
mouth and chin,
with slight droop
at corners,
showing
determination
and self-control.

Copyright
American Press
Association. Fig.
20. Field
Marshal von
Hindenberg, of
the German
Army. A splendid
example of the
bony, muscular
type. Unusually
determined,
persistent,
enduring, and
resistant.
Prudent, far-
sighted, dogged,
unsentimental,
capable of
enduring great
hardship. Note
short, stocky
build; big,
square chin and
jaw; long,
square head;
relentless
expression of
mouth and eyes;
coarse texture,
and big, heavy-
tipped nose. A
great executive,
especially as a
relentless driver
and rigid
disciplinarian.

Copyright
American Press
Association. Fig.
21. Rear Admiral
Frank E. Beatty,
of the American
Navy. A fine
example of the
bony and
muscular type.
Rugged and
enduring, keen,
alert, and
resourceful.
Finer and
kindlier than von
Hindenberg, but
not quite so fine,
intellectual and
kindly as
Goethals. Just
and determined
as an executive,
of which he is an
excellent type.
Note finer
texture and
more genial
expression.

Fig. 22. William
Lloyd Garrison,
the Great
Abolitionist. A
man of the bony
and muscular
type, with the
passion of his
type for
freedom. A man
of high ideals,
great courage,
determination,
and
perseverance.
Note large, well-
formed features;
forehead
prominent at
brows; long
upper lip, and
high, spirited
expression.
Such a man
cannot be
overlooked.

Photo by Pach,
N.Y. Fig. 23.
Samuel Rea,
Railroad Builder
and Executive.
Very alert, keen,
practical, matter-
of-fact, hard-
headed; a good
observer, a
quick thinker.
Very decisive,
determined, and
persistent.
Understands
construction,
mechanics, and
operation. Note
well-developed
brows;
moderately low,
square
forehead; height
of crown; width
of head; large,
well-formed
nose, mouth,
chin, jaw, and
ears, and keen,
but calm, self-
possessed
expression.

Fig. 24. Lon
Wescott Beck,
the Sign Poster
of Death Valley.
An out-of-doors
man. Loves
grandeur of
scenery, wide
spaces. Note
long, square,
prominent chin;
long lines of
face; width
between eyes,
and width at top
of head.

CHAPTER VI
THE MAN OF BONE AND MUSCLE

Consider the record of the man of action.

He built the pyramids and temples of Egypt, raised up the
monuments and artistic triumphs of Greece, fared forth across the
plains of Arabia and the deserts of Africa on horses and camels
before the dawn of history. He wore the coat of mail of the Roman
legion; he penetrated through the northernmost forest of Europe; he
pioneered in barbarous England. Thousands of years ago he built
ships and sailed them, and, finally, drove them across the sea. Thus
he found two new continents. In America, he cut down forests, built
roads, established industry, fought battles for freedom, invented and
built steamships, telephones, telegraphs, cotton gins, aeroplanes,
railroads, submarines thousands of electric light and power stations,
and millions of shops and factories. He explored darkest Africa;
found both the North and the South Poles. This man drives his
steamships at thirty knots an hour, his locomotives at 70 miles an
hour, his automobiles at 100, and his aeroplanes at 120. He is
setting higher and yet higher records for running, leaping, swimming,
rowing, throwing weights, and driving horses. He has organized
great athletic contests, baseball leagues, tennis associations, golf
clubs, and other organizations for the promotion of physical activity.
The man of bone and muscle has climbed to the peaks of all the
mountains of the world; has dug down into the depths of the earth
after her treasures of gold and silver and the baser metals, precious
stones, and other products of the mines. This man tills the fields,
manufactures all fabricated products, and carries goods to the ends
of the earth. This active type mans navies, fills the ranks of armies,
erects great buildings, and cut through the backbone of a continent.

ACTIVITY AND SPEED

This man loves motion. He is not satisfied with slow, languid motion,
but demands speed, greater and ever greater speed. And so his
horses, his locomotives, the machines in his factory, his automobiles,
his aeroplanes, his motor-cycles, his farm implements, his ocean
liners, his motor boats, are being constantly studied, constantly
improved, and constantly raised to higher and higher performances
in speed of production, speed of transportation, speed of
accomplishment.

This man not only demands speed, but he demands space. The man
who can travel at a hundred miles an hour needs many hundred
miles in which to travel. This is why nearly all of his activities are in
the big out-of-doors; this is why he is constantly exploring and
pioneering in order to extend his boundaries. He has a craving for
more space in which to breathe, more scope of action.

This ardent and irrepressible desire for physical freedom, for
physical liberty of action, also leads to the desire for political and
economical freedom. All of our great liberators, from Moses down to
Lincoln, have been men of this active, muscular, bony, type.
Because they desire freedom for themselves, they want freedom for
everyone else. They often go to extremes and strive to secure
freedom for those who have no use for it, who do not care for it after
it is won for them, and who only abuse it when they should enjoy its
blessings.

THE MAN OF MUSCLE GROWS A BRAIN

In the early days of the race, the man of this type had little
intelligence. He was supposed to be, principally, bone and muscle
with no brain. He did the physical work which was assigned to him
and other men did the thinking, the planning, and the directing. But,
as the race has increased in intelligence, the man of bone and
muscle has developed a brain. Manual skill, educators tell us, is one
of the best of all means for gaining knowledge and increasing
intelligence. So now the muscular man can think, now he can plan,
now, especially, does he manifest his thinking, planning and
constructive ability along lines for increasing speed, getting more out

of machinery, buildings, inventions, manufacture, agriculture,
horticulture, transportation. In all these lines the man of action is also
a man of thought. This is well; this is an improvement, and our
active, hustling, pioneer type of man is happier, more efficient, more
prosperous in his intelligent state than he was in his purely physical
state. But here, also, he gets into trouble. So long as his mental
activity is accompanied by considerable physical activity, his health
is good, he is satisfied, he enjoys his work and he is successful in it.
But the time comes when the work to be done by brain becomes so
important that many men of this type give up physical activity entirely
and devote all of their time to mental work.

THE ACTIVE MAN'S DILEMMA

Strange that we have not learned that any faculty possessed must
be exercised or the possessor surely falls into evil ways. Strange
that we have not seen that the man who explores the unknown world
in mighty pioneering work, who frees it from oppression, who carries
on its tremendous physical and industrial development, could never
be satisfied if imprisoned within the four walls of an office. Thus
hampered and confined, unless he finds expression for his speed
mania, he grows irritable, ill, nervous, depressed. He troops, by the
thousand, into the consulting rooms of the physician and surgeon.
And always and always is the same prescription given: "You must
get away from your work; you must get out into the open; you must
get plenty of outdoor exercise."

Exercise, exercise, exercise, has become the slogan. Magazines are
devoted to it. Whole libraries of books are published showing the
relationship between exercise and health. Sanitariums multiply
whose principal means of cure are located in the gymnasium, in the
garden, in the woods, at the wood pile, and on the farm. Fortunes
have been made in the manufacture of the equipment for exercise:
Indian clubs, dumb bells, and whole shiploads of so-called sporting
goods, the object of all of which is to enable the active man to get
some relief from the ache of his muscles or nerves due to lack of
exercise.

EXERCISE FOR EXERCISE'S SAKE DULL

But the man of muscle is, as we have said, frequently a man of
brains. He has common sense; he has a desire for accomplishment
and achievement. To such a man, the mere pulling of cords, or the
swinging about of his arms and legs, the bending of his back, just for
the sake of exercise, seems a trifle stupid.

Very few men of this type ever keep up exercise for exercise's sake
for any very long period of time. They read in some magazine about
the benefits of exercise. Perhaps, on account of some trouble, they
go to their physicians, and exercise is prescribed. So, with a great
show of resolution and not a little feeling of martyrdom, they buy a
pair of Indian clubs, or wall exercisers, or a weight machine, or,
perhaps, merely buy a book of "exercises without apparatus," and
make up their minds to take their exercises regularly every morning.
At first they attack the task with great enthusiasm—but it is still a
task. Perhaps marked improvement is shown. They feel much better.
They push out their chests and tell their friends how they get up, take
a cold bath every morning, and then take ten or fifteen or twenty
minutes of rapid calisthenics. In a righteous glow, they relate how it
shakes them up and makes their blood course through their veins;
how they breathe deeply; how the process clears out their heads;
and how much better they feel They wind up: "You ought to do it, too,
old man; it would make you young again."

By and by, however, to stand gazing blankly at the wall of a
bathroom, or out of the window of a bed-chamber, and put your arms
up five times and then straight forward five times, then repeat five
times, etc., etc., grows dull. You lose interest You hate the task—you
revolt. Even if, by power of will, you keep it up, you do so under
protest. It is a physical truth that that which is disagreeable is also
physically harmful. In order to be wholesomely nourishing, food must
taste good. The same is true in regard to exercise. There is no very
great benefit in exercise which is drudgery.

WHEN GAMES PALL

To take the "task" element out of exercise, many kinds of games
have been invented—some indoor, some outdoor, some for men of
little activity, some of great strenuousness and even danger. But it
requires a particular type of man or woman to take interest in a
game, to play it well and profitably, as a form of exercise. To enter
into a game whole-heartedly, one must have a keen zest for combat.
The man who plays purely for the sport, and not to win, doesn't win.
And the man who doesn't win, loses interest. Not all men, not even
all active men, have this desire to win. To them a game soon
becomes dull—nearly as dull as any other form of exercise. They do
not see that they are any further ahead in anything worth while
simply because they have knocked a golf ball about more skilfully—
or luckily—than some other fellow, or pulled a little stronger oar than
their opponents. There are plenty of men to whom it is humiliating to
be beaten, who are not good losers, and because they are not good
losers they are not very often winners. Such men do not really enjoy
games at all, and, as a general rule, do not play them with
enthusiasm and persistence.

For those, then, who do not enjoy calisthenics of any kind, who take
very little interest in games and contests, there remain, for exercise,
gardening, farming, carpentry, forestry, hunting, fishing, mountain
climbing, and other such forms of physical activity. All of these,
however, require considerable leisure, and some financial
investment. They are out of the reach of many of those in lower
clerkships and other such employment. These men, by the
thousands, work in offices which are, perhaps, not as well ventilated
as they should be, under artificial light. They travel to and from their
work in crowded street cars and subways, and live in little dark,
narrow flats and apartments, with one window opening out on
sunlight and fresh air, and all other windows opening on courts and
so-called light and air-shafts. Golf, tennis, baseball, rowing, etc., are
good forms of exercise for these men—but few of them care for
games. Gardening, forestry, carpenter work, mountain climbing,
hunting, or fishing are out of the question in a city flat. So the
majority jump up in the morning, hurry on their clothes, snatch a bite
of breakfast, run for a car, get to work, burrow in the warrens of

industry until lunch time, rush out, snatch a sandwich and a cup of
coffee at some lunch counter, and back to work again until dinner
time. Another dive into the bowels of the earth in the subway, home
to the little flat, dinner at seven o'clock or even later, and then the
short evening. This little time from eight o'clock until ten at night is
practically the only time the worker has for himself, except for
holidays and his annual two weeks' vacation. How shall he get
sufficient physical exercise during that time to satisfy all his needs? If
he is so constituted that he enjoys such things, he may go to a
gymnasium or to a bowling alley, but he is just as likely to go to a
pool room or to a dance hall. Of course, it is far better for him to play
pool or to dance than to sit quietly at home, as many do.

