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diff --git a/old/56165-0.txt b/old/56165-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3b83294..0000000 --- a/old/56165-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3447 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Neither Here Nor There, by Oliver Herford - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Neither Here Nor There - -Author: Oliver Herford - -Release Date: December 11, 2017 [EBook #56165] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEITHER HERE NOR THERE *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - A MIRROR OF FRIVOLITY - - NEITHER HERE - NOR THERE - - By - OLIVER HERFORD - - _Author of “The Rubaiyat of a Persian Kitten,” “This Giddy - Globe,” etc._ - - ¶ As a humorous commentator upon morals and manners with - special attention to cats, tutti frutti trees, Bolshevism for - babies and trouser creases. Mr. Herford leaves nothing to - be desired. His book is a mirror of engaging frivolity, an - incisive but good-humored thrust at the follies of the day. - Here and there a very rich and moving note is struck, as in THE - BON DIEU’S BIRTHDAY PARTY where one finds in full flower that - tender fantasy which is the greatest charm of Mr. Herford’s - imagination. - - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY _Publishers_ New York - - - - -NEITHER HERE NOR THERE - -OLIVER HERFORD - - - - -_Other Books of_ OLIVER HERFORD - - -POEMS AND VERSES - - ARTFUL ANTICS - THE BASHFUL EARTHQUAKE AND OTHER FABLES AND VERSES - ALPHABET OF CELEBRITIES - OVERHEARD IN A GARDEN - RUBAIYAT OF A PERSIAN KITTEN - THE FAIRY GOD-MOTHER-IN-LAW - KITTEN’S GARDEN OF VERSES - THE LAUGHING WILLOW - THE HERFORD ÆSOP - - -ANIMAL BOOKS - - A CHILD’S PRIMER OF NATURAL HISTORY - MORE ANIMALS - JINGLE JUNGLES - - -SATIRICAL - - THE ASTONISHING TALE OF A PEN AND INK PUPPET - SIMPLE GEOGRAPHY - THE MYTHOLOGICAL ZOO - CONFESSIONS OF A CARICATURIST - THIS GIDDY GLOBE - - -IN COLLABORATION - -_With John Cecil Clay_ - - HEARTICULTURE - CUPID’S FAIR WEATHER BOOK - CUPID’S ENCYCLOPEDIA - HAPPY DAYS - -_With Cleveland Moffett_ - - THE BISHOP’S PURSE - -_With Ethel Watts Mumford_ - - CYNIC’S CALENDAR - - - - - NEITHER HERE - NOR THERE - - BY - OLIVER HERFORD - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - COPYRIGHT, 1922, - BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - [Illustration] - - NEITHER HERE NOR THERE. I - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - - TO M. H. - - On board S.S. _Carmania_ - Lat. 50° N., Long. 30° W. - - “NEITHER HERE—NOR THERE” - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - THE SECRET 9 - - OUR LEISURE CLASS 13 - - CONCERNING REVOLVING DOORS 17 - - BOLSHEVISM FOR BABIES 21 - - THE TUTTI-FRUTTI TREE 25 - - THOSE BILL BOARDS 28 - - THE LURE OF THE “AD” 33 - - LOOK BEFORE SHE LEAPS 37 - - THE LOW COST OF CABBING 42 - - THE GREAT MATCH BOX MYSTERY 45 - - ARE CATS PEOPLE? 51 - - MLLE. FAUTEUIL 56 - - MONEY AND FIREFLIES 60 - - CONCERNING THE TROUSER-CREASE 63 - - AN OLD-FASHIONED HEAVEN 68 - - ANOTHER LOST ART 71 - - MR. CHESTERTON AND THE SOLILOQUY 74 - - BUNK 77 - - THE COST OF A PYRAMID 82 - - WALTZING MICE AND DANCING MEN 87 - - THE HOBGOBLIN 92 - - THE VOICE OF THE PUSSY-WILLOW 96 - - PERNICIOUS PEACHES 99 - - SECOND CHILDHOOD’S HAPPY HOUR 105 - - PITY THE POOR GUEST OF HONOUR 109 - - A NEW MONROE DOCTRINE 114 - - DO CATS COME BACK? 117 - - THE RUTHLESSNESS OF MR. COBB 120 - - MY LAKE 123 - - THE HUNDREDTH AMENDMENT 134 - - SAY IT WITH ASTERISKS 144 - - - - -NEITHER HERE NOR THERE - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE SECRET - - -Eve was bored. She confided the fact to the Serpent. - -“Tell me something new!” she wailed, and the Serpent—he had never seen a -lady cry before—was deeply moved (the Serpent has always been misjudged) -and—there being no National Board of Censors—told her everything he knew. - -When he had finished, Eve yawned and looked boreder than ever. “Is _that_ -all?” she said. - -The Dramatic Critic asks the same question on the first night of a new -Play—“Will there never be an end to these Dormitory Farces,” he moans, -pondering darkly the while how he may transmute its leaden dullness to -the precious gold of a scintillating paragraph. - -Father Time has nothing to say on the matter. If you ask him to show you -a new thing, he shrugs his wings and growls, “You can search me.” Things -old and things new are all alike to Father Time. - -Peradventure, in the uttermost recess of the Great Pyramid lies a hair of -an unknown color, or a blueprint of the fourth dimension, or better still -the ms. of a new play, or a joke that has never been cracked. - -When a Roman bath is unearthed in Kent or a milliner’s shop in Pompeii we -wait breathless to hear of the discovery of a new story, or a new dress -pattern, but always it is the same old skull, the same old amphora. - -Even the newness of Fashion is a jest of antiquity. - -In an Italian book printed in the sixteenth century is a story of a fool -“who went about the streets naked, carrying a piece of cloth upon his -shoulders. He was asked by some one why he did not dress himself, since -he had the materials. ‘Because’ replied he, ‘I wait to see in what manner -the fashions will end. I do not like to use my cloth for a dress which in -a little time will be of no use to me, on account of some new fashion.’” - -There may be a newer version of this story in the ashes of the -Alexandrian library or beneath the ruins of Babylon, but this has at -least the freshness and luster of its four-hundred years. Also it throws -a light, a very searchlight, on the translucent demoiselles of today (see -them shyly run to cover at the mere mention of a searchlight.) - -Now we know their guilty secret. Each of them has, hoarded away in a -secret drawer (as money in panicky times) a roll of fine silk or voile, -or panne velvet, or crepe de chine which she is sparing from the scissors -till the Wheel of Fashion shall oscillate with less fury. Then she will -put away the skimpy, flimsy makeshift garments of transformed window -curtains and bath towels, converted _robes de nuit_ and remnants of net -or chiffon she has been vainly trying to hide behind—and then—then alas, -we shall see her no more! - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -OUR LEISURE CLASS - - -Once—and not so terribly long ago at that—we used to be very fond of -telling ourselves (and our visitors from Europe) that in America we have -no Leisure Class. - -That there were people of leisure in our midst, we could not deny, though -we preferred to call them idle rich, but as for a special class whose -whole business in life was to abstain from all useful activity—oh, no! - -Even our idle rich, unblest as they are with the hereditary gift for -idling, and untaught save by a brief generation or two of acquired -experience, find the profession of Leisure a strenuous not to say noisy -task, for while those to the leisure born know by the very feel of it -that the habit of idleness is a perfect fit, the newly-idle must look for -confirmation in the mirror of public admiration; hence Publicity, the -blare of the Sunday Supplement. - -But taken as a class our idle rich (though it is being rapidly licked or -lick-spittled into shape) is at best an amateur aristocracy of leisure. -For the real thing, for the genuine hunting, sporting, leisure-loving -American aristocracy, we must go back to the aboriginal Red Man. - -And how the busybody Puritan hated the Indian! With his air of well-bred -taciturnity, his love of sport, of rest, of nature, and his belief in -a happy Hereafter, the noble Red Man was in every respect his hateful -opposite, yet if any Pilgrim brother had dared even to hint that the -Indian might have points of superiority it would have been the flaming -woodpile for him, or something equally disagreeable in the purifying way. - -How different it might have been! - -If only the Puritan had been less stuck up and self-righteous, the Red -Man less reserved! If they could but have understood that Nature intended -them for each other, these opposites, these complements of each other. - -Why else had Nature brought them together from the ends of the earth? - -But alas, Eugenics had not yet been invented and the Puritan and the -Indian just naturally hated each other at first sight and so (like many -another match-maker) Mother Nature slipped up in her calculations, and a -wonderful flower of racial possibility was forever nipped in the bud. - -If the Puritan, with his piety and thrift and domesticity and his -doctrine of election and the Noble Red Man, with his love of paint -and syncopated music and dancing and belief in a happy Hereafter, had -overcome their mutual prejudices and instead of warring with flintlocks -and tomahawks, had pursued each other with engagement rings and marriage -licenses, what a grand and glorious race we might be today! - -What a land of freedom might be ours! - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -CONCERNING REVOLVING DOORS. - - -There has been some discussion of late as to the etiquette of the -revolving door. When a man accompanied by a woman is about to be revolved -in it, which should go first? Some think the man should precede the -woman furnishing the motive power, while she follows idly in the next -compartment. Others hold that the rule “Ladies first” can have no -exception, therefore the man must stand aside and let the female of his -species do the rough work of starting the door’s revolution while the -man, coming after, keeps it going and stops it at the right moment. - -“Starting something” is perhaps of all pastimes in the world the one most -popular with the sex we are accustomed to call the gentle sex; one might -almost say that “starting something” is Woman’s prerogative; on the