The Return of Ram Juna

One gloomy evening in January Mr. Early sat alone. He had so many
tentacles spread out through the world of men and women that solitude
was unusual to him. Indeed it had often occurred to him, as an example
of the fallacy of ancient sayings, that there was nothing in that old
epigram about the loneliness of the great. The higher he had risen in
the scale of greatness the more insistently and persistently had the
world invaded his life, until even his appreciation of solitude had
atrophied.

This particular day had been a hard one. The problems of glass and rugs
were unusually complicated, and the interruptions to continuous thought
more numerous than usual. Moreover, without warning, like a meteor of
magnificent proportions, Swami Ram Juna, with many paraphernalia of
travel, had suddenly reappeared to ask for that once-proffered
hospitality. Not without state and courtesy could such a being be
welcomed; and courtesy takes time.

Finally, to discuss the matter of the outer cover for the next issue of
The Aspirant, a henchman invaded his privacy. Sebastian looked over a
pile of designs, and chose a flat but lurid young woman, in a
sphinx-like attitude against a background of purple trees. Then came the
more difficult question of an aphorism to be printed on the table
against which the lurid young woman leaned. It was the habit of The
Aspirant to convey, even on its outside, wisdom to the world, and the
thinking up of smart young aphorisms is not always an easy task. Mr.
Early at length evolved: "It has been said of old: 'Know thyself.' I say
unto thee, 'Forget thyself. Know thy brother.'"