SOLUTION OF THE PROBLEM

This whole question is a serious one. Even those who have the time,
the means, the opportunity, and the inclination find themselves
confronted with problems. Even with all of their opportunities, most of
them do not get enough outdoor physical activity. And so they fret,
they fume, they beat their wings against the bars, they are unhappy,
dissatisfied, and therefore, oftentimes inefficient and unsuccessful.
Even when they are successful, they have fallen far below what they
might have accomplished had they been engaged in some vocation
which would have given them not only physical activity out of doors,
but some intense vital interest in the result of that activity. In other
words, their vocation should supply them with the necessary physical
exercise as part of the day's work. They should see themselves
advancing, making money, achieving something worth while,
creating something beautiful or useful, making a career for
themselves, instead of merely playing or exercising for the sake of
exercise. Then they would be happier. Then they would be better
satisfied with their lot. They would be more efficient and far more
successful.

Current literature abounds in true stories of those who have gone
forward to the land and have found help, happiness, and success in
the cultivation of the soil. This one has redeemed an abandoned

farm in New England. That one has taken a small ten-acre farm in
southern California. Another has carved out health, happiness, and a
fair degree of fortune for himself on the plains of Washington or
Idaho, or among the hills of Oregon. Old southern plantations have
been rehabilitated at the same time with their new owners or tenants.

ONE MAN'S "WAY OUT"

Near Gardiner, Maine, is a little forty-five acre poultry and fruit farm
which pays its happy owner $3,800 a year clear of all expense.
Seven years ago this farm was abandoned by its former owners,
who could not make it pay. Five years ago it was purchased by its
present owner for a song—and only a half-line of the song was sung
at the time. He was a clerk who had lived the little-flat-dark-office-
and-subway life until tuberculosis had removed him from his job and
threatened his life. Farm work—on his own farm—proved to be a
game at which he could play with zest and success. The stakes were
a life and a living—and he has won. We—and you, too, no doubt—
could multiply narratives from observation and experience, to say
nothing of reading.

A WORLD OF OPPORTUNITY

All these experiences and the reports of them are both a part of and
a stimulus to the "back to the land movement." This movement has
its mainspring in two plain economic facts, namely: first, clerical and
other indoor vocations have become overcrowded; second, while
crops grow bigger year by year, the number of mouths to feed
multiplies even faster, and unless more land is tilled and all land
cultivated more intensively, we shall eat less and less, as a race, and
pay more and more for what we eat. Here is opportunity for the men
of bone and muscle—opportunity for health, prosperity, usefulness to
humanity, enjoyment and happiness. Other opportunities lie in the
conservation of our forests and the planting and development of new
timber lands; in the building up of new industries for manufacturing
our raw materials; in restoring the American flag to the seas of the
world; in extending our foreign trade; in opening and operating inland
waterways; in irrigating or draining our millions of square miles of

land now lying idle; in the development of Alaska, and the
harnessing of our great mines of "white coal"—water-power.

Our foreign trade requires men of this type to travel in all parts of the
world as commercial ambassadors, diligently collecting, compiling,
and sending back to the United States information necessary in
manufacturing goods for foreign consumption; also information
regarding credits, prices, shipping, packing—in short, complete and
detailed knowledge about commerce with foreign lands, how to
secure it and how to hold it.

The world's greatest opportunities to-day, perhaps, lie within the
grasp of the men of this active type. Instead of pioneering in
exploration, as in former years, they are needed to pioneer in
production. From the earliest history of the race, these restless men
have been faring westward and ever westward, adding to the wealth
and resources of humanity by opening up new lands. But the crest of
the westward moving tide has now circumnavigated the globe, and
the Far West meets the Far East on the Pacific Ocean. Here and
there are comparatively small, neglected tracts of land still to be
developed, but there are no longer great new empires, as in former
days. The great welling sources of human life have not ceased to
flow, even though the final boundaries of its spread have been
reached. Population will continue to grow and its demands upon the
resources of the earth to increase. The man who discovers a way to
make a hundred bushels of wheat grow on an acre of land where
only twenty-five bushels grew before is as great a benefactor of the
race as the discoverer of a continent. The invention of the electric
light, the telephone, the automobile, the trolley car, and the
aeroplane have added as much to the products and power of the
race as the pioneering of thousands of square miles of fertile hills
and plains. The man who can find a cheap and easy way to capture
and hold nitrogen from the air will add more to the wealth of the race
than all the discoverers of all the gold mines.

America needs to find efficient and profitable methods for
manufacturing her own raw materials. Up to the present time, our

exports have been coal, petroleum, steel rails, wheat, corn, oats,
lumber, and other products which carry out of the country the riches
of our soil. We have been exporting raw materials to foreign lands,
where they have been refined and fabricated by brain and hand and
returned to us at some five hundred to a thousand times the price we
received for them. With the increase of population, we need to
capitalize more and more the intelligence and skill of our people, and
less and less the virgin resources of our lands. Ore beds, coal
measures, copper, lead, gold and silver mines, forests, oil wells, and
the fertility of our soils can all become exhausted. But the skill of our
hands and the power of our intellects grow and increase and yield
larger and larger returns the more they are called upon to produce.

The man of bone and muscle—the restless, active, pioneering,
constructing man—would do well to consider these things before
determining upon his vocation, and especially before entering upon
any kind of non-productive work. The world has need of his particular
talents and he should find his greatest happiness and greatest
success in the exercise of them in response to that need.

We have seen so many men of this active type so badly placed that
individual examples seem almost too commonplace for citation. Yet,
a few may be instructive and encouraging.

William Carleton's remarkable story, entitled "Rediscovering
America," is, in fact, the story of a man who was a middle-aged
failure in a clerical position, and who afterward made a remarkable
success of his life by taking up contracting and building. James
Cook, a misfit as a grocer, afterward became famous as a naval
officer and explorer. Henry M. Stanley, office boy to a cotton broker
and merchant, afterward won immortal fame as a newspaper
correspondent and explorer. What would have become of Theodore
Roosevelt had he followed the usual line of occupation of a man in
his position and entered a law office instead of becoming a rancher?
We might add other experiences of similar importance from the
biographies of other great men.

DESCRIPTION OF ACTIVE TYPE

The active type of man is, of course, easily recognized. He has
broad, square shoulders, and is well muscled. He is either of the
wiry, elastic, exceedingly energetic type, with muscles like steel
springs and sinews like steel wire—very agile, very skillful, very
quick, and somewhat jerky in his movements—or he is tall, raw-
boned, strong, enduring, graceful, easy in his movements rather than
quick, and yet with considerable manual skill. Or he may be of the
short, stocky type, with broad shoulders, short neck, short arms,
short legs, with big, round muscles and an immense capacity for
endurance. The railroads of the early days, in this country, were built
by Irishmen. They were either the large, raw-boned type or the quick,
agile, wiry type. The railroads, subways, and other construction work
of to-day are built mostly by Italians, Hungarians, Greeks, and others
from the south of Europe. These men are of short, stocky, sturdy,
and enduring build. As a general rule, they are far better fitted for this
class of work than the tall or medium-sized, large-boned or wiry type.
As an evidence of this, take notice of the fact that the Irishmen who
built the railroads in the sixties own and manage them to-day.

These active men usually have square faces. That is to say, there is
a good development of the outer corners of the lower jaw, which
gives to the face a square appearance. Oftentimes their cheek
bones are both high and wide. As a general rule, they have large
aquiline or Roman noses. When they are of the enduring type and
capable of long-sustained muscular activity, they have prominent
chins. Their hands are square. Their feet are large. If they have
mechanical and constructive ability, as most of them have, their
foreheads are comparatively high and wide just above the temple.
Professional baseball players, professional dancers, middle-weight
and light-weight prize-fighters, most aviators, automobile racers, and
athletes belong to the wiry, springy, medium-sized type of this
particular class of men. U.S. Grant, Robert E. Peary, Henry M.
Stanley, Ty Cobb and Ralph DePalma belong to this type. Abraham
Lincoln, W.E. Gladstone, Joseph G. Cannon, William G. McAdoo,
Woodrow Wilson, and other men of this build belong to the raw-
boned type. Napoleon Bonaparte, with his tremendous activities on
only four hours' sleep a day, is a good example of the short, stocky

type. While men of these types may make brilliant successes in
purely mental vocations, as the result of the development of their
intellects, and may keep themselves in a fair degree of health and
strength by games, exercise, mountain climbing, farming, or some
such avocation, they are, nevertheless, never quite so well satisfied
as when they have something to do which not only gives them
opportunity for the use of their intellects, but also involves a certain
degree of physical activity as a part of their regular work.

CHAPTER VII
SLAVES OF MACHINERY

To multitudes of men and women the lure of levers, cranks, wheels
and pinions is as seductive, as insidious, as heavenly in its
promises, and as hellish in its performances, as the opium habit. The
craving for opium, however, is an acquired taste, while the passion
for machinery is born in thousands. We have seen children, while yet
in their baby-cabs, fascinated by automobiles, sewing machines, and
even little mechanical toys. We knew a boy on a farm who built a
fairly workable miniature threshing machine with his own hands
before he was old enough to speak the name of it in anything but
baby-talk. We have seen boys work in the broiling sun day after day
hoeing potatoes, pulling weeds, gathering crops, and doing other
hard jobs for small pay, carefully saving every penny to buy a toy
steam engine.

Parents usually look upon these evidences of mechanical ability with
pleasure. They regard them as sure indications of the vocation of the
child and oftentimes do everything in their power to encourage him in
these lines. They little realize, however, the supreme danger which
attaches to this very manifestation. Nor have they looked far enough
ahead to see what is, in so many cases, the lamentable result.

THE RESTLESS "MACHINE CRAZY" BOY

The boy of this type hates to sit quietly on a hard bench in a school
and study books. Some of the boys who went to school with us had
imitation levers and valve-handles fastened about their desks in an
ingenious way, and instead of studying, pretended that they were
locomotive engineers. With a careful eye upon the teacher, who was
his semaphore, such a boy would work the reverse lever, open and
close the throttle, apply and disengage the brakes, test the

lubrication, and otherwise go through the motions of running a
locomotive with great seriousness and huge enjoyment.

These boys usually have considerable trouble with their teachers.
They do not like grammar, frequently do not care for geography and
history. They flounder dolefully in these studies and are in a state of
more or less continual rebellion and disgrace. Because of their
intense activity and restlessness, they irritate the teacher. She wants
quiet in the school-room. Their surreptitious playing, rapping and
tapping on desks, and other evidences of dammed-up energy and
desire for more freedom and more scope of action, interferes with
the desired sanctity of silence.

