Most janitors are humble men. In their dingy cubbyholes, in their burrows beneath houses, they sit through the day quietly, watching the furnace fire or listening to the rumble of boilers in which cold water churns upward to dribble languidly out of faucets marked "hot." Their reading is confined to yesterday's newspapers; sleepy, happy woodchucks, they do not care to see their own names on the front pages. They are content.
Some janitors are exceptions. They spend the long days of their undifficult existence revolving and maturing hot thoughts of fame. One...
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