other -hand there is nothing on earth so abhorrent to that same gentle sex as -the thing that is called Consistency; and though she may be perfectly -charmed to start a revolution in South America, or in silk pajamas, or -suffrage, or the rearing of children it does not follow that she will -take kindly to the idea of starting the revolution of a revolving door. - -As for the rule “Ladies first,” its application to the etiquette of -doors in general (as distinguished from the revolving variety) is purely -a matter of geography. In some European countries it is the custom, -when entering a room, for the man to precede the woman, and if it be a -closed street or office door, the man will open it and following the -door inward, hold the door open while she passes in. If the door opens -outward the woman naturally enters first, since her companion must -remain outside to hold the door open. - -The American rule compelling the woman to precede her escort when -entering a room or building doubtless originated with our ancestor the -cave-man. - -On returning to his Apartment with his wife after a hunting expedition -Mr. Hairy K. Stoneaxe would say with a persuasive Neolithic smile (and -gentle shove) “After you my dear,” being rewarded for his politeness -by advance information as to whether there were Megatheriums or -Loxolophodons or an ambuscade of jealous rivals lurking in the darkness -of his stone-upholstered sitting-room. - -By all means let the lady go first; by so doing we pay the homage -that is due to her sex and even though there are no Megatheriums of -Loxolophodons in these days—there _may_ be burglars! Only in the case of -a door that must be opened inwards would I suggest an amendment. What -more lamentable sight than that of a gentle lady squeezing precariously -through a half-opened door while her escort, determined that though they -both perish in the attempt, she shall go first, reaches awkwardly past -her shoulder in the frantic endeavor to push back the heavy self-closing -door while at the same time contorting the rest of his person into the -smallest possible compass that she may have room to pass without disaster -to her ninety-dollar hat, not to speak of her elbows and shins. - -How much happier—and happiness is the mainspring of etiquette—they would -be, this same pair, if (with a possible “allow me” to calm her fears) the -escort should push boldly the door to its widest openness and holding -it thus with one hand behind his back, with the other press his already -removed hat against his heart as the lady grateful and unruffled sweeps -majestically by. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -BOLSHEVISM FOR BABIES - - - “That babies don’t commit such crimes as forgery is true, - But little sins develop, if you leave them to accrue; - For anything you know, they’ll represent, if you’re alive, - A burglary or murder at the age of thirty-five.” - -When W. S. Gilbert wrote these lines, he stated in an amusing way a great -truth, for the doctrine of infant depravity and original sin thus lightly -touched upon is, when stripped of its Calvinistic mummery, a recognized -scientific verity. - -I sometimes think that if the “highbrow” mothers who turn to books -by long-haired professors with retreating chins for advice in child -training, should study instead the nonsensical wisdom of Gilbert’s book, -they would derive more benefit therefrom. At least it would do them (and -their children) no harm. - -I wish as much as that could be said of a book I have lately come -across entitled “Practical Child Training,” by Ray C. Beery (Parent’s -Association). So far from harmless it is, in my opinion, a more fitting -title for it would be “Bolshevism for Babies.” - -Obedience, says the author, “is your corner-stone. Therefore lay it -carefully.” And this is how it is laid: “_While you are teaching the -child the first lessons in correct obedience, do not give any commands -either in the lesson or outside except those which the child will be sure -to obey willingly._” - -Obedience is to be taught by wheedling and cajolery, which lessons the -clever child will apply in later life as bribery and corruption. The -author denies this in Book I, p. 130, but his denial is so curious it -deserves quoting: “_You would entirely vitiate its principles if in -giving this lesson you should state it to the child like this: ‘If you -do not do thus and so, I will give you no candy._’” Then on the same -page: “_While the thought of candy in the child’s mind causes him to -obey, yet the lesson is planned in such a way that you are not buying -obedience._” - -The “five principles of discipline” are embodied in the following story: -The father of a boy sees him and two other boys throwing apples through -a barn window, two of whose panes had been broken. To make a long story -short, the parent, instead of reproving his offspring, says: “Good shot, -Bob! Do you see that post over there? See if you can hit it two out of -three times.” “It would have been unwise for that father (adds the author -of “Practical Child Training”) to say, ‘I’d rather you’d not throw at -that window opening—can’t you sling at something else?’ The latter remark -would suggest that the window was the best target and the boys would have -been dissatisfied at having to stop throwing at it.” - -The inference that the boys only needed the father’s objection to an -act on their part to convince them that it was a desirable act would be -ludicrous if it weren’t so immoral. - -If you ask me which disgusts me most, the Father or his sons, I should -reply without a moment’s hesitation—the Author of the book! - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE TUTTI-FRUTTI TREE - - -When the author of the most famous Love Song ever written, cried, -“There is no new thing under the sun,” cigarettes, chewing-gum, the -thermos-bottle and the “snapper” for fastening ladies’ frocks—(an -indispensable thing when one has several hundred wives)—were yet to be -invented. - -Neither so far as we can learn, had Solomon who knew and could address in -its own language every flower and tree in existence, ever heard of the -Tutti-Frutti Tree. - -There is to my certain belief only one tree in existence answering to -that name, and I christened it myself. I am its Godfather. - -In the heartmost heart of the fruitful Paradise of New Jersey stands a -small but ancient stone cottage that has come to regard me as its lord, -and on Squire Williams’ estate, whose verdant acres lie just outside my -garden fence, grows the Tutti-Frutti Tree. - -Once it was a young Apple Tree. It is still young, but as the result of -a series of sap transfusions it is also several other kinds of tree, -and when it grows up it will bear apples, quinces, two kinds of pears, -peaches and, I believe, plums—almost everything in fact except Water -Melons. - -Some day a future Stevenson will immortalize it in verse something after -this fashion, - - _The Tutti-Frutti Tree so bright,_ - _It gives me fruit with all its might,_ - _Apples, peaches, pears and quinces,_ - _I’m sure we should all be happy as princes._ - -It’s quite absurd, of course, but just suppose the Tree of Knowledge in -that First Garden has been a Tutti-Frutti Tree instead of an Apple Tree! -With seven separate kinds of fruit to choose from, all equally forbidden -and, for that reason, equally desirable, how could Eve ever have decided -which one to pluck? - -And with Eve’s hesitation Sin would have been lost to the world! - -Let us give thanks that the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil was _not_ -a Tutti-Frutti Tree. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -THOSE BILL-BOARDS - - -Every now and again, generally when the warm weather is upon us, somebody -or other starts a heated discussion about something that is of no -particular interest to anybody. - -This time it is Mr. Joseph Pennell, the artist, who wails and gnashes his -pen about the terrible bill-board and advertising pictures that deface -the public buildings and thoroughfares of American cities and the public -scenery of the American countryside. - -If my opinion were asked I should be tempted to quote the gentle answer -with which the late William D. Howells was wont to turn away argument, -and say to Mr. Pennell, “I think perhaps you are partly right.” - -But since I am not on Mr. Pennell’s list of great American artists, a -list, by the way that contains only two names, I am free to say what -I really think, and that is that if the dear old familiar “Ads” were -suddenly to disappear from the streets and cars, I should miss them very -much. - -Perhaps I have acquired a taste for them as the dweller near a street -railroad first endures, then tolerates, and at last becomes so completely -habituated to the roaring of wheels and the clang of metal that he is -unable to sleep without their soothing lullaby. - -Soothing—that’s what they are, these advertising pictures. They soften -the underground torment of travel in the Subway, they take the place of -the scenery which beguiles the tedium of ordinary travel, and at least -they are, as a rule, more interesting to contemplate than the people -in the opposite seat. Those people are strangers, the people in the -advertisement panels are, many of them, old friends, friends met in -other cars in other cities. Mr. Pennell no doubt would like to see them -thrown off the train, but I am always glad to meet them again, and to -some of them, with whom I have a sort of informal bowing acquaintance, I -mentally take off my hat. - -One amiable gentleman in particular I always look for and hail with -delight when I find myself sitting opposite to him. He is an Italian, I -take it, from his appearance, and from Naples, to judge by his accent, -which, though I have never heard his voice, is depicted