Outside of school hours and during the long vacation, the fatal
fascination of machinery draws these young people to factories,
railroad yards, machine shops, and other places where they may
indulge their fancy and craving for mechanical motion. The boy who
hangs around a machine shop or railroad yard is always pressed into
voluntary and delighted service by those who work there. In a small
town in Wisconsin we once knew a boy who worked willingly and at
the hardest kind of labor in a railroad yard for years, voluntarily and
without a cent of pay. In time he was entrusted with a small
responsibility and given a small salary. Even if the boy does not
begin in this way, the result is substantially the same. He may take
the bit in his teeth, leave school and go to work at some trade which
will give at least temporary satisfaction for his mechanical craving, or
he may, through economic necessity, be forced out of school and
naturally gravitate into a machine shop or factory. Oftentimes a few
dollars a week is a very welcome addition to the family income. To
the boy himself, three, four, five or six dollars a week seems like a
fortune. Neither the parents nor the boy look ahead. Neither of them
sees that when the little salary has increased to fifteen, sixteen,
eighteen or twenty-five dollars a week, the boy will have reached the
zenith of his possibilities. There will then be no further advancement,
unless, during his apprenticeship and journeymanship, or previously
to them, he has secured mental training which will enable him to go
higher, hold more responsible positions and earn larger pay.

"MAN OR MACHINE—WHICH?"

In former days, the boy who left school and took up employment in a
factory learned a trade. He became a shoe-maker, or a harness-
maker, or a wheelwright, or a gun-maker. To-day, however, the work
on all of these articles has been so subdivided that the boy perhaps
becomes stranded in front of a machine which does nothing but
punch out the covers for tin cans, or cut pieces of leather for the
heels of shoes, or some other finer operation in manufacture. Once
he has mastered the comparatively simple method of operating his
particular machine, the boy is likely to remain there for all time. His
employer—perhaps short-sighted—has no desire to advance him,
because this would mean breaking in another boy to handle his
machine. Also, it would mean paying more money.

Al Priddy, in his illuminating book, "Man or Machine—Which?"[9]
thus describes the case of the slave to the machine:

[9] The Pilgrim Press, Boston.

"The workingman has been taught that his chief asset is skill. It has
been his stocks, his bonds, the pride of his life. Poor as to purse and
impoverished in his household; his cupboard bare, his last penny
spent on a bread crust, he is not humbled; no, he merely stretches
out his ten fingers and two callous palms, exactly as a proud king
extends his diamond-tipped sceptre, to show you that which upholds
him in his birthright. 'My skill is my portion given to the world,' he
says. 'I shall not want. See, I am without a penny. I touch this bar of
steel, and it becomes a scissors blade. My skill did it. I take this stick
of oak and it becomes a chair rung. My skill is the grandest magic on
earth, the common magic of every day. By it I live and because of it I
hold my head royal high.'

"But the machine now attacks and displaces this skill. The cunning of
trained fingers is transferred to cranks, cogs and belts. The trade
secrets are objectified in mechanical form; able to mix the product,
compound the chemicals, or make the notch at the right place.

"Besides this loss of skill, the workman loses, in the grind of the
machine, his sense of the value of his work. Next to his pride of skill
the workman has always been proud to be the connoisseur: stand
back near the light with his product on his upraised hand, showing to
all passers-by what he has done. Perhaps it was a red morocco
slipper for a dancer, or a pearl button to go on the cloak of a little
child, or maybe it was a horseshoe to go on the mayor's carriage
horse. On a day a party of visitors would come to the little shop and
the owner would pick up a hand-forged hammer and say, 'See what
John made!' But, in our modern industry, no one man ever completes
a task. Each task is subdivided into twenty, forty, a hundred or more
portions, and a workingman is given just one to work on, day by day,
year after year, for a working generation.

"After the time has come when the workman can find no distinct
esthetic pleasure in his work, his loyalty to his employers suffers a
shock.

"Then, when this indifference or disloyalty is full grown, the employer
has full on him acute and formidable labor diseases. The man who
should stand at his shoulder faces him, instead, with a hostile poise.
The mill full of people over whom he holds power, upon whom he
depends for his success, and who, in turn, depend upon his initiative
and capital for their bread and butter, is turned into an armed camp
of plotting enemies, who, while they work, grumble, and who, while
they receive their wages, scheme for the overthrow of the entire
concern! His mills, instead of being shelters for his brothers and
sisters, are nests of scratching eagles—ready to rend and claw!

"It is further given out that the machine robs man of his industrial
initiative; that the complicated and specialized machine decreases
his mental alertness. In addition to his skill and his appreciation of
his product, the workman has ever prized the appeal his labor has
made to his individual intelligence. His work has brought thinking
power with it. His day's task has included the excitement of invention
and adventure. In the heat and burden of the week has come that
thrilling moment when his mind has discovered the fact that a

variation in method means a simplification of his task. Or, in the
monotonous on-going of his labor, he has suddenly realized that by
sheer brain power he has accomplished a third more work than his
neighbor. He has counted such results compliments to his initiative,
to his thinking power. They have brought a reward three times more
satisfying than a mere increase in wage, for, in his eyes, they have
been substantial testimonies to the freedom of his mind, something
which every reasonable person puts higher than any king's ransom.
But the coming of the machine deadens the workman's inclination
toward inventive adventure.

"So the multitude of men and women stand before the cunning
machinery of industry, in the pose of helplessness before a
mechanical finality. They cannot help feeling that in so far as their
special task is involved, the machine has said the last word. The
challenge dies out of their work. The brain that has ever been on the
quiver of adventurous expectancy relaxes its tension, and the
workman moodily or indifferently lets his machine do its perfect work,
while his undisciplined, unchallenged thoughts wander freely over
external, social, or domestic concerns. It may give an indolent,
unambitious, selfish type of employee a certain amount of
satisfaction to know that the machine frees his mind of initiative, but
to the considerate workman it is a day of tragedy when his brain
power receives no challenge from his work, and that day has
dawned in the minds of millions of men who throng our industries.

"So, then, when this machine-robber, without heart or conscience,
makes of little repute the workman's most shining glory—skill; steals
rudely from him the esthetic pleasure in his product, and leaves him
mentally crippled before his work, how little force has that honored
appeal, 'The dignity of labor'! Talk as we will, in this machine-ridden
time, the 'dignity of labor' is but a skeleton of its former robust self.
Take away the king's throne, the courtier's carpet, the royal
prerogative, and then speak about 'The Divine Right'! All that 'dignity
of labor' can mean in these days is simply that it is more dignified for
a man to earn a wage than it is to be a doorway loafer. The
workingman's throne—skill—has gone. His prerogative—skill—has

been taken away. The items that have formerly given dignity to labor
have been largely displaced, so far as we have adventured, by the
machine, and the future holds out no other hope than this, that
machines shall more and more increase. There is little 'dignity' in a
task that a man does which may be equally well done by his
fourteen-year-old boy or girl. There is little 'dignity' in a task which
less and less depends upon independent knowledge."

But must these workers remain always slaves of machine? Is there
no escape for them? Is there no "underground railroad" by which
they may win their way to freedom?

Here is what Al Priddy has to say about it:

"The most convincing way in which man may master the machine is
when he invents a new and better one, or improves an old one. This
is the real triumph of mind over matter, of skill over machinery.

"With all its arrogance among us, machinery is always final in itself;
incapable of change; incapable of progression or retrogression. Till
the clouds fade from the sky, or the earth cracks, a machine will
remain the same from the day of its creation until the day of its last
whirl—unless man says the word to change it. Once started on its
mission, there is nothing in the world can change the motion and
purpose of a machine save man's mind. So, then, whatever relation
man might have toward a machine, this stands sure: he will ever be
able to stand before it and say: 'I am thy master. I can change thee,
make thee better or worse. I made thee. I can unmake thee. If thou
dost accomplish such mighty works, more honor to the mind which
conceived thee!"

"But it is suddenly discovered by an industrial diagnosis that the
machine has never been properly operated, even by the most skilled
operators. It has been proved that 'there is more science in the most
"unskilled" task than the man who performs it is capable of
understanding.' This dictum of Mr. Taylor, a practical experimenter,
has been dramatically proved in many directions. In the task of the
sand shoveler, or the iron lifter, for instance, it was proved that by

scientifically undertaking such work, fifty selected men, properly
drilled, scientifically rested, intelligently manoeuvred, could
accomplish a third more than one hundred ill selected and
improperly managed men, in less time and under a larger salary. It is
suddenly found that, contrary to theory, a machine, to be
economically operated, leaves open man's chance for skill and does
not rob him of it."

Perhaps a few cases taken from our records will indicate how men of
this kind are able to come up from slavery and take successful
places in their true vocations.

FROM BOILER-ROOM TO CHIEF ENGINEER'S OFFICE

G—— manifested very early indications of the lure of machinery for
him. While yet in his cradle, he would play contentedly for hours with
a little pulley or other mechanical trifle. Before he was able to walk,
he could drive nails with a hammer sturdily and with more precision
than many adults. This also was one of his favorite amusements,
and it was necessary to keep him provided with lumber, lest he fill
the furniture with nails. As he grew older he became more and more
interested in machinery and mechanical things. He took to pieces the
family clock and put it together again. He nearly always had the
sewing machine partly dismantled, but could always put it together
again, and it usually ran better after he had finished his work. He
built water-wheels, wind-mills, and other mechanical toys. When he
was about fourteen years old he built a steam engine. He used a
bicycle pump for the cylinder and pieces of an old sewing machine, a
discarded wringer, some brass wires, and other odds and ends for
the rest of the parts. So perfect mechanically was this product that
when steam was turned on it ran smoothly, and with very little noise,
at the rate of three thousand revolutions a minute. In this engine he
employed a form of valve motion which he had never seen, and
which had never been used before. While not particularly efficient,
and therefore not a valuable invention, it at least showed his ability to
adapt means to ends mechanically.

After G—— began earning money for himself by mechanical and
electrical work, he would go without luxuries, food and clothing,
tramping to the shop almost barefoot one entire winter, for the sake
of buying tools and equipment to carry on his mechanical
experiments. It is not surprising, therefore, that he left school at an
early age to engage in actual work in railroad shops. He afterward
secured a position as a locomotive fireman. Circumstances arose
which made it necessary for him to give up railroading. He secured a
position as fireman on a stationary engine.

