In Winter Quarters 



the contrary, as in the strange case of 

 Lady Chow, most of us seem to be 

 endowed with some form of mental 

 antennae with which we sense with 

 equal assurance those who "make us 

 tired;" just as the cat's whiskers warn 

 her that the hole is not wide enough 

 to admit the feline head. 



As in real life, so in the book-shelves. 

 Here, too, you will meet all manner of 

 people. And here also you may be 

 lucky enough to find somebody whose 

 presence you can bear, and whose com- 

 panionship, in some subtle irresistible 

 way, brings something satisfying that 

 you have perhaps previously sought 

 without finding. When you strike the 

 real thing that comes straight home 

 you will need no telling. You will 

 recognize the work at once as really 

 your own. The thoughts are exactly 

 your own thoughts. How did the 

 writer happen to know your own mind 

 so perfectly? The ideas expressed are 

 by no means new or exclusive with the 

 [144] 



