Once there was a well-meaning Soul who was handicapped by a true and lasting Friendship.
Sometimes he suspected that if he could be left to himself he would struggle along from one Saturday Night to another and keep out of the Way of the Cars and possibly extract some Joy from this Life in his own Simple Rube Fashion.
But every time he turned around, Friend was right there to tell him what to do.
Friend was somewhat of a Shell-Fish in the regulation of his own Private Affairs, but he knew just how to manage for some one else.
So he used to tell the Victim where to have his clothes made, and he would pick out his Shirt Patterns for him and tell him how often he needed a Drink, and in other ways relieve him of all Responsibilities.
If the poor Mark wanted to remain in his Room and read something by William Dean Howells, the Friend would compel him to put on his Low-Front and go out to a War-Dance and meet a Bunch of Kioodles who wore No. 6 Hats and talked nothing but Piffle.
The Friend was always making Business Engagements for him and then letting him know about it later on.
And sometimes Friend would try to choke him and take his Money away from him and invest it in some shine Enterprise that was going to pay 40 per cent Dividend every thirty Days.
Friend always meant well at that. When he selected the Girl that the Victim was to marry he was prompted by the most unselfish Motives. Notwithstanding which, the Victim did the tall Duck.
A Policeman found him hiding under a Bridge and asked, “Are you a Fugitive from Justice?”
“No,” was the Reply. “This is merely a case of Friend.”
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MORAL: They never seem to be properly Thankful for all that we do in their Behalf.