A HARD FIGHT FOR AN EDUCATION

It was while he was engaged in this kind of work that the suggestion
was made to him that he ought not to try to go through life with only
the rudiments of an education. It was pointed out that, while he had
undoubted mechanical and inventive ability, he would have small
opportunity to use it unless he also had the necessary technical and
scientific knowledge to go with it. At first his interest in mechanics
was so intense and his interest in school in general so comparatively
slight, that he did not look with very much favor upon the suggestion.
However, as time went on and he saw more and more of the results
of such action as he was contemplating, he became more and more
interested in completing his education. He therefore entered a good
preparatory school and, with some little assistance from relatives,
worked his way through by doing electrical and mechanical work
about the little college town. In this kind of work he soon became
well known and was in constant requisition. Occasionally his
ingenuity and resourcefulness enabled him to do successfully work
which had puzzled and baffled even those who were called experts.
Having finished his preparatory course, he began a course in
mechanical and electrical engineering in one of the best known of
our universities. About this time practically all assistance from
relatives had been withdrawn, owing to changed circumstances, and
he was left almost entirely dependent upon his own efforts. The story
of his struggles would fill a volume. Oftentimes he was almost
entirely without food. There was one month during which he was
unable to collect money due him for work done. Because he was a

poor university student he had no credit. So he lived the entire month
on $1.25. He thus explains how it was done:

LIVING A MONTH ON $1.25

"After visiting all of my clients trying to collect money, I came to the
conclusion that it would be useless to expect anything to come in to
me for at least thirty days. At this time I had $1.25 in my pocket. My
room I had paid for in advance by doing a piece of work for my
landlord. I also had about a cord of good oak wood which I had
sawed and split and piled in the hallway under the stairs. I had a little
sheet-iron stove which I used for both heating and cooking. I sat
down and carefully figured out how I could make my $1.25 feed me
until I could collect the money due. Twenty-five cents purchased
three quarts of strained honey from a bee-keeper friend of mine. The
dollar I invested in hominy. Every morning, when I first got up and
built the fire, I put on a double boiler with as much hominy as would
cook in it. While it was cooking I sat down and studied hard on my
calculus. By the time I had got a pretty good hold of the pot-hooks
and the bird-tracks in the calculus lesson, the hominy would be
ready to eat. Hominy and honey is not a bad breakfast. While
perhaps you would like some variety, it is also fairly edible for lunch.
If you are very, very hungry, as a growing boy ought to be, and have
been hard at work putting up bell wires and arranging batteries,
doubtless you would rather eat hominy and honey for dinner than go
without. The next morning the combination doesn't taste quite so
good, and by lunch time you are beginning to wonder whether
hominy and honey will satisfy all your cravings. In the evening,
however, you are quite sure that, in the absence of anything else,
you will have to have some hominy and honey in order to keep
yourself alive. By the end of the first week you feel that you can
never even hear the word hominy again without nausea and that you
wish never to look a bee in the face. By the end of the second week
you have become indifferent to the whole matter and simply take
your hominy and honey as a matter of course, trying to think nothing
about it and interesting yourself as much as possible in calculus,

generator design, strength of materials, and other things that an
engineering student has to study.

"The month finally passed. I felt as if I had eaten my way out of a
mountain of hominy and waded through a sea of honey. Collections
began coming in a little and I went and bought a beefsteak. You may
have eaten some palatable viands. I have myself partaken of meals
that cost as much as I made in a whole week's work in my school
days. But let me assure you that no one ever had a meal that tasted
better than the beefsteak and fried potatoes which finally broke the
hominy and honey regime."

After this our young friend hired a little larger room, laid in a few
cheap dishes and cooking utensils and took two or three of his fellow
students to board. He did the marketing and the cooking and made
them help him wash the dishes. Two were engineering students and
the third was a student in the college of agriculture, all working their
way through college. A few cents saved was a memorable event in
their lives. Our young engineer furnished table board at $1.25 a
week, and out of the $3.75 a week paid him by his boarders was
able to buy all of his own food as well as theirs, and pay his room
rent.

THE HARD FIGHT JUSTIFIED

After many troubles of this kind, G—— finished his engineering
course and secured a position in one of the largest corporations in
the United States at a salary of fifty dollars a month. At the time
when he went to work for the big corporation there were probably
three or four hundred other graduate engineers added to the staff.
So keen was his mind along mechanical and engineering lines, and
so great were his natural aptitudes, that within a few months his
wages had been increased to $60 a month and he had been given
far more responsible work. Almost as soon as he took up work with
the corporation, he began making improvements in methods,
inventing machinery and other devices, and thinking out ways and
means for saving labor and making short cuts. Within a few weeks
after his joining the force he had invented a bit of apparatus which

could be carried in the coat pocket, and which took the place of a
clumsy contrivance which required a horse and wagon to carry it. In
this way he saved the company the price of horses, wagons, drivers,
etc., on a great many operations. From the very first the young man
rose very much more rapidly than any of the others who had entered
the employ of the company at the time he did. Soon he was
occupying an executive position and directing the activities of scores
of men. To-day, only nine years after his leaving school, he occupies
one of the most important positions in the engineering department of
this great corporation, and while he does not have the title, performs
nearly all the duties of chief engineer.

The point of all this story is that this young man, while he had plenty
of mechanical ability and enjoyed machinery, was not fit to be a
locomotive fireman or stationary engine fireman. He had, in addition
to his mechanical sense and great skill in the use of his hands, a
very keen, wide-awake, energetic, ambitious, accurate intellectual
equipment, which did not find any adequate use in his work as a
mechanic or fireman. Nor could he ever have found expression for it
unless he had taken the initiative as a result of wise counsel and
secured for himself the necessary education and training. With all his
ingenuity, he would always have been more or less a slave to the
machine to be operated unless he had trained his mind to make him
the master of thousands of machines and of men.

FROM TURRET LATHE TO TREASURY

About eight years ago, while we were in St. Paul, Minnesota, a
young mechanic, J.F., came to us for consultation. He was about
twenty years old, and expressed himself as being dissatisfied with
his work.

"I don't know just what is the matter with me," he said. "I have loved
to play with mechanical things. I was always building machinery and,
when I had an opportunity, hanging around machine shops and
watching the men work. On account of these things my father was
very sure that I had mechanical ability, and when I was fifteen years
old took me out of school and apprenticed me in a machine shop.

This shop was partly devoted to the manufacture of heavy machinery
and partly to repairs of all kinds of machinery and tools. I have now
been at work in this shop for five years. I am a journeyman mechanic
and making good wages, and yet, somehow or other, I feel that I am
in the wrong place. I wish you could tell me what is the matter with
me."

After examining the young man and the data submitted, we made
the following report:

ANALYSIS OF AN EMBRYO FINANCIER

"While you have undoubted mechanical ability, this is a minor part of
your intellectual equipment. You are also qualified for commercial
pursuits. You have a good sense of values. You understand the
value of a dollar even now and you have natural aptitudes which,
with proper training and experience, will make you an excellent
financier. You also have executive ability. You like people and you
like to deal with them. You like to handle them, and because you
enjoy handling people and negotiating with them, you are successful
in doing so. While you are fairly active physically, you are very much
more active mentally. Your work, therefore, should be mental work,
with a fair amount of light physical activity mingled with it, instead of
purely physical work. You ought to hold an executive position and
ought to have charge of thee finances of some concern which is
engaged in the building and selling of machinery. You have worked,
up to the present time, with heavy, coarse, crude machinery. But you
are of fine texture, refined type, and naturally have a desire to work
with that which is fine, delicate and beautiful—something into which
you can put some of your natural refinement and artistic ability. You
are still young. You have learned a trade at which you can earn fairly
good wages. You ought, therefore, to prepare yourself in some way
for business. Work during the summer, and then during the winter
resume your studies, preparing yourself for an executive position in
connection with manufacturing and selling fine machinery. Study
accounting, banking, finance, salesmanship, advertising, mechanical
engineering and designing. At the earliest possible moment give up

your work in a machine shop where heavy machinery is
manufactured and begin to get some actual experience in the
manufacture of something finer and more artistic; for example, the
automobile."

A few years later, in Boston, a young man came to us, well dressed,
happy, and prosperous. He said he wished to consult us. After a few
minutes' talk with him, we said: "We have given you advice
somewhere before. This is not the first time you have consulted us."
He smiled, and said: "Yes. I consulted you in St. Paul, some years
ago. At that time you advised me to secure an executive position in
the automobile business. This advice struck me at the time as being
wise, and satisfied my own desires and ambitions. I lost no time in
following your directions and was soon engaged as a mechanic in an
automobile factory. I attended night-school at first, but finally made
arrangements to spend half my time in school and the other half in
the factory, learning every part of the business. At the present time I
am the vice-president and treasurer of the —— Motor Company, and
one of the designers of the —— Motor Car. We are doing an
excellent business and making money. Whereas I was certainly
misfit in my old job, I am well and happily placed since I have
learned my true vocation."

EVOLUTION OF AN ELECTRICAL ENGINEER

D.B., of Chicago, was a young man admirably endowed with
mechanical ability. From his earliest years he was especially
interested in matters electrical. His father told us that he always had
dry-cell and other batteries around the house. He used to try to make
magnetos out of horseshoe magnets, and at one time attempted to
build a dynamo. When he was sixteen years of age, having finished
grammar school and having had one or two years of high school
training, young B. became so ambitious to get into electrical work
that his father, thinking that he was intended for exactly this vocation,
consented to his leaving high school and taking a position as
assistant to the linemen of a telephone company. He worked at this a
year or two, and finally became a full-fledged lineman. He did well as

a lineman and after a year or so attracted the attention of an electric
light and power company, who enticed him away from the telephone
company and gave him charge of poles and wires in a residential
district. Here his unusual ingenuity and quickness soon became so
manifest that he was taken off the outside and placed in charge of a
gang of men wiring houses and installing electric fixtures. This was a
pretty good job for a young fellow and paid good wages; at least, the
wages seemed quite large to young B. at the time. By this time,
however, he was twenty-one and decided to marry. He needed more
money.

GETTING HIS BEARINGS

He had a long talk with a very kind and wise advisor, who finally said
to him: "See here, B., you have abilities that ought to be put to use at
something better than stringing wires and hanging bells."

"Why, I am a foreman now," said B.

"Yes, I know you are a foreman, but who plans all the work you do?"

"Why, the Super."

"Yes, the Super hands the plans down to you, but who plans the
work for him?"

"Why, the Chief."

"Now, look here; the Chief comes to his office at ten o'clock in the
morning. He uses his head until noon. He leaves at noon, and
perhaps he doesn't come back until two or three o'clock. He uses his
head then until five or, sometimes, until four; then he goes off to play
golf. But as the result of those few hours' use of the Chief's head, the
Superintendent, and you six or eight foremen, and all the two
hundred men under your direction work a whole day or a week, or
even a month, as you know. You are merely carrying out in a
mechanical, routine kind of a way the thoughts and ideas that
another man thinks. Now, you have the ability to think for yourself."

"I could think for myself," said he, "but I can't do all the figuring that is
necessary in order to decide just what size wire should go here, and
what kind of equipment should go there, and all the different things.
That's beyond me."

"Yes, it is beyond you now, but it doesn't need to be beyond you. You
have the mental ability to learn to use those formulae just as well as
the Chief does. The thing necessary is for you to learn how to do it,
to get needful education. Now, you are young, and you're strong,
and you've got lots of time before you. If you want to make more
money, the way to do it is to learn to use your head and save weeks,
months of time, as well as the labor of your hands."

"If I went off to college or university for two or three years, I don't
think Bessie would wait for me," said he. "She wants to get married. I
want to, too, and I think we ought to do it."

AN EDUCATION BY CORRESPONDENCE

"Well," said his counselor, "you don't need to go off to school. You
can take electrical engineering in a correspondence course, even
after you are married. You're making good wages now as a foreman.
Your hours of work are only eight a day, and you have plenty of time
in the evenings and on holidays and other times to study this subject.
Besides, you will probably make better progress studying it while you
work at the trade than you would in school and withdrawn from the
practical applications of the principles that you are learning."

The result of all this was that D.B. did take a correspondence course
in electrical engineering. It was pretty tough work. He had not
studied for years. One of the first things he had to learn was how to
study; how to concentrate; how to learn the things he had to know
without tremendous waste of energy. After a little while he learned
how to study. Then he progressed, a little at a time, with the intricate
and complicated mathematics of the profession he had determined
to make his own. Again and again he was puzzled, perplexed, and
almost defeated. But his young wife encouraged him, and when
things got so bad that he thought he would have to give it all up, he

would go and talk with his counselor, who would inspire him with new
ambition, so that he would go to work again. So, month after month,
year after year, he struggled away with his correspondence course in
electrical engineering. Little by little, he got hold of the technical
knowledge necessary for professional engineering work.