as plainly as the -nose on his face. - -Neither do I know his name, but I call him Signor Pizzicato, for it is -quite evident that nature intended him for an Operatic career. How he -ever came to be a barber, I cannot imagine. Perhaps he sang in the Barber -of Seville and lost his voice and became a realist, as some painters lose -their sense of form and become cubists or futurists. Whatever he should -have been or might have been or was, a barber is what he is now, and I -gaze upon him in fascination as with a priceless gesture of thumb and -forefinger (as if he should pluck an individual mote from a sunbeam) he -extols to his customer and to you, the bouquet so ravishing of the hair -tonic he holds in his other hand, on the sale of which he presumably -receives a large commission. - -Then there is that delightful little Miss clad in airy -next-to-nothings—but no, on second thought I shall not introduce you to -her. I fear she is not to be trusted. The last time I sat opposite to her -in a street-car in Cleveland—(or was it in Buffalo)—she caused me to go -five blocks past my destination which happened to be a railway station, -so that I was two blocks late for my train. - -All I will tell you about her, gentle reader, is that she has fringed -gentian eyes with a look in them that says quite plainly nothing would -gratify her more than to play the same trick upon you. - -All this chatter, I am aware, has nothing to do with Art, that is to say -the “Art of Painting”; that large, severe-looking female you sometimes -see crouched in an uncomfortable position on a still more uncomfortable -cornice of a public building, wearing a laurel wreath and a granite -peplum, and holding in her hand a huge stone palette. - -But sometimes this severe female climbs down from her stone perch and -takes a day off, Coney Island-wise, on the billboards and street cars, -and then if she is not always at her best, she is often very amusing. - -And just because a goddess isn’t stuck up it doesn’t prove that she isn’t -a goddess—does it? - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE LURE OF THE “AD” - - -Kipling once, when sojourning in a far country, complained bitterly of -the thoughtlessness of his friends at home in sending him a batch of -magazines shorn (to save postage) of all the advertisements. Which shows -that the most grown-up of artists may still have the heart of a child. - -For my part, if I were forced to make choice between the advertising -pages and the reading matter (so-called), I should in nine periodicals -out of ten choose the former. - -To the grown-up child the advertising section of the magazine takes the -place of the Shop-Window of infancy through which, with bulging eyes and -mouth agape, like some mazed minnow staring at the submerged Rhine-Gold, -he once gazed at the tinsel treasure so bitterly beyond his penny’s reach. - -And now, just as far out of reach as ever, in the display-window of the -advertising page, the grown-up child gazes at the miraculous Motor-Car -gliding, velvet shod, through palmy solitudes reflecting the rays of the -setting sun with a splendor out-Solomoning Solomon. - -Or the “Home Beautiful,” constructed throughout of selected materials of -distinctive quality, and roofed with spark-proof shingles of the most -refined pastel tints, “_just the home you have dreamed about at a price -that will dumfound you! Enclose this coupon with your order._” - -Again it is the magical cabinet that brings into your very lap as it were -the Galli-Curci, the Tetrazzini or any other “ini,” “owski” or “elli” -it may please your fancy to pick from its golden perch in the operatic -aviary. - -And what a relief to turn from the magazine pictures of the slick-haired -hero and the slinky heroine of fiction (perpetually _vis-à-vis_ -yet always looking past each other)—to turn from these to the very -attractive, intelligent-looking girls of the advertising pages, girls -exquisitely coiffed, gowned and silk-hosed and ever happily employed in -some useful task: this one (in the Paquin “trottoir” of mouse-colored -voile) joyously propelling a vacuum-cleaner, this (in the afternoon -toilette of tricolette) mixing the ingredients for a custard pie in a -forget-me-not-blue Wedgwood bowl, and this, not less lovely than either -of her sisters, polishing a bathtub with some magic powder till it -glistens like a Childs’ restaurant. - -Now, any one of these dear girls, on her face alone—not to mention her -graceful carriage and delicately moulded stockings—might without the -least effort in the world have obtained a position as a Star in a Musical -Comedy—with her picture in the _Cosmopolitan_ or _Vanity Fair_ at least -once a fortnight—but she prefers the simple household task, the vacuum -cleaner, the spotless oil-stove, the shining bathtub to the plaudits of -the masses. - -And this is only one of the many lessons that are to be learned from the -advertising pages. Who can look at the busy little Dutch lady in the blue -frock and white cap and apron, stick in hand, chasing the Demon Dirt in -street cars, subway and elevated stations, billboards and electric signs, -all over town, all over the continent for that matter—who can look at -the determined back of that fierce little lady (no one has ever seen her -face, save the Demon) without inwardly swearing that wherever Demon Dirt -may show his face, whether it be on the stage, the picture screen or the -printed page of fiction he will do unto him even as doth the Little Dutch -Lady with the big stick— - -Or is it a rolling pin? - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -LOOK BEFORE SHE LEAPS - - -The Fourteenth of February in Leap Year is a dread-letter day for the -shrinking bachelor and the shy (wife-shy) grass widower. - -The butterfly-winged statue of Femininity that, for three happy leapless -years, he worshiped from a safe distance (at the foot of its pedestal), -has come to life, has climbed down from its vestal perch, changed -fearfully from cool quiet marble to something of the consistency of warm -india rubber—from an adorable image to—the female of the species. - -And with all the term implies. The butterfly wings of Psyche, iridescent, -like rainbows reflected on mother-of-pearl, have shrivelled and -blackened into the umbrella-ribbed wings of the vampire and the petalled -lips from which could only be thought to issue the maidenly negative -“yes” or the melting affirmative “no”—are twisted into little scarlet -snakes that hiss, “Kisssss me my fool!” - -“Look before she leaps!” is the Leap-Year slogan of the shrinking -Bachelor, and it is a perfectly splendid motto, as mottoes go. - -But a motto is like a cure for a cold which is only good to cure a cold -that has not yet been caught, and the shrinking one is already as good as -caught and his perfectly splendid slogan is of no more use than an icebox -to an Esquimaux or a fur coat in Hell. - -The Leap-Year Bachelor’s only hope is to feign death. Like the Bear in -Æsop, the Female of the Species Human has no use for any but a “live one.” - -If he flees he is lost—(or found, according to whether the speech be -given to the male or the female actor of the scene,)—and if he be a grass -widower, he is made hay while the sun shines. - -Now whether Providence intended the instinct of flight for the -preservation of the hunted one or as a stimulus to the hunter, will -never be known. With wolves and tigers it works both ways, but with the -leap-year “Vamp” it works pretty much only one way. - -And so the gentle bachelor flees and is caught and is lived upon happily -ever after⸺ - - * * * * * - -To see a statue come to life must be a terrifying spectacle. Ovid’s tale -of Pygmalion and Galatea is only for those who get their ideas about -artists from magazines to the vacuity of whose contents the face of the -girl on the cover may well serve as an index. - -I am quite certain that when Pygmalion saw his perfect marble (perfect to -him anyway) turn to imperfect flesh and blood, the completed result of -months of hard work obliterated—undone—as if it had never been—and in its -place “just a girl,” very sweet and lovely and all that—but compared to -his statue—oh no! - -And that is looking at it from its brightest “angle” (as the -motion-picture intellectuals say). As a matter of fact, judging from the -agonizing sensation of the human leg (or arm) when rudely awakened from -dreamless slumber, the process of transmutation from senseless stone to -pulsating flesh must be a very painful one indeed. However pleasing the -countenance of the living Galatea might be under normal conditions its -expression of mingled bewilderment, rage and physical anguish must have -been disconcerting, not to say terrifying, to the sensitive soul of the -sculptor, and anything but consoling for the loss of his hard-won and -cherished handiwork. - -I can picture Pygmalion fleeing madly from his studio, not even waiting -for the elevator and vowing by all the gods, then administrating human -affairs, never again to make a wish without touching wood or at least -crossing his fingers. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE LOW COST OF CABBING - - -In the last ten years or so all the necessaries and most of the luxuries -of life have more than doubled in cost—all but one—the Cab—or to be more -accurate, the Taxi-cab. - -Perhaps it is because a cab is quite as often a necessity as it is a -luxury and so falls between two schools, the Stoic and Epicurean, that it -is an exception to the rule of rising cost. - -Did I say rising cost? If I am not very much mistaken the cost of -cabbing, so far from not rising _has actually fallen_ in the last ten -years, and that brings me to my great invention. - -It is a scheme for saving money, a Thrift scheme. It is like this—Every -time you take a street-car (what with the dislocated service and the -abolition of transfers) you are paying nearly twice what you used to pay, -and soon you will be paying even more. - -On the other hand, a trip that in a hackney cab, fifteen years ago, cost -you a dollar-fifty, today in a taxicab costs you only seventy-five cents. - -Now make a swift calculation— - -If you take six cars a day you lose thirty cents. A loss of thirty cents -a day doesn’t seem very much, but in a year, it amounts to a loss of -$109.50 which is not to be treated lightly. - -Now if you take six Taxis at an average cost of, say two dollars per -trip, you are saving (let me see, six times two) twelve dollars a day -and twelve dollars a day is four thousand three hundred and eighty -dollars a year, which added to the $109.50 you have saved by not riding -in street-cars makes a grand total of $4489.50! And this is only what -you save by taking six cabs a day. If you took twice as many cabs _you -would save twice that amount_, and if you increased your cabbage to one -hundred per diem (a day) your savings for the first year would amount to -$448,950.50—nearly half a million dollars! - -Go over my figures carefully with your wife when she returns from -business this evening—It is a live proposition—Think it over! - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE GREAT MATCH-BOX MYSTERY - - -PART ONE - - -I wonder—has any one ever made a psychoanalytical study of the habits of -the Match-box family? - -By Match-box family I mean the yellow and black, self-sufficient variety -that arrive from the grocer in packages of a dozen and are at once torn -apart and distributed (like kittens or missionaries) to every point of -the compass. - -Each box has its own special territory, and there it should stand, ready -to the last match for any sudden emergency, such as the re-animation of -the just-gone-out pipe, or the finding of the eyeglasses in the dark that -their owner may be able to read the time on his radium-faced wrist-watch, -or a thousand and one things. - -There are indeed a thousand and one good and sufficient reasons (apart -from its being its plain duty) why a match-box should always be on the -job, and like the thousand and one cures for rheumatism not one of them -(unless it be a horse-chestnut in the pocket) can be relied upon to work. - -I sometimes think “a thousand and one” must be an unlucky number. - -The greater the need of its services the less likely is the match-box to -be in that particular place where any number of witnesses will testify -upon oath they had seen it only a moment before. - -What is the strikeology of it? Have match-boxes that perverted sense of -humor that finds expression in practical jokes? No, it is nothing like -that. Would that it were! It is something less easy to explain. It is -something sinister—something rather frightening. - - * * * * * - -I am a devout reader of detective stories and with much study of their -methods have come to regard myself as something of a sleuth, in a purely -theoretic way of course; nevertheless I have always hoped some day to put -my theories to the test, and here was the chance. _I would find out where -the match-boxes go_, I would follow their trail to the bitter end, even -if it led to the door of the White House itself! - - * * * * * - -First I made a careful blue-print plan of the flat in which I (and -the match-boxes) live, marking plainly in red ink all the doors, -windows, fire-escapes (fire-escapes are most important); dumbwaiters, -closets, trapdoors (there weren’t any but I put them in to make it more -professional); then—but why go into all the thousand and—there’s that -unlucky number again—the thousand and two minute and uninteresting -details? You would only skip them and turn to the last paragraph to end -the horrible suspense and learn at once what I discovered. * * * - - -PART TWO - - _Synopsis of Previous Chapter._ Having observed that - Match-boxes, placed in every room of the house, invariably - disappear in a few hours, the narrator resolves to solve the - mystery even though the trail should lead straight to the White - House in Washington. Accordingly he makes a plan of all the - rooms, closets, etc., and searches every possible hiding-place, - but no trace of the Match-boxes is found. - -What can have become of them! I have searched every corner of every -room in the house—Stay! There is one room I have overlooked—the Haunted -Room in the West Corridor, haunted by the ghosts of dead cigarettes, -unfinished poems and murdered ideas. It is my study (or studio, as the -occasion may be). With trembling hand on the porcelain door-knob, I pause -to recall the secret combination. - -In vain I rack my brain to remember the secret combination of my study -door. Then suddenly it flashes upon me that long ago I wrote it down in -the address book I carried in my pocket. - -There are twelve pockets in the suit I am wearing. Fearfully I go through -the twelve pockets and many are the lost treasures and forgotten-to-mail -letters I find, but no Address Book! Wait! there is still another pocket! -One I never use—THE THIRTEENTH POCKET! - -With the deliberation of despair I empty the Thirteenth Pocket of its -contents—a broken cigarette, two amalgamated postage stamps, a device for -cleaning pipe bowls, some box-checks for _The Famous Mrs. Fair_, four -rubber bands, a fragment of an Erie time-table and—the Address Book! - -On the last page of the Address Book is the Combination, written in a -pale Greek cipher, but still legible, grasping the porcelain door-knob -firmly between my thumb and four fingers I scan the cipher eagerly. -De-coded, it reads as follows—_Twist knob to the right as far as -possible and push door._ - - * * * * * - -With heart beating like a typewriter I obeyed the directions to the -letter, and to my intense relief the door yielded and in another moment I -was in the room! - -And there, scattered over the surface of my desk like surprised -conspirators, feigning ignorance of one another’s presence, were twelve -yellow Match-boxes! - -How they mastered the combination of the door and got into the room, I -shall not attempt to explain. I am only an amateur Detective. - -All I know is that Match-boxes, though they be scattered to the ends of -the house (or World), always get together in some one place. - -Perhaps it is for safety, they get together. - -I have always wondered why they are called Safety Matches. - -Perhaps that is the reason! - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -ARE CATS PEOPLE? - - -If a fool be sometimes an angel unawares, may not a foolish query be a -momentous question in disguise? For example, the old riddle: “Why is a -hen?” which is thought by many people to be the silliest question ever -asked, is in reality the most profound. It is the riddle of existence. -It has an answer, to be sure, but though all the wisest men and women -in the world _and_ Mr. H. G. Wells have tried to guess it, the riddle -“Why is a hen?” has never been answered and never will be. So, too, the -question: “Are Cats People?” seemingly so trivial, may be, under certain -conditions, a question of vital importance. - -Suppose, now, a rich man dies, leaving all his money to his eldest -son, with the proviso that a certain portion of it shall be spent in -the maintenance of his household as it then existed, all its members -to remain under his roof, and receive the same comfort, attention, or -remuneration they had received in his (the testator’s) lifetime. Then -suppose the son, on coming into his money, and being a hater of cats, -made haste to rid himself of a feline pet that had lived in the family -from early kittenhood, and had been an especial favorite of his father’s. - -Thereupon, the second son, being a lover of cats and no hater of money, -sues for possession of the estate on the ground that his brother has -failed to carry out the provisions of his father’s will, in refusing to -maintain the household cat. - -The decision of the case depends entirely on the social status of the cat. - -Shall the cat be considered as a member of the household? What -constitutes a household anyway? - -The definition of “Household” in the Standard Dictionary is as follows: -“_A number of persons living under the same roof._” - -If cats are people, then the cat in question is a person and a member of -the household, and for failing to maintain her and provide her with the -comfort and attention to which she has been used, the eldest son loses -his inheritance. Having demonstrated that the question “Are Cats People?” -is anything but a trivial one, I now propose a court of inquiry, to -settle once for all and forever, the social status of _felis domesticus_. - -And I propose for the office of judge of that court—myself! - -In seconding the proposal and appointing myself judge of the court, I -have been careful to follow political precedent by taking no account -whatever of any qualifications I may or may not have for the office. - -For witnesses, I summon (from wherever they may be) two great shades, -to wit: King Solomon, the wisest man of his day, and Noah Webster, the -wordiest. - -And I say to Mr. Webster, “Mr. Webster, what are the common terms used to -designate a domestic feline whose Christian name chances to be unknown to -the speaker?” and Mr. Webster answers without a moment’s hesitation: - -“Cat, puss, pussy and pussy-cat.” - -“And what is the grammatical definition of the above terms?” - -“They are called nouns.” - -“And what, Mr. Webster, is the accepted definition of a noun?” - -“A noun is the name of a person, place or thing.” - -“Kindly define the word ‘place’.” - -“A particular locality.” - -“And ‘thing’.” - -“An inanimate object.” - -“That will do, Mr. Webster.” - -So, according to Mr. Noah Webster, the entity for which the noun cat -stands, must, if