A VICTORY FOR THE CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL
GRADUATE

At first he was greatly handicapped by the prejudice of some of his
superiors against correspondence school courses, which were very
much newer at that time than they are now and regarded as much
more of an experiment. His superiors were graduates of universities
and looked down with contempt upon any merely "practical" man
who tried to qualify as an engineer by studying at home at night and
without the personal oversight of authorities in a university. But D.B.
was dogged in his persistence. Missing no opportunities to improve
and advance himself, he was, nevertheless, respectful and
diplomatic. And he repeatedly demonstrated his grasp of the subject.
Eventually he was promoted to the position of superintendent of the
electric light and power company. There was only one man then
between him and the desired goal, namely, the chief engineer.

At the time B. became superintendent the chief engineer was a
young university graduate, and was perhaps a little too egotistical
and dogmatic on account of his degree and honors. Soon after B.
took charge as superintendent, the company decided to build a new
central power station. The design was left to the young chief
engineer, and the practical work of carrying it out to our friend.
When, finally, the design was complete and passed on to D.B. for
execution, he felt that it was defective in several ways. He spent
several nights of hard study on it and became convinced that he was
right. He therefore took the whole matter to his superior and tried to
explain to him how the design was defective.

"I made that plan, and it is right," said the chief engineer. "Your
business isn't to criticize the plan, but to go ahead and carry it out.
Now, I don't care to hear any more about it."

"But," said B., "if we carry out this plan the way it stands, it will mean
the investment on the part of the company of something like $35,000
which will be practically dead loss. I can't conscientiously go to work
and carry out this plan as it stands. I am sure if you will go over it
again carefully, pay attention to my suggestions, and consult the
proper authorities, you will find that I am right."

"That's what comes of studying a correspondence course," said the
chief. "You get a little smattering of knowledge into your head. Part of
it is worth while, and part of it is purely theoretical and useless, and
because you have had some practical experience, you imagine you
know it all. Now, you have lots yet to learn, B., and I am willing to
help you, but I want to tell you that that plan and those specifications
are technically correct, and all you need to do is to go ahead and
carry them out. I'll take the responsibility."

"Very well," said B., "if you want those plans and specifications
carried out as they are, you can get someone else to do it. I would
rather resign than to superintend this job which I know to be
technically wrong."

His resignation had to be passed upon by the general manager, who,
before accepting it, sent for him.

"What's the trouble, B.?" said he. "I thought you were getting along
fine. We like your work, and we thought you liked the company. Why
do you want to leave?"

"I don't like to say anything about it, Mr. Jones," said B., "but the
plans passed on to me to carry out in the construction of that new
power-house down in Elm Street are technically wrong. They mean
an expenditure of $35,000 along certain lines which will be pretty
nearly a dead loss. When you come to try to use your equipment
there, you will find that it all has to be taken out and replaced by the
proper materials.

"Suppose you get the plans, B., and show them to me, and explain
just what you mean," said the general manager, who was also a

professional engineer of many years' successful experience.

So B. produced the plans and explained his proposition.

"Why, of course you are right," said the general manager. "I'm
surprised that Mr. F. should have thought for a moment that he could
use that type."

The result was that B. was reinstated and the chief engineer
reprimanded. Stung by his reprimand and angered because the
correspondence school graduate had bested him, the chief engineer
resigned. His resignation was accepted and B. became chief
engineer of the company. Later, he was promoted to the position of
chief engineer of an even larger corporation, and, finally, occupied
an executive position as managing engineer for a municipal light and
power plant in one of the large cities of the country.

THE GENESIS OF AN INVENTOR

Some years ago we spent a few months in a very comfortable and
homelike hotel in one of the largest cities in the Middle West. Down
in a nook of the basement of this hotel was a private electric light
plant. In charge of the plant was an old Scotch engineer delightful for
his wise sayings and quaint philosophy. The fireman, a young man
named T., was rather a puzzle to us. He had all the marks of unusual
mechanical ability, and yet he seemed to take only the slightest
interest in his work, and was constantly being reproved by his chief
for laziness, irresponsibility, and neglect of duty. "What's the use?"
he asked us, after we gained his confidence, and had asked him why
he did not take greater interest in his work. "What's the use? After
years of experience shoveling coal into a firebox and monkeying
around these old grease pots, I suppose I might get an engineer's
certificate. Then what would I be? Why, just like old Mack there—$75
to $100 a month, sitting around a hot, close basement twelve hours
a day or, perhaps, twelve hours at night, nothing to look forward to,
no further advancement, no more pay, and, finally, T.B. would carry
me off because of the lack of fresh air, sunshine and outdoor
exercise. No, thank you!"

"Well, then, why don't you do something else?"

"I don't know what to do. I like mechanics, and some job of this kind
is the only thing I know how to do or would care to do. Yet, I don't
care for this. I must confess that I am puzzled as to what in the world
I was made for, anyhow."

"What you need is to give your time and attention to the intellectual
side of engineering rather than the purely mechanical and physical.
You are of the intellectual type, and you are as badly placed trying to
do mere mechanical work as if you were an eagle trying to cross the
country on foot."

"I believe you are right in that. I am going to get an education."

AMBITION, INDUSTRY, AND PERSISTENCE

He began at once with correspondence courses in mechanical and
electrical engineering. Twelve hours a day he shoveled coal in his
basement boiler-room. Some four to eight hours a day he studied in
his little room up under the roof. It takes an immense amount of
courage, persistence, and perseverance to complete a
correspondence course in engineering, as anyone who has tried it
well knows. There is lacking any inspiration from the personality and
skill of a teacher. There is no spur to endeavor from association with
other students doing the same kind of work and striving for the same
degree. There are no glee clubs, athletic games, fraternities, prizes,
scholarships, and other aids to the imagination and ambition, such
as are found in a university. It is all hard, lonely work. But what the
student learns, he knows. And, somehow, he gains a great knack for
the practical use of his knowledge. Night after night T. toiled away,
until he had finished his course and secured his certificate of
graduation.

By this time T.'s ambition began to assume a definite form. He was
determined that he should have the honor and the emoluments
which would come to him as a result of solving one of the toughest
problems in engineering—one which had puzzled both technical and

practical men for many years. He therefore saved up a few dollars
and, packing his little belongings, departed to complete his education
in one of the most famous technical engineering schools of the
country. Tuition was high. Board cost a good deal of money. Books
were distressingly expensive. Tools, machine shop fees, and other
incidentals ate into the little store he had brought with him, and
inside of two months it was gone. He hunted around and finally
secured a job running an engine. This meant twelve hours in the
engine room every night. In addition, he did what other students
considered a full day's work attending lectures and carrying on his
studies in the laboratories and classroom. He went almost without
necessary food and clothing in order to buy books, tools, and other
equipment. But he was young, he was strong, and, above all, he was
happy in his mental picture of the great object of his ambition. In due
time he had taken his degree, having specialized on all subjects
bearing upon the solution of his great problem.

PATIENT TOIL HIS GENIUS

Coming back from the university after having finished his course, T.
found a position as engineer in an electric light and power plant.
Then he began saving up money to purchase the necessary
equipment for a laboratory of his own. Finally, he had a little building
and was one of the proudest young men we ever saw. Little by little,
he added to his apparatus the things he needed. Several nights a
week, after his hard day's work in the engine room, he toiled, trying
to solve the problem upon which he had fixed his mind. About this
time he married, and he and his wife moved into a narrow little flat.
Years passed, children came into the little flat, and still he worked at
his problem. Again and again, and still again, he failed. Yet, each
time he failed, he told us he was coming closer to the solution. At last
came the day, after many heart-breaking experiences, when the
problem, while not fully solved, had at least revealed a solution
which was commercially valuable.

His years of self-denial and toil seemed to be about to end in
success. But he found that he had only begun another long period of

discouraging and almost desperate work. It was a struggle to scrape
together the necessary funds for securing a patent. If he was to
complete and perfect his invention, he must have more capital. So,
with his model, he made the rounds of manufacturers of engines,
manufacturers who used engines, railroads, steamboat companies,
electric light and power companies; in fact, everywhere he thought
he might get some encouragement and financial assistance. His little
family was living on short rations. He himself had not eaten as he
ought for years. One after another, the men in authority said: "Yes,
your proposition looks good, but I don't think it can ever be made
practical. Some of the brightest men in the engineering profession
have spent years trying to solve that problem, and have not found
the answer to it. I do not believe that it will ever be found. You seem
to have come near it, but yet you have not found it, and we cannot
see our way clear to put any money into it."

REAPING HIS REWARD

T. argued, pleaded, and demanded an opportunity for a
demonstration, but all in vain. Then, one day, a lawyer, who had
been consulted by T., said: "I have no money to invest in anything
myself, but I'll tell you frankly and honestly, it looks good to me. Now,
I happen to be on very good terms with Mr. J. over at the T. & B.
Company. He has been interested in this problem for years and has
worked along toward its solution. He understands every phase of it,
and I believe he will do something with your device. Unless I am
mistaken, he will be interested in it, and will give you an opportunity
to demonstrate it. If your demonstration works out as well as you
think it will, he has the authority to put you in a position where you
can go ahead and perfect it if it is perfectible. I will give you a letter of
introduction to him." And thus began T.'s prosperity. He now lives in a
beautiful home on a wide boulevard. His invention, still short of
perfection, but highly valuable, is coming slowly into use, and would
probably be in very widespread use were it not for the fact that he is
constantly working on it, perfecting it, improving it, and hoping finally
to have a complete solution to the problem.

CHAPTER VIII
THE IMPRACTICAL MAN

"My life is a failure," wrote Sydney Williams to us, "and I do not know
why."

In middle life my grandfather Williams moved his family across the
Potomac River from Virginia in order to study to enter the ministry.
He is said to have freed some slaves at that time, so he must have
been a 'planter,' He became a Congregational minister. My
grandfather Jacobs was a carpenter; but, as I knew him, and for
some years before my birth, he was a helpless invalid from paralysis
on one side.

My father graduated from college and then became a minister. He
preached for many years, then he took up work with a religious
publishing house, finally having charge of the work at St. Paul. He
was there, I believe, when he was elected president of a small
school for girls. He assumed his new duties in June and I was born
the following November. (I am the youngest of eleven children, of
whom there are now three boys and five girls still living, three boys
having died while still babies before my birth.)

Until I was nearly twelve years old we lived at the girls' school, which
father succeeded in greatly enlarging. Mother taught me to read a
little and write a little. She and others read to me a great deal. I had
no playmates except my nephews and nieces, to whom I was
continually being pointed out as a 'model.' Out of the sight of the
grown-ups, I was not always such a model as they could have
wished; yet I did feel a certain amount of responsibility that was
oppressive and repressive. When nearly eleven, I was sent to the
public school, where I was soon promoted with two others. The next
year father and mother moved into a larger town, so that I had a few
months of real home life before my father's death in April, 1893.

Then my mother, her mother, and I went to Wisconsin to live with a
married sister of mine whose husband was the Presbyterian minister
there. I entered the fourth grade of the public school that fall; but, by
the end of the school year, I had completed the fifth grade.

My mother died in May, 1896. I continued to live with my sister.
Finished the seventh grade that June, but entered preparatory
school that fall. In November, 1897, my brother-in-law moved to
Iowa, and I made the mistake of deciding to go with him. While living
in Wisconsin, I had become acquainted with a fine lot of boys. One
of them organized a small military company; I was elected quarter-
master and, later, lieutenant. I now know that that was because we
were considered 'rich,' Also in Wisconsin I overcame some of my
extreme bashfulness in regard to girls, derived from babyhood
experiences. In fact, one reason I decided to leave Wisconsin was
the fear that the friendship with one girl might become too serious; I
was beginning to shun responsibility.

ATTAINMENTS IN SCHOLARSHIP

In Iowa I entered the high school and completed the tenth grade the
next June (1898). My elder brother was my official guardian and he
wanted me to make a change. As a result, in September, 1898, I had
my first experience of being away alone by entering a famous
academy. There I earned the reputation of being a 'grind,' and
graduated second in my class in June, 1901. While there I went out
for football, and made the third team and even played once on the
second. My poor eyesight hindered me somewhat, but still more the
fact that I was not eager to fall down on the ball on the hard ground
when it did not seem to me necessary. I was quite ready to get hurt,
if there was any reason for it. That, too, was a mistake on my part.

That September I entered Harvard University. My father had left
some insurance, and mother left some of it to me for a college
education. She expected, as did my sisters and brothers, that I
would become a minister. By the end of my Freshman year I had
decided that I could not do so, but from that time I was unable to
decide what I did want to do or could do. Consequently I did not get

the good out of a college education that I might have. Moreover,
though I stood fairly well in most of my classes, I did not always
understand the subjects as well as the professors thought I did. As
soon as it became possible to elect subjects, I dropped Latin, Greek,
and German, and specialized in history, economics, etc. I graduated
'Cum Laude,' But that was really a failure, considering what I might
have done.

But I did well enough to receive recommendation for a $500
fellowship that enabled me to return for another year. I did work
which caused me to be recommended for an A.M. degree. But I felt
that I had so little in comparison with others, that I was actually
ashamed to receive it. Socially, however, that extra year was a very
delightful one for me.

During two summers as an undergraduate, I worked at Nantasket
Beach selling tickets in the bathing pavilion for $50 a month, besides
room and board. I made good, much to the surprise of the
superintendent.

HUNTING A JOB

So then I was finally through college in June, 1906. It is almost
incredible how very childlike I still was, so far as my attitude toward
the world was concerned. I had high ideals, and I wanted to get into
business, but where or how I did not know. Moreover, my money was
gone. A student gave me a note with which I intended to get his
previous summer's job as a starter on an electric car line owned by a
railway company. The position was abolished, however, so I became
a conductor on a suburban line. Unfortunately, my motorman was a
high-strung, nervous Irishman, who made me so nervous that I often
could not give the signals properly, and who made life generally
unpleasant for me. He professed a liking for me and did prevent one
or two serious accidents. At the same time, he said I was the first
'square' conductor he had ever worked with, and, no doubt, he
missed his 'extra,' After three weeks of him, and of the general
public's idea that I must, of course, be knocking down fares, I
resigned. However, the superintendent offered me a job as

'inspector' of registers on the main line, a job that he was just
creating. When the rush was over after Labor Day, I was again out of
a job. I might have secured a clerkship with the railway company, but
I was foolish enough not to try.

A few weeks later found me established in the district office of a
correspondence school not very far from New York City as a
representative. At first I gave good promise of success, but I lost my
enthusiasm and belief in the school and became ashamed to be
numbered as one of its workers because of the character of most of
the local field force at that time and before my time. The reputation of
the school in that place was not very good. Also I was not successful
in collecting the monthly payments from those who had hard luck
stories or had been lied to by the man who had enrolled them. By the
end of two months I was ready to quit, but my immediate superior
begged me to stay, in order to keep him from having to break in a
new man just then. At the end of about four months I did resign to
save being kicked out. Mind you, I was to blame, all right; for I had
given up a real continuous effort beyond the merest routine and the
attempt to collect the monthly payments. While I was there I did write
a few contracts, among them a cash one amounting to $80. But,
toward the end, my lack of success was due to my utter disgust with
myself for being so blamed poor and for shirking.

AN ATTEMPT IN ORANGE CULTURE

Going back to a brother in New York, I tried to land a job, but, of
course, in such a state of mind, I could not. Then I went to my older
brother in Cincinnati, where he was, and is, the pastor of a large
church. Unfortunately, he did not take me by the back of the neck
and kick me into some kind of work, any kind. At last, in March,
1908, he helped me to come out West. I landed in Los Angeles, and
indirectly through a friend of his I secured a job on an orange ranch
in the San Gabriel Valley, which I held until the end of the season.
Once more I was happy and contented. It was certainly a pleasure to
work.

That fall, or rather winter (1908), I secured a place near San Diego,
where I had shelter and food during the winters and small wages
during the active seasons in return for doing the chores and other
work.

I had become possessed with a desire for an orange grove, and
refused to consider how much it would take to develop one. I was
finally able to secure a small tract of unimproved land. But I found
that the task of clearing it would be too great for me because of the
great trees, so for this and other reasons I snatched at a chance to
file on a homestead in the Imperial Valley. This was in May, 1910.
Later that summer I was able to sell my piece of land near San
Diego at a profit, so that in September I went over to get settled on
my homestead. I employed a fellow to help me make a wagon trail
for a mile or more and to build my cabin for me. I moved in the first of
November. Early in 1912 I decided it would be impossible to irrigate
enough land there to make a living at that time. Also the difficulties of
living alone so far out in the desert were greater than I had
anticipated. With the help of a friend, I was able to make final proof
in July and pay the government for the 160 acres, instead of having
to continue to live on it. I did stay, however, until the general election
in 1912.

AT WORK IN A SURVEYING CREW

Then I went to Los Angeles to get something to do. The town was full
of people seeking work, as usual, most of whom could present better
records than I could. To be sure, my friends and even my old
correspondence school boss gave me splendid recommendations,
but I felt my lack of business training and feared that 999 out of any
1,000 employers would not take a chance with me on such a record
as I had. Consequently I did not try very hard. For a while I was with
a real estate firm trying to secure applications for a mortgage. The
commission was $25, but, naturally, that did not go far toward
expenses. It was not long before I was in a bad mental condition
again through worrying, self-condemnation, and uncertainty. It would
not have been difficult to prove that I was 'insane.'

Finally an acquaintance of mine, a prominent lawyer, took up my
case. He has a good personal and business friend who is the
general manager of a large oil company with headquarters here in
Bakersfield. When first appealed to, this gentleman refused point
blank, because he had a bad opinion of college graduates in general
(I really don't blame him or other business men); but the lawyer used
his influence to the utmost with the result that I came up here in
March, 1913, and was sent up into the oil fields. I was put under the
civil engineer, and for two months I was sort of 'inspector' and 'force
account' man in connection with the building of a supply railroad, but
I gradually worked into the regular surveying crew, first as substitute
rear chainman, and then as the regular one. Before long I was head
chainman. I could have remained a chainman with the same crew to
this time, but I left a little over a year ago, as there once more
seemed a chance to earn a place in the country.

ANOTHER ATTEMPT AT ORANGE CULTURE

A young fellow, now located near Bakersfield, whom I had known in
San Diego, told me great tales that I was too anxious to believe, and
finally made some fine promises to help me get a piece of what he
said was his land and to bring it to a productive state. But when I
reached his place, in February, he was not ready, willing or able to
carry out his promises. He kept me hanging on, however, and as I
had used up my savings in a month's attendance at the short course
of the State agricultural college and in bringing my goods from
Bakersfield, I was compelled to get work from him as one of his
orchard gang. I helped to set out several hundred trees and berry
plants, and later knew what it meant to hoe for ten hours a day. I left
him the latter part of July in order to work out a scheme I had thought
of.

Fig. 25. "Sydney
Williams." For
analysis see
pages 206 to
210. Here is a
fine, capable
intellect, good
sense of humor,
optimism,
cheerfulness,
great
refinement, and
excellent critical
powers in art
and literature.
But there is a
deficiency of
practicability.
Note smallness
and flatness of
brows,
narrowness of
head just above
the ears,
fineness of
features and
height of head in
center, above
temples.

Fig. 26. "Sydney
Williams." Note
flatness of
brows;
smallness and
fineness of
features;
fineness of
texture; height of
forehead and
crown.

Fig. 27. Prof.
Adolf von
Menzel,
Sociologist. A
man of great
intellect,
especially
interested in
theoretical and
statistical
studies of
people, in the
mass, but not
greatly
interested in
practical,
material affairs.
Note immense
dome of
forehead and
head, with
flatness at
brows.

Fig. 28. Edgar
Allan Poe, Poet.
Impractical,
deficient in
financial sense,
but keenly alive
to a world of
fancy, ideals,
dreams,
imagery, beauty,
mysticism and
tragedy. Note
high forehead,
wide above, flat
at brows and
concave at
sides; small
nose and mouth,
deep-set,
gloomy eyes;
dark
complexion; and
lack of symmetry
and balance in
head and
features.

Fig. 29. Samuel
Taylor Coleridge,
Author. Highly
intellectual,
sentimental,
impractical,
sensitive,
emotional. A
man of high
ideals and
beautiful
thoughts, and
creative power.
Note high,
dome-shaped
head; flat, high
brows, fine,
delicate
features; weak
mouth, and
general softness
of contour and
expression.

Copyright by
Harper &
Brothers, N. Y.
Fig. 30. Thomas
De Quincy,
Author. A man of
fine,
discriminating,
logical intellect
along purely
mental lines, but
impractical in
material affairs.
Note high,
prominent
forehead, with
flat, poorly-
developed
brows, weak
nose and mouth
and narrow
head.

Fig. 31. O.
Henry, at the
age of thirty.
Impractical,
lacking in desire
for money and
financial
judgment.
Creative,
humorous, a
lover of human
nature, mild,
rather easy-
going, idealistic,
constant. Note
high forehead,
flat at brows, full
at sides along
top, concave
nose, full lips,
prominent chin.

Fig. 32. Edwin
Reynolds, of
Wisconsin. Of
the practical,
matter-of-fact,
literal type of
intellect.
Interested in
facts, keenly
observant, quick
in thought, alert
and positive in
his mental
activities. Note
high, sloping
forehead, very
prominent at the
brows, large
nose, high in the
bridge and well-
developed.

"The first part of September I moved back to Bakersfield. I tried out
my scheme by mail on two of the most prominent men in the country
(one of the times when I had plenty of nerve). It did not work and the
time did not seem auspicious for trying it on a greater number,
especially as I did not have money enough to do it properly.

"While still working for the orchard man, I began to do some work in
getting subscriptions for the Curtis publications. I did get a few. Later,
about the middle of October, I went to Los Angeles, where I had a
booth at an exhibition for three weeks in the interest of a publishing
house. But it did not pay expenses, and I was deeper in debt than
ever. I landed in Bakersfield nearly 'broke.' Thanks to the kindness of
the people where I roomed and boarded, I was able to pull through

until I obtained a loan last week, secured by a mortgage on my
homestead.