not a person, be a locality or an inanimate object! - -A cat is surely not a locality, and as for being an inanimate object, -her chance of avoiding such a condition is nine times better even than a -king’s. - -Then a cat _must_ be a person. - -Suppose we consult King Solomon. - -In the Book of Proverbs, Chapter XXX, verse 26, Solomon says: “The coneys -are but a feeble folk, yet they make their houses in the rocks.” - -A coney is a kind of rabbit; folk, according to Mr. Webster, only another -word for people. - -That settles it! If the rabbits are people, cats are people. - -Long lives to the cat! - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -MLLE. FAUTEUIL - - -It is harder for a table or chair to behave naturally on the stage than -for a camel to be free and easy in a needle’s eye, or for Mr. Rockefeller -to get into Heaven (or Hell?) with the money. - -What can be more pathetic than the spectacle of a helpless young chair or -table or settee starting on a stage career shining with gilt varnish and -high ambition to reflect in art’s mirror the drawing-room manners of the -furniture of real life. - -Mlle. Fauteuil (that is her stage name, in private life she is just plain -Sofa) is fresh, charming and of the best manufacture. She appears nightly -in a Broadway theater, yet she has attracted no attention. She has -received no press notices. - -Certainly this is from no lack of charm on her part. Her legs are -delightful. In the contemplation of their gilded curves, one scarcely -notices that she has no arms or that her back is slightly curved, and her -upholstery, a brocade of the season before last. - -In a hushed papièr-mâché voice the property man told me the story of -Mlle. Fauteuil’s persecution—how, at the first rehearsal with scenery, -she occupied a perfectly proper position between the center table and -the bay window, how the Leading Lady insisted on her being moved as she -obstructed that superior person’s path when, after writing the letter, -she crosses to the window to see if her Husband is in the garden. - -Mlle. Fauteuil was then transferred to a station between the table and -the fire-place. This was all right, until the scene between the Husband -and Wife, when the Husband walks back and forth (quickly up stage and -slowly down stage), _between the table and the fire-place_. - -This time it was not a case of politely requesting the intervention of -the stage-manager. - - * * * * * - -Poor mangled Fauteuil! When she was picked up from the orchestra pit -where he had thrown her it was found that two of her rungs were fractured -and her left castor was broken clean off at the ankle. - -After half a day in the hospital without either anesthetics, flowers or -press notices, she reappeared on the left side of the stage, between the -center table and the safe. Here she was conspicuous and happy until it -was found that the Erring Son in his voyage from the window to the safe, -was compelled to take a difficult step to one side to avoid the fauteuil. - -Bandied from right to left, up stage and down stage, at last Mlle. -Fauteuil landed in her present obscure position, to the right of the -stairway pillar, where, though miserably obscure, she interferes with -nobody’s stage business. - - * * * * * - -In the interior set as now played there is only one chair with a speaking -part—this is, the Jacobean chair on which the leading man leans when -talking to the ingénue. In the first act, it faces left so that he may -show his favorite profile. In the second act, the chair is reversed -in order that the audience may enjoy his more popular and extensively -photographed left profile. - -The moral of this story is that the furniture on the stage must never -appear more intelligent than the actors. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -MONEY AND FIREFLIES - - -Oh, yes, Money talks. We all know that, and a very noisy talker it is and -very harsh and metallic is its accent. But sometimes money talks in a -whisper, so low that it can hardly be heard. - -Then is the time it should be watched, even if spies and dictaphones -must be set upon it. The money whose eloquence, we are told, wished -the shackles of Prohibition on this land of the free, talked with such -a “still small voice” that everybody (except you and me, dear Reader) -mistook it for the voice of conscience. - -Speaking of money perhaps you don’t know it, but it is nevertheless true, -that the light given off by one of the many species of Firefly is the -most efficient light known, being produced at about one four-hundredth -part of the cost of the energy which is expended in the candle flame. -That is what William J. Hammer says in his book on Radium, giving as his -authority Professor S. P. Langley and F. W. Very. - -And Sir Oliver Lodge says if the secret of the Firefly were known, a -boy turning a crank could furnish sufficient energy to light an entire -electric circuit. - -But to the Casual Observer there is only one variety of Firefly.… Like -Wordsworth’s primrose: - - The Firefly with fitful glim - Is just a Lightning Bug to him - And it is nothing more. - -In reality there are almost as many different kinds of Firefly in the -United States alone as there are varieties of the great American Pickle. - -The late Professor Hagen of Harvard College, it is said, when enjoying -the beauties of Nature one night in the company of the Casual Observer, -was aroused from an apparent reverie by the question “Have you noticed -the Fireflies, Professor?” - -“Yes,” replied Professor Hagen, “I have already counted thirteen distinct -species.” - -Another quite different story is told of a well-known English -actress—Cecilia Loftus, if you insist on knowing her name. It was her -first visit to America and Miss Loftus was sitting with another Casual -Observer on the piazza of a country house whose grounds were separated -from the road by a belt of trees. - -“Do you see the Fireflies?” said the Casual Observer, pointing toward the -road. - -“Fireflies!” exclaimed Cecilia, “why, I thought they were hansom-cab -lights!” - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -CONCERNING THE TROUSER-CREASE - - -It may perchance be questioned how long Britannia shall continue to rule -the waves, but that she will ever cease to rule the fashions (the male -fashions, I mean) is beyond the dreams of the boldest tailor or the -maddest hatter. - -Nevertheless, every rule has its exception and the Rule of Fashion is no -exception to the rule that rules that every rule has its exception. - -Every once in a while, since the invention of trousers, one or another -English King has ruled that the human trouser-crease shall crown the -Eastern and Western slope instead of the Northern and Southern exposure -of the trouser-leg. - -The law has never been considered by Parliament, for even the most -radical House of Commons would balk at legislation so subversive of -individual freedom, but by word of mouth, by courier, by post, by cable, -by wireless, by airplane the edict has passed through all the nations and -all the tribes to the trousermost ends of the earth. - -And with what result? - -With no result whatever. As far as it has been possible to push inquiry, -it is safe to say that no trouserian biped bearing the mark of a lateral -crease has been met with in any quarter of the Globe, or, for that -matter, ever will be. - -Strange, is it not, that the Tailors (proverbially the most complacent, -not to say timid, of men) should, without any plan or program or fuss -or demonstration of any sort, unite as one man—or rather one tailor—and -refuse to obey the unlimited monarch of the male fashions of the -civilized world. What is the explanation? - -There are two explanations. One is Commercialism. - -There is no profit to be made out of a change in the geography of a -trouser-crease. It is purely a matter of self-determination on the part -of the inhabitant of the trousers. - -If there were no more financial profit to be gained by the remaking of -the creases in the map of Europe than is to be got out of changing the -trouser-crease, there would be no call for a League of Nations. - -Should some inventive tailor (_inventive tailor!_) devise a crease that -could be woven into the very being of the Trouser, then it would be a -very different matter. The slightest variation in the location of the -crease would cause an upheaval in the (I’m tired of the word Trouser)—in -the “Pant” market that would mean millions of dollars to the trade. - -As it is there is no money in it. - -The other explanation is that the story of King Edward or King George -creasing the Royal Pants in any but the usual place is made out of whole -cloth. - -But let us suppose for a moment (just for the fun of the thing) that in -some possible scheme or caprice of creation there _were_ such a thing as -an inventive tailor. - -And the inventive tailor invented a permanent trouser-crease and planted -it on the Eastern and Western frontiers of the trouser-legs. - -What would be the probable effect of the innovation on the -trouser-bearing species of the human race? - -In that process of advancing alternate trouser-legs we call locomotion do -we not consciously, or unconsciously, follow in the direction indicated -by the point of the crease? - -What then would happen if the crease were transferred from the front to -the sides? - -The Crab alone of all living creatures exhibits in its legs a formation -that corresponds to the human trouser-crease. - -This ridge-like formation or crease occurs in the _side_ of the Crab’s -legs, not in the front as in the human species! - -And the slogan of the Crab (as everyone knows) is, “First make sure -you’re right _and then go sideways_.” - -Shall we too go sideways? - - * * * * * - -Charlie Chaplin is the only human creature whose feet go East and