"I was entirely unable to force myself to do any real canvassing while
I was absolutely in need of each commission, but, now that I once
more have a bank account, I hope to make myself keep at it until I
can feel moderately successful. That is the one job I have fallen
down on over and over (I have not even mentioned many of the
attempts), and I believe I could be a real salesman if I could only get
over my fear of approaching people on any proposition of immediate
profit to me."

Here we have in detail the old, old story. How often have you heard
of the man who graduated with high honors at the head of his class
and was unable to make a living afterward? How many men of
highest scholarship have you met who could not make a living for
themselves and their families? Not long ago we were offered the
services of a man who had degrees from several universities in
America and Europe, who was master of several languages, and
who was glad to offer to do a little translating at twenty-five cents an
hour.

AN ANALYSIS OF SYDNEY WILLIAMS

What handicaps these men? They have good intellects, or they
would be unable to win high honors in colleges and universities. It is
fitting that they should educate themselves highly, since they are so
capable of attainment in scholarship. Surely, they ought to do some
intellectual work of some kind, because they are not fitted for manual
labor. Where do they belong? What is their particular type? What
opportunities are there for their unquestioned talents?

Here is what we wrote to Sydney Williams:

"From photographs and data submitted, I should judge your type of
organization, character and aptitudes to be as follows:

"You have inherited only a fairly good physical constitution. You will
always need to take care of yourself, but there is absolutely no
reason why you should worry in regard to your health.

"Under stress and strain your nervous system may give you trouble,
and there may be some tendency to digestive disturbances, but if
you will practice moderation, live on a well-balanced and sensibly
selected diet, and keep yourself from extremes of every kind you will
probably maintain very fair health and strength for many years.

"Intellectually you have a good, active mind of the theoretical type.
Your mind is quick to grasp theories, ideals, abstractions, and such
intangible and purely mental concepts. Your imagination is active,
and is inclined to run away with plans, schemes, and inventions, with
speculations and with visions of future prospects. However, your
plans and inventions are liable to be purely along mental and
intellectual lines, rather than practical.

"You do not observe well. You are a little too careless in regard to
your facts. You therefore have a tendency to go ahead with your
theories and your plans upon insufficient data or upon data which
are not accurate because they have not been properly verified.

"This deficiency in observation also handicaps you, because you do
not see things in their right relation, and your judgment is, therefore,
liable to be erratic and unsound.

"You should compel yourself to get the facts. You should suspend
judgment until you have made sure that all of the premises from
which you argue to your conclusions are sound and accurate. Take
nothing for granted. Compel yourself to stick to the facts. Not only
ask yourself the question, 'Will it work?' but make sure that the
affirmative answer is absolutely accurate before you go ahead.

"Many of your characteristics are those of immaturity,
notwithstanding your years, your education, and your experience.
You still retain many youthful tendencies. You are inclined to be
impulsive. You are very responsive emotionally, and when your

emotions are aroused you are prone to decide important matters
without reference to facts, reason, and logic. Another very youthful
characteristic in you is your tendency to be headstrong, wilful,
stubborn, and opinionated. When you have arrived at one of your
swift conclusions you find it very difficult to take advice. Even when
you do listen to what others say, you do not listen well. Your mind
jumps ahead to conclusions that are erroneous and which were
never in the mind of the person giving you the advice.

"As you can readily see, it is this inability to get competent counsel
from others, coupled with your own lack of observation and lack of
deliberation, that leads you into so many situations that turn out to be
undesirable. Here, again, you need to go more slowly, to act more
according to your knowledge and less according to impulse, to make
sure that you understand what other people say, especially when
seeking for advice. As a result of your rather emotional character,
you are liable to go to extremes and do erratic things, to be over-
zealous for a short period; also, at times, to be high tempered,
although your temper quickly evaporates. In all of these things you
will see the need for cultivation of more self-control, more poise,
more calmness, more maturity of thought, speech, and action.

"You are very idealistic. Your standards are high. You naturally
expect much. It is your hope always, when making a change, that
you will get into something which will more nearly approach
perfection than the thing you are leaving.

"But you are also critical. Indeed, you are inclined to be hypercritical,
to find too much fault, to see too many flaws and failures. For this
reason, nothing ever measures up to your ideals—you are always
being disappointed.

"You need to cultivate far more courage. By this I mean the courage
which hangs on, which meets obstacles, which overcomes
difficulties, which persists through disagreeable situations. Your
impulsiveness leads you into plenty of things, but you are so
hypercritical, and you become so easily discouraged when

eventualities do not measure up to your ideals, that you fail to finish
that which you start.

"Naturally, of course, if you were to be more deliberate and more
careful in forming your judgments, you would find things more nearly
ideal after you got into them. Then, if you would stick to them, you
could make a much greater success of them.

"Your intention to be honest, is, no doubt, above reproach. However,
your conduct or the results may at times be equivalent to dishonesty,
being so regarded by others. This, of course, is the result of your
immaturity, your impulsiveness, and your tendency not to see things
through.

"You are very keenly sensitive. With your great love of beauty and
refinement, anything which is coarse, crude, and ugly in your
environment is very depressing to you. You also find it difficult to
associate happily with those who are coarse and crude by nature.
Unquestionably, such people frequently hurt you cruelly when they
have no intention of doing so. It would be well if you would learn to
accept other people for what they are worth, rather than being so
critical of them and so easily hurt. Praise and blame are usually
meant impersonally and should be so received. In other words,
people praise or blame the deed and not the doer.

"Your appreciation of financial and commercial values and methods
is deficient. This is due to many different things, but principally to
your lack of observation, your inability to see things in their right
relations, and your limited sense of values. For these reasons you
are not and cannot become vitally interested in financial and
commercial affairs. If your wants were supplied, and you had
something interesting to do, money would receive practically no
consideration from you. For your own sake, you ought to attach more
importance to monetary considerations, cultivate a greater sense of
values, develop more practical commercial sense. On the other
hand, however, you should not attempt any vocation in which a high
development of these qualities is necessary.

"In practical affairs, you show a tendency not to learn by experience.
This is because of deficiency in your observation of facts. You do not
really understand the essential facts of the experiences through
which you pass, and, therefore, they do not impress or teach you.

"In your choice of a vocation you should make up your mind once for
all that, on account of the qualities I have described, you are not
commercial or financial, and, therefore, you do not belong in the
industrial or commercial world. Your talents are educational,
dramatic, professional, literary. You are decidedly of the mental type.
Your world is a mental world, an intellectual world. Ideas, ideals, and
theories are the things with which you can deal most successfully.

"Owing to your distaste for detail, and the difficulty you have in
applying yourself to a task until it is finished, and also on account of
your very keen and sensitive critical faculties, you are probably
better fitted for success as a critic than as a producer.

"A position in a house publishing books and magazines, where your
duty would be to read, analyze, and criticise manuscripts, would offer
you far better opportunities than anything you have yet attempted.

"You could probably do well in a mail-order house as correspondent.

"You also have some dramatic ability which, if developed and
trained, might make you a success, either on the stage or in the
pulpit. In this connection, I merely call your attention, in passing, to
the opportunities in the motion picture drama. Here is where
dramatic ability is everything and the heavier demands upon the
actor in the ordinary drama, especially in the way of physical
development, voice, etc., do not enter.

"Another line which might possibly interest you would be that of a
salesman in an art or music store, where customers come to you, or
in a book store. You probably would do better selling to women than
to men.

"Whatever you do, you should work under direction, under the
direction of some one whose judgment, wisdom, honesty, and high
principles you respect. Under wise leadership you have your very
best opportunities for success. In attempting to be your own
manager and to go your own way, you suffer from the serious
handicaps to which I have already referred.

"In selecting from among the vocations I have enumerated the one
that is best for you, you will, of course, be guided very largely by
opportunities. At this distance I do not know just which is your best
opportunity, and, therefore, cannot counsel you definitely to
undertake any one of these vocations in preference to the others. If
the opportunity is at hand, perhaps the position of literary or dramatic
critic with a publishing house would be most congenial for you and
offer you the best future. If not, then one of the others. You might
even undertake a position as salesman in a book store or an art
store while preparing or waiting for an opening in one of the other
lines suggested.

"Whatever you undertake, however, compel yourself, in spite of
obstacles, in spite of your very natural criticisms of the situation, to
stick to it until you make a success of it.

"As you grow older, if you will patiently and conscientiously cultivate
more deliberation, more practical sense, more self-control, and more
poise, you will become more mature in judgment and gradually
overcome to a greater and greater degree the handicaps which have
so far interfered with your progress and the best and highest
expression of your personality."

HANDICAPS OF THIS TYPE

To make a long story short, Sydney Williams and men of his type
have unusual intellectual powers of analysis, criticism, memory,
abstraction, and philosophy. They can master hypotheses, higher
mathematics, and Hebrew irregular verbs, but they are babes in all
practical affairs. They have some such conception of the plain facts
of human nature, ordinary financial values, and efficient methods of

commerce as a man with color blindness has of the art of Corot. Like
the children they are, these people seldom suspect their
deficiencies. Oftentimes they are ambitious to make a success in a
commercial way. They try salesmanship, or, if they have a little
capital, they may embark in some ambitious business project on
their own account. They even go into farming or agriculture or poultry
raising, or some kind of fancy fruit producing, with all of the optimism
and cheerfulness and confidence in their ability that Sydney Williams
felt for his orange growing. When they fail, it is more often through
their own incompetence than because some one comes along who
is mean enough to take candy from a baby. They usually dissipate
their assets by impracticable schemes before the unscrupulous can
take them. The only hope for such men is to learn their limitations; to
learn that, even though they may be ambitious for commercial
success, they are utterly unqualified for it; that, although they may
wish to do something in the way of production or selling, they have
neither talent, courage, secretiveness, persistence, nor other
qualities necessary for a success in these lines. They are too
credulous. They are too impractical. They are too lacking in fighting
qualities, and, therefore, too easily imposed upon. They are usually
lazy physically and find disagreeable situations hard, so that they are
out of place in the rough-and-tumble, strenuous, hurly-burly of
business, manufacturing, or ordinary professional life.

Perhaps a few stories would indicate what these men can do, do
well, and what they can be happy and satisfied in doing. There is a
real need for them in the world.

A CAREER IN MUSIC

George R. came to us late one evening in a little town in Illinois. He
was nervous, weak, and diffident.

"I am now," he said, "a salesman in a dry goods store. But I have
only held the job three months and do not expect that I will be
permitted to remain more than a week or so longer. I have been
warned several times by the floor-walker that my errors will cost me
my position. God knows, I do my best to succeed in the work, but it

is like all the other positions I've held. Somehow or other I don't
seem to be able to give satisfaction. While I am on my guard and as
alert as I know how to be against one of the things I've been told not
to do, I am just as sure as sunshine to go and do some other thing
which is against the rules. If I don't do something against the rules,
then I forget to do something I was told to do. If I don't forget to do
something I've been told to do, then I am quite likely to make some
outlandish mistake that no one ever thought of framing a rule to fit.
The result of it all is that in about another week or, at the most, two,
I'll be out of employment again. I have tried driving a delivery wagon.
I've tried grocery stores. I've tried doing collections. I began once as
clerk in a bank. Immediately after leaving college, I started in as
newspaper reporter. I've been a newsboy on railroad trains. I sold
candies and peanuts in a fair ground. I have been night clerk in a
hotel. I've been steward on a steamboat. I've been a shipping clerk
in a publishing house, and I have been fired from every job I have
ever had. True enough, I've hated them all, but, nevertheless; I have
tried to do my best in them. Why I cannot succeed with any of them,
I don't know, and yet I have a feeling that somehow, somewhere,
sometime, I will find something to do that I will love, and that I can do
well."