West -as his face travels North and his trouser-creases are so complicated it -would be difficult to classify them. - -Perhaps they hold the secret of his centrifugal orientation, his -inexplicable fascination. - -Who knows! - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -AN OLD-FASHIONED HEAVEN - - -We have to thank an Anglican clergyman, the Rev. G. Vale Owen, for -the latest description of the Future Life of our species. Impelled by -a “gentle, steady but accumulative force” this good man became the -unwilling amanuensis of the spirit of his mother and “other friends” and -has written a description of the houses, trees, bridges, gardens and -people of the other world and their occupations that could scarcely be -improved upon by the most imaginative motion-picture photographer, or -mechanic or scrub-woman or whoever it may be that writes the scenarios. - -We of this world are still, after many thousand years of waiting, eager -for the faintest ray of light that may be thrown on the actual conditions -of what we call “the world to come,” or as the Spiritists love to say, -“behind the veil,” but for the tawdry imaginings of the Reverend Mr. -Owen the “Veil” serves only as an opaque screen upon whose surface -they flicker grotesquely like the disorderly apparitions of a cinema -projection. - -As a Seer this reverend gentleman, without for a moment questioning his -sincerity, is a failure; his narrative, is childish in its crudity and -tedious as a dream told at the breakfast table. - -One thing, however, is interesting, and that is to trace as we do, -through the transcendental claptrap of “rainbow brides” and white-winged -angels and the pseudo-scientific jargon of “planes,” “vibrations,” -“spheres,” and “fourth dimension,” the—shall I say humanizing—influence -of the cinema. - -For the first time we learn that there are bath tubs in the Heavenly -Mansions—Bathtubs! With hot and cold water, and Dr. Owen does not stop at -bathtubs; he assures us there are also—don’t faint—_water nymphs_! Can’t -you see all Israel clamoring for the picture rights! - -Imagine the angelic shade of St. Anthony or Mr. Spurgeon coming -unexpectedly upon a school of water nymphs! - -And how is this for a motion-picture “fade out”? - -“_As we knelt the whole summit of the hill seemed to become -transparent—we saw right through it and a part of the regions below was -brought out with distinctness. The scene we saw was a dry and barren -plain in semi-darkness and standing, leaning against a rock, was a man of -large stature._” - -I strongly suspect that the Reverend Mr. Vale Owen is, like myself (to my -shame confess it), a motion-picture fan! - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -ANOTHER LOST ART - - -These are mournful days for the Polite Arts. One by one they are passing -away—the Art of Conversation, the Art of Paying Calls, the Art of Letter -Writing. - -The Art of Conversation is no longer even a subject for conversation. No -one so much as remembers of what it died. Did it languish and fade away -into an Eternal Pause as such a dignified gentleman of the old school as -the Art of Conversation would be expected to do—or was it murdered? - -The mystery surrounding the death of the Art of Conversation has never -been properly cleared up. Some think it died of heart failure induced -by the killing modern pace. Others say it starved to death. Others -again, that it was done to death by the chewing-gum trust. For my part, -I believe the Art of Conversation talked itself to death. It died of -obesity—it grew and grew and grew until, when all the world talked there -was nobody left to listen. Then it burst. - -No such mystery hangs about the death of the Art of Paying Calls. Here it -was a case of plain every-day murder—and what is more, the murderer still -lives. Millions of electric volts are pumped into him every day, but he -still lives—the more electricity we give him the livelier he grows. He is -the Telephone, and the Telephone is the murderer of the Art of Calling. - -Poor old Art of Calling! We shake our heads and murmur perfunctory -regrets—“good old chap,” and all that sort of thing, but really in our -heart of hearts, let me whisper it very low—we don’t really miss him very -much; to tell the truth, we are rather, that is to say, _quite_ glad he -is dead. If anyone of us had had the courage of his conviction he would -have killed him long ago. To speak plainly, the Art of Calling was a -pestiferous tyrant—and he only got what he deserved. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -MR. CHESTERTON AND THE SOLILOQUY - - -“I often talk to myself,” says Mr. G. K. Chesterton, speaking in defense -of the stage soliloquy. “If a man does not talk to himself it is because -he is not worth talking to.” - -The deduction is obvious, but it is based upon false premises. If Mr. -Chesterton is worth talking to, it is certainly not because he talks to -himself. It is impossible to imagine a more foolish waste of energy than -that expended in talking to one’s self. The man who talks to himself is -twice damned (as a fool). First, for wasting speech on an auditor who -knows in advance every word he will utter. Second, for listening to a -speaker whose every word he can foretell before it is uttered. - -Mr. Chesterton’s argument, failing as it does to prove that he is worth -talking to, is still less happy as a defense of the stage soliloquy. - -A character in a play talks to himself not, as Mr. Chesterton would have -us believe, because he is worth talking to, but to enlighten the audience -on points which the inexpert playwright has otherwise failed to make -plain. - -The stage soliloquy is only permissible as an indication of the character -of one who talks to himself in real life. For instance, if I wished to -dramatize G. K. Chesterton, since he often talks to himself, I should -have him soliloquize upon the stage. I might make it a double part -with two Mr. Chestertons dressed as the two Dromios. As a stage device -the soliloquy is only a confession of weakness on the part of the -playwright, and has been justly sentenced to death. - -Its only hope for a reprieve is to retain (at great expense) an -ex-president or an eminent K. C. who might argue that since the “fourth -wall” of a stage interior is removed in order that the audience may view -the actions of the players, it is therefore permissible to remove the -“fourth wall” of the players’ heads so that the audience may view the -action of their brains. - -And the ex-president or the eminent K. C. would probably “get away with -it.” - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -BUNK - - -When Alexander the Great cut with his sword the Gordian Knot, which had -baffled all his efforts to untie with honest fingers, it goes without -saying that his impudent performance received the applause of the -onlookers. - -As he stood there, his heavy sword still swaying from the impetus of the -stroke and exclaimed with a challenging glare at those before him (and -belike an apprehensive glance over his shoulder), “Did I or did I not -untie that knot?”—whatever might—nay, must have been the unspoken comment -that passed from eye to eye, the answer shouted in unison, was without a -shadow of a doubt the Phrygian equivalent of “You sure did!” - -For the Great God Bunk (whose worshipers are born at the rate of one -a minute) is as old as the world itself; and since we have it on good -authority that the world is a stage, even though we do not suspect him -of a hand in its making, we know the old rogue assisted at the first -dress rehearsal famous for all time for the smallness of the cast and the -inexpensiveness of the costuming. - -King Gordius, whose genius contrived the unpickable knot, is now -comfortably forgotten, while Alexander who destroyed what he could not -understand, still enjoys uneasy immortality; for what is immortality at -best but the suspended sentence of Oblivion? - -And the knot? The hempen hieroglyph that was never solved. When oblivion -has overtaken Alexander and even the name of Gordius is forgotten, the -world, which is surprisingly young for its age, will still babble -wonderingly of the knot that never was and never will be untied. - -Another high priest of the Great God Bunk was Christopher Columbus, and -on how frail a foundation rests his immortal fame—nothing more than the -fragile, calcareous container, (and fractured at that) of an unborn -domestic fowl. - -Unquestionably the fame of Columbus rests upon his impudent pretense -of balancing an egg by crushing it violently upon the table. To be -sure, Columbus also discovered America, but in that he was only one of -a multitude. At that moment in the world’s history the discovering of -America was, like golf, something between a sport and an obsession, -everybody was discovering America. So common was it, that only a few -of the discoverers are remembered by name, and had it not been for his -famous egg-balancing fraud the name of Christopher Columbus would surely -be among the forgotten ones. - -To balance an egg on its apex—though not impossible, is a tedious and -dispiriting task; and even if Columbus had accomplished it honestly -without fracturing the shell, so far from adding to his laurels he might -have lost them altogether. Queen Isabella would never have had the -patience to sit through so long and boresome a performance, and when the -Queen leaves, you know the performance is over. - -Indeed, it is quite thinkable that it was the dread of just such an -ending to his audience and the resultant stage fright reacting upon an -excitable sea-faring nature that caused Columbus to break the egg. - -The question now asks itself: Has Christopher Columbus, posing as a -clever impostor when in reality only a stage-frightened bungler, obtained -his fame under false pretenses? In unmasking his clandestine honesty do -we but prove him the greater fraud? Bunk only knows! - -Queen Dido of Carthage, on the other hand, came by her dishonesty quite -honestly—she inherited it from her royal father’s sister Jezebel. - -Yes, Jezebel, the patron sinner of half a world of womankind, was Queen -Dido’s aunt. Good or bad, what was her Aunt Jezebel’s was also Dido’s by -right of inheritance. And none of all the prophets of the Great God Bunk -was greater than this prophetess. - -Did she not for certain moneys receive the title to so much land as might -be compassed by the bigness of a bull’s hide. - -She did. - -Did she not then carve said bull’s hide into fine strips and therewith -enclose enough real estate for the foundation of the city of Carthage? - -She did. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE COST OF A PYRAMID - - -If you were suddenly asked, by way of a mental test, what particular -thing or person was most closely associated in your mind with the word -_strong_, you would probably say a giant or an ox unless you had been -listening to a sermon whose text was the sixteenth chapter of Judges, -thirtieth verse, in which case you would be more likely to say Samson, -but the typical example of physical strength, would hardly be an Onion. - -And yet the Onion, although, like the proverbial Prophet, it may be -without honor among its fellow vegetables, is regarded by at least one -human outsider as the giant and ox and Samson combined of the vegetable -world. - -Whatever your gastronomic leanings may be, let you not be tempted to -think lightly of the Onion. - -Though its name be unhallowed when it appears in vulgar consort with -Tripe, and its reek abhorrent in the habitations of the lowly, though it -be viewed with contempt as a poor relation by its kinsman the lily, the -Onion has a glorious past; it has a record of achievement that is second -to none; it was, as I shall presently show, chiefly due to the strength -of Onions that at least one of the great Egyptian Pyramids owed its -existence. Even Samson might envy the record of the Onion! - - * * * * * - -When I tell you that the Pyramids of Egypt, at any rate one of them, was -built by sheer vegetable strength, you may not believe me, but perhaps -you may believe the historian Herodotus. - -Herodotus found engraved on one of the Pyramids a complete record of the -exact number of onions, radishes and leeks supplied and consumed by the -workmen who piled its monstrous stones one upon the other.[1] - -And how were the Pyramids erected? By some forgotten mechanical farce? No. - -According to the late Cope Whitehouse, Engineer and Egyptologist, the -Pyramids were built from the apex downward over the conical hills that -abound in the locality, the interior of the hill being afterwards dug -away to form chambers and galleries. All of which was accomplished by the -unaided physical power of human muscles and sinews. - -And whence came this power? - -It was derived mainly from the vegetable energy of Onions, leeks and -radishes transmuted by the chemistry of digestion and assimilation to the -muscles and sinews of the slaves employed in building the Pyramid. - -Furthermore, Herodotus tells us that with the engraved record of the -onions, leeks and radishes consumed by the slaves, was also the -computation of their cost which amounted to 1,600 talents of silver, -this being the total cost of the vegetable fuel for operating the human -machinery employed in the construction of the Pyramid. - -And now let me ask you—what it is, this thing we call Scent, this -mysterious emanation which is the Love Message of the Rose, the Call of -the Sea, the Strength of the Onion? - -You don’t know? Neither do I, no more does anybody. - -Of all the five recording faculties which we human creatures share -with other animals, the sense of Smell is the most elusive, the most -penetrating. It apprises us of impending peril when all our other wires -of sensation are “busy” or “out of order” and incapable of giving us -warning. It has the mysterious power of reproducing through the “flash -back” we call memory the forgotten records of all of the other four -sense-films, and yet the scientists who can tell us all about light waves -and sound waves, and even make pictures of them, have very little to -say about the movement of the invisible bodies whose impact upon our -consciousness produces the sensation of smell. - -The terrific scent-energy hurled forth from the seemingly inexhaustible -storage battery of an Onion or a Tuberose is more of a mystery to our -men of science than is the composition of the crooked light waves from -the planet Mars or the height of the flames of the Corona, measured in a -solar eclipse. - -Even Dr. Einstein, to whom the movements of the heavenly bodies are as -simple as is a game of baseball to the average intellect, cannot tell us -whether the scent-atoms hurled from the Onion rush forth in an impeccable -tangent or are pitched in a hyperbolic curve. - -[1] _Herod._: 11, 125. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -WALTZING MICE AND DANCING MEN - - - “On some men the Gods bestow Fortitude, - On others a disposition for Dancing.” - -Thus the poet Hesiod, three thousand years ago, scored with vitriolic -antithesis the Dancing man of his day⸺ - -And of all the days, for like the poor (and no less deplorable) the -Dancing man is always with us. - -The gods had much to answer for in the days of Hesiod, and man had much -to put up with. Anything, good or evil, that befell him, from the measles -to melancholia—from fortitude to dancing—was a gift of the gods, wished -on him as a token of their high esteem, or otherwise. All man had to do -was to accept the gift, and, if it chanced to be boils, as in the case of -Job, he might be thankful it was nothing worse. - -Today we view a gift of the gods with distrust. Before giving thanks we -inspect it in the light of Science. We examine it (as a gift horse) in -the mouth. If it is a good gift, such as patience, or an aptitude for -cooking, we nurture and encourage it; if it is an undesirable gift, like -the measles, we eradicate it, or give it to someone else as quickly as -possible. - -Without knowing it, Hesiod uttered a scientific truth. - -That Fortitude and a Disposition to Dance are gifts of the gods is just -as true physiologically as it is poetically speaking. - -The Dancing man dances, the man of Fortitude faces a cannon—or a musical -comedy—because he is built that way. In other words, his behavior is due -to certain pathological structural conditions which are inherited. - -The behavior of the man of Fortitude is due to the poverty of cerebral -tissue in that part of the brain whose function it is to stimulate the -activity known as imagination. That is to say, he faces the cannon -without the least concern, because he can not imagine what it will be -like to have a cannon explode right in his face. - -What then are the pathological conditions in the brain of the Dancing -man that cause him to dance? Unfortunately for the cause of Science, the -brain of the true Dancing man is almost as rare a commodity as Radium. -In the United States alone there is scarcely more than a fraction of an -ounce of this elusive gray tissue. To procure even the minute quantity -necessary for experimental purposes would require the sacrifice of -thousands of Dancing men. This in these days of Antivivisection Hysteria, -is out of the question. - -Luckily for Science, there exists in the animal Kingdom another creature -afflicted with the same peculiar tendency to perpetual rotation as the -Dancing man. - -It is but one alliterative step from the Dancing man to the Dancing mouse. - -The restlessness and almost incessant movement in circles and the -peculiar excitability of the Dancing mouse is attributed by Rawitz, -the famous physiologist, to the _lack of certain senses which compels -the animal to strive through varied movements to use to the greatest -advantage those senses which it does possess_. - -Comparative physiologists have discovered that the ability of animals -to regulate the position of the body with respect to external objects -is dependent in a large measure upon the groups of sense organs which -collectively are called the ear. - -To quote Rawitz again: - -_The waltzing mouse has only one normal canal and that is the anterior -vertical. The horizontal and posterior vertical canals are crippled and -frequently they are grown together._ - -Panse, on the other hand, expresses his belief that there are unusual -structural conditions in the brain, perhaps in the cerebellum, to which -are due the dance movements. - -When the doctors disagree what are we going to do about it? - -For my part I am willing to leave it to Cicero— - -“_Nemo fere saltat sobrius, nisi forte insanit._” - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE HOBGOBLIN - - -There is a Hobgoblin that stalks in the path of the athletic young -writers of the day and frightens them almost out of their wits. - -The Hobgoblin is the third person singular, past tense, of the verb -“Say,” and his name is SAID. - -The Hobgoblin SAID does not stalk alone; with him stalk his sisters and -his cousins and his aunts, indeed, all the SAID family except old Gran’ma -QUOTH. Old Gran’ma QUOTH, who is much too old to stalk, stays at home and -dreams of the good old days when she was a verb of fashion, honored and -courted by all the greatest writers of the day. - -And when her grandchildren come home in the evening and tell how they -frightened the athletic young writers almost out of their wits, she -nearly bursts her old-fashioned stays, laughing at the drollery of it. -“Egad!” she cries. “An’ I were an hundred years younger, I’d like nought -better than to take a hand myself, and lay my stick about their backs, -the