"Music," we said, "unquestionably music."

"Do you think I could?" he said wistfully. "Music has been my passion
all my life long. It has been my one joy, my one solace in all my
wanderings and all my failures. But I have always been afraid I
would fail also in that, and, if I should, it would break my heart sure.
But if you think I have the talent, then I shall give my whole time, my
whole thought, my whole energy to music hereafter."

It was rather late in life for this young man to begin a musical career.
While he had always been fond of music, he had been sent to
college for a classical course by parents to whom a classical course
meant everything that was desirable in an education. He had learned
to play the piano, the violin, the guitar, the mandolin, and some other
instruments, without education, because of his natural musical talent.

He played them all as he had opportunity, for his own amusement,
but, because of his ambition for commercial success, had never
thought of music as a career. We wish we might tell you that this
young man was now one of the foremost composers or conductors
of his time. It would make an excellent story. Such, however, is not
the case.

He devoted himself to securing a thorough musical education,
supporting himself and paying his expenses in the mean-while by
playing in churches, musicales, motion picture shows, and other
places. He also received a few dollars nearly every week for playing
the violin for dances and other functions in a semi-professional
orchestra. Truly this was not "art for art's sake." Any critical musician
could probably tell you that such use of his musical talent forever
shut off any hopes of his becoming a true artist. On the other hand, it
did fill his stomach and clothe him while he was securing a sufficient
musical education to enable him to make a very fair living as teacher
on various musical instruments and as a performer at popular
concerts, recitals, etc. Best of all, he was happy in his work, felt
himself growing in success and, while there were probably heights
which he never could scale and to which he may have turned his
longing eyes, he doubtless got a considerable amount of satisfaction
out of the fact that he was no longer being kicked around from pillar
to post in the commercial world.

VOCATIONS FOR THE IMPRACTICAL

Herbert Spencer felt that he was a complete and utter failure as a
civil engineer, but he made a magnificent success as a scientist,
essayist, and philosopher.

The number of great authors, scientists, philosophers, poets, actors,
preachers, teachers, lecturers, and musicians who were ludicrously
impractical is legion. Literature abounds in stories of their
idiosyncrasies. These people deal with abstractions, ideas, with
theories, and with emotions. They may be very successful in the
spinning of theories, in the working out of clever ideas, and in their
appeal to the emotions of their fellow-men. They may write poetry

which is the product of genius; they may devise profound philosophy.
This is their realm. Here is where they are supreme, and it is in this
kind of work they find an expression for all of their talent.

Right here there is need for careful distinction. There is a great
difference between the impractical man who has energy, courage,
and persistence, and the impractical man who is lazy and cowardly.
No matter what a man's natural talent may be, it takes hard work to
be successful in such callings as art, music, the pulpit, the stage, the
platform, and the pen. Inspiration may seem to have a great deal to
do with success. But even in the writing of a poem inspiration is
probably only about five per cent.; hard work constitutes the other
ninety-five per cent. It is one thing to have vague, beautiful dreams,
to be an admirer of beauty, to enjoy thrills in contemplation of
beautiful thoughts or beautiful pictures. It is quite another thing to
have the energy, the courage, and the dogged persistence
necessary to create that which is beautiful.

NO EASY ROAD TO SUCCESS

We offer no golden key which unlocks the doors to success. Much as
we regret to disappoint many aspiring young men and women, we
must be truthful and admit that there is no magic way in which some
wonderful, unguessed talent can be discovered within them and
made to blossom forth in a night, as it were. Many people of this type
come to us for consultation, evidently with the delectable delusion
that we can point out to them some quick and easy way to fame and
fortune. Again we must make emphatic by repetition the hard,
uncompromising truth that laziness, cowardice, weakness, and
vacilation are incompatible with true success. No matter what a
man's other aptitudes may be, no matter how great his talent or his
opportunities, we can suggest absolutely no vocation in which he
can be successful unless he has the will to overcome these
deficiencies in his character.

Many a man is deluded into the fond supposition that he is not
successful because he does not fit into the vocation where he finds
himself. The truth is that he probably is in as desirable a vocation as

could possibly be found for him. The reason he is not successful is
because he has failed to develop the fundamental qualities of
industry, courage, and persistence.

HOW TO BECOME MORE PRACTICAL

When the impractical man learns his limitations he is all too likely to
go to extremes in depreciating his own business ability. Many such
people are seemingly proud of their deficiencies in business sense.
"I am no business man. You attend to it, I'll trust you," they say. While
a lack of natural business ability may not be a man's fault, it is
nothing to be proud of. You may not be born with keen, financial
sense, but that is no reason why you may not develop more and
more of it and make yourself a better business man. As a matter of
fact, every man is in business—he has something to sell which he
wishes the rest of the world to buy from him. He has himself, at least,
to support, and more than likely he has others dependent upon him.
He has no right, therefore, to neglect business affairs and to permit
others to impose upon him and to steal from him and from those
dependent upon him the proper reward for his labor.

Even the youth who is poor in mathematics can learn something
about geometry, algebra, and trigonometry; even he who "has no
head for language" can learn to speak a foreign tongue and even to
read Latin or Greek. It is not easy for either one of them and perhaps
the one can never become a great mathematician nor the other a
great linguist, but both can learn something, both can improve their
grasp of the difficult subject. There are probably few readers of these
pages who have not in their school days overcome just such
handicaps in some particular subject of study.

In a similar way those who are impractical and have little business
sense can improve in this respect and they ought to. Such people
ought to study practical affairs, ought to give their attention to
financial matters. In fact, one of the best ways to increase financial
judgment is to form the intimate acquaintance of some one who has
a keen sense of financial values. If such a person can be persuaded
to talk about what he knows, the impractical man will do well to take

a keen interest in what he says, to qualify himself to understand it,
and, if possible, to get the point of view from which a good business
man approaches his problems and studies his affairs. Actual practice
is, of course, necessary for development, and the impractical man
ought to take an interest in his affairs and ought to do his best to
handle them. Naturally, he needs to seek competent counsel in
regard to them, but he should pay some attention to the counsel
given, try to learn something from it, watch results of every course of
action and in every possible way study to make himself more
practical and less theoretical and abstract in his attitude toward life in
general and toward business affairs in particular.

Not long ago we attended a meeting of two and three hundred of the
most prominent authors, poets, and playwrights in America. We were
not at all surprised to note that nearly every one of those who had
made a financial success of his art was a man of the practical,
commercial type who had developed his business sense along with
his artistic or literary talent.

A PAUPER, HE DREAMED OF MILLIONS

Some years ago we formed the acquaintance of a delightful man
who is so typical of a certain class of the impractical that his story is
instructive. When we first formed the acquaintance of this gentleman
he was about thirty years of age, rather handsome in appearance,
with great blue eyes, very fine silky blonde hair, and a clear, pink,
and white complexion. His head, somewhat narrow just above the
ears, indicated a mild, easy-going, gentle disposition. The large,
rounded dome just above temples was typical of the irrepressible
optimist. His forehead, very full and bulging just below the hair line,
showed him to be of the thoughtful, meditative, drearily type, while
flatness and narrowness at the brows told as plainly as print of the
utter impracticability of his roseate dreams.

True to his exquisite blonde coloring, this man was eager, buoyant,
irrepressible, impatient of monotony, routine, and detail—social and
friendly. True to his fine texture, he shrank from hardship, was
sensitive, refined, beauty loving and luxury loving. Because of his

mild disposition and optimism and also because of his love of
approval, he was suave, affable, courteous, agreeable. He made
acquaintances easily and had many of the elements of popularity.

Because he was ambitious to occupy a position of prominence and
distinction, because he wished to gratify his luxurious and elegant
tastes, and because in his irrepressible optimism it seemed so
absurdly easy to do, he was eager to make a large fortune. Lacking
the aggressiveness, energy, willingness to undergo hardship and to
work hard and long, patiently enduring the hours and days of
drudgery over details that could not be neglected, he dreamed of
making millions by successful speculation.

LOOKING FOR A SHORT CUT TO WEALTH

It is easy to see why a man of this type, with his futile dreams of
easy conquests in the field of finance, should have scorned the slow
and painful process of acquiring an education. Yet the tragedy of his
life was that his only hope of usefulness in the world was through the
careful cultivation and development of his really fine intellect. It is
also easy to see why such a man would lack the patience to learn a
trade even if he had had the manual skill to carry on any trade
successfully—which he had not. For the same reasons he would not
take pains to qualify himself for any occupation, although he might
have made a fair success in retail salesmanship perhaps,
notwithstanding his far greater fitness for educational, ministerial, or
platform work. On the contrary, he roamed about the country
occupying himself at odd times with such bits of light mental or
physical work as came his way. Being without training and taking no
real interest in his work, he never retained any job long. Sometimes,
lured by the will-o'-the-wisp of some fancied opportunity to make a
million, he gave up his work. Sometimes he merely got tired of
working and quit. But most often he was discharged for his
incompetence. It is difficult indeed for any man to attend properly to
the cent-a-piece details of an ordinary job when he is dreaming of
the easy thousands he is going to make next week.

This charming gentleman was always out of funds. Although he
carefully tonsured the ends of his trouser legs, inked the cuffs of his
coat, blackened and polished his hose and even his own, fine, fair
skin where it showed through the holes of his shoes, and turned his
collars and ties again and again, he was nearly always shabby. On
rare and ever rarer occasions he would do some relative or friend
the inestimable favor and honor of accepting a small loan, "to be
repaid in a few days, as soon as a big deal I now have under way is
consummated." These loans were his only successes in the realm of
practical finance. Inasmuch as the repayment of them was
contingent upon the closing of an ever-imminent, but never
consummated, "big deal," they cost him nothing for either principal or
interest. For a few weeks after the successful negotiation of one of
these loans, he would be resplendent, opulent, fastidious, even
generous. All too soon the last dollar would slip through his
unheeding fingers. If during a period of affluence he had succeeded
in establishing a little semblance of credit, he would maintain his
regal style of living as long as it lasted. Then he would come down to
the hall bedroom or even the ten-cent lodging house, the lunch
wagon, and the pawn shop. But even at the lowest ebb of his
fortunes, he never seemed to lose his cheerfulness, his good nature,
his grand manners, and his easy, confident hope and conviction
about the huge sums that were to come into his possession "within a
few days."

A DILETTANTE IN REAL ESTATE

Do not imagine that this man's dreams of great and easy fortunes
were mere idle fancies—far from it. He was nearly always engaged
in negotiations for some big deal. One of his favorite pastimes was to
hunt up large holdings of real estate offered for sale, go to the
owners, represent himself as a real estate broker, and secure
permission to put these properties on his "list." This permission
obtained, he would go about trying to find buyers. But his ideas of
real estate values, of the adaptation of properties to purchasers, of
the details of a real estate transaction and of salesmanship were so
vague and so impractical that if he ever succeeded in selling a piece