young whippersnappers!” - -And I for one, would like to see her do it. - -How the SAID family ever became professional Hobgoblins, I can not say. -All I know is that, once a hardworking and highly respected family, -suddenly they found themselves shunned. There was nothing left for them -but to become HOBGOBLINS. Now their only pleasure in life is to see what -funny antics they can make the athletic young writers perform in trying -to escape from them. - -And funny they certainly are. - -Here are a few specimens from some of our leading “best sellers”: - -“To think I have fallen to that!” _grated_ Gilstar with clenched teeth. - -“I get rather a good price,” Gilstar _dared_. - -“I’ll give you twenty-five dollars,” he _offered_ wildly. - -“What are your terms?” he _clucked_. - -But why bother about “best sellers,” when you can make almost as funny -ones at home? Here is a home-brewed one: - - “Where are you going to, my pretty maid?” - “I’m going to the Doctor’s, to ask his aid, - I caught a cold when I slept in the loft,” - “Sir,” she coughed, - “Sir,” she coughed, - “I’m going to the Doctor’s sir,” she coughed. - - “May I go with you, my pretty maid?” - “Oh, yes, indeed, if you’re not afraid - Of catching my cold, I shall be pleased,” - “Sir,” she sneezed, - “Sir,” she sneezed, - “Oh, yes, if you please, kind sir,” she sneezed. - - “Of catching your cold I have no fear, - For I’ll take no chances, my pretty dear!” - At this the maiden was sorely ruffled, - “Sir?” she snuffled, - “Sir?” she snuffled, - “What do you mean, kind sir,” she snuffled. - - “I mean I won’t kiss you, my pretty maid!” - “Nobody asked you, my smart young Blade!” - In her pocket-handkerchief, large and new, - “Sir!” she blew, - “Sir!” she blew, - “Nobody asked you, sir!” she blew. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE VOICE OF THE PUSSY-WILLOW - - -On the first of May I took a day off and used the telephone. It is best -to take a day off if you want to get a number these times, and the -number asked for was Spring one, nine, two, two—yes, Spring, Nineteen -Twenty-Two. “There’s no such number,” said Central; “what you want is -Winter 1921.” I assured her that was the last number in the world I -desired, and after a wait of an hour or so she gave me Blizzard 1888 on -a busy wire, comparing notes with Winter 1920, and I began to despair of -ever getting my number. - -I rang off and waited. I am a patient person, I waited a whole hour to -allow the wire to cool off. Then I called again and this time I was -rewarded by hearing at the other end of the wire a faint far-off, fuzzy, -mewing sound. - -It was the voice of the Pussy-Willow! - -It was Lawrence Sterne, wasn’t it? who wrote, “God tempers the wind to -the shorn lamb,” and it is quite a happy thought that the gentle airs -that succeed the blustering winds of March, are a Providential concession -to the tender nurslings of the April fields. - -But the Pussy-Willow comes in February and early March and it would -be asking too much to expect Providence to temper the wholesome and -necessary rigors of these months for the sake of the venturesome kittens -of the Willow bough. - -Who but Providence (or Mr. Hoover) could ever have thought of the happy -expedient of providing each and every Pussy-Willow, not only in the -United States but also in England, France, Belgium and even Germany, with -a warm fur overcoat! - -And I verily believe that if the Pussy-Willows were lodged on the cold -wet ground instead of perched on the high and dry branches, Providence -(or Mr. Hoover) would have seen to it that in addition to fur coats they -were provided with galoshes. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -PERNICIOUS PEACHES - - -The Pernicious Peaches whereof we speak are never out of season. They -may be seen almost any month of the year on the covers of magazines, -devoted to the moral and social uplift of young girls in general, and the -American young girl in particular. - -The February magazine peach crop is usually most abundant—All through the -merry month of Saint Valentine they hang on the news-stands, singly or -in clusters, and Peaches they are to be sure—Peaches in the stupidest, -cheapest, slangiest nonsense of the word. - -There they hang to quote the redundant Dr. Roget, F. R. S.—“_simpering, -smirking, sniggling, giggling, ogling, tittering, prinking, preening, -flaunting, flirting, mincing, coquetting, frivoling, attitudinizing, -self-conscious artificial, smug, namby-pamby, sentimental, unnatural, -stagy, shallow, weak, wanting, soft, sappy, spoony, fatuous, idiotic, -imbecile, driveling, blatant, babbling, vacant, foolish, silly, -senseless, addle-pated, giddy, childish, chuckle-headed, puerile_,” and, -what is above all else inexcusable in a peach—mushy. - -And these (in journals that set the fashions moral, mental, social and -sartorial) for our young American sister at the most impressionable age -of her life—the age when, whatever may be her dormant possibilities, -she is by her nature irresistibly impelled to pattern herself after -the favorite girl of her class in school, or the favorite actress on -the stage—to copy her coiffure, her dress, her deportment, even the -expression of her face. - -And how, you ask, can a young girl be harmed by imitating what, however -vacuous or silly, is after all only an expression? - -The answer is, that just as a persistent bend of thought modifies and in -time fixes the expression of the face, so a habitual expression (or lack -of expression) of face influences the bend of thought and, in time, fixes -the character. - -If you don’t believe this, dear girl, stand before your looking-glass and -smirk at yourself as hard as you can, until you look (as much as it is -possible for a human girl to look) like a magazine-cover Peach. Then try -to hold the “Peach” look while you recite: - - _The stars of midnight shall be dear_ - _To her; and she shall lean her ear_ - _In many a secret place_ - _Where rivulets dance their wayward round_ - _And beauty born of murmuring sound_ - _Shall pass into her face._ - -You see it’s impossible! You can’t do it, any more than you can stroke -your head up and down at the same time as you stroke your chest -sideways. Your mouth has come out of curl—the foolish light has gone out -of your eyes. Perhaps (if you really feel what you were reciting) you -look just the least bit solemn. If so, try to hold the solemn look while -you recite the following by a popular song writer: - - _Call me pet names dearest—_ - _Call me a bird_ - _That flies to my breast_ - _At one cherishing word,_ - _That folds its wild wings there_ - _Ne’er dreaming of flight,_ - _That tenderly sings there in loving delight._ - _Oh my sad heart keeps pining_ - _For one fond word,_ - _Call me pet names dearest,_ - _Call me a bird!_ - -By the time you have finished, your solemn reflection in the glass -will have changed to something almost as idiotic as the “peach” on the -magazine cover. - -Without question, the vulgar standards of expression these simpering -sirens are setting for the impressionable young girl of today will -degrade her just as surely as the wholesome, high-bred type of womanhood -evolved by Charles Dana Gibson improved and developed all that was best -in her sister of twenty years ago. - - * * * * * - -The theory that nature imitates art is much older than Oscar Wilde, -who (owing to the carelessness of Mr. Whistler) is supposed to have -originated it. - -It is so old that Mr. G. K. Chesterton any moment may rise to dispute it, -and announce to an astonished London that it is Art that imitates Nature; -nevertheless, Nature _does_ imitate Art. - -Is it possible that there is method in all this magazine madness? Is it -possible that these magazines being devoted (among other devotions) to -ladies’ attire, fear that too great an improvement in the female of -our species would divert her thoughts from the imbecilities of dress to -higher—and less profitable—things? - -Allah forbid! - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -SECOND CHILDHOOD’S HAPPY HOUR - - -I sometimes ask myself (when there is no one else to pester) whether -the present tendency toward Primitivism, in Art, Religion, Government, -Conduct and Costume (everything in fact) may not be a sign that the world -is coming, if not already come, to its second childhood, and I invariably -answer myself in the affirmative. - -Second Childhood, as of course you know, is the “happy hour” of an old -age whose faculties have diminished to the exact degree that marks the -undeveloped mental and physical attributes of infancy. - -Take any baby—not your own, dear reader, yours is an exception I know, -but any common ordinary baby—and I think when you have examined it you -will agree with me that, judged by ultra-modern standards of culture, it -is the most decadent being on earth. - -To begin with, the baby’s sociological viewpoint is a mixture of -passionate pessimism and pure unmitigated Anarchism. - -Its musical output is a hysterical cacophony with all the exasperating -disregard of consonance and key characteristic of the up-to-date -composition. - -Its Plastic and Graphic Art (achieved through the accident of -the inverted Porridge bowl or the overturned inkwell) is the -Post-Impressionism of Matisse and Picasso, whose law is the Law of -Moses—“Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of -any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or -that is in the water under the earth.” - -The Literary Message of the baby is a combination of the styles of -Gertrude Stein, Carl Sandberg and an unassisted Ouija board and is only -to be interpreted through the medium of maternal intuition. - -And as for the Art Sartorial, are not the fashions feminine venturing -each successive season a little nearer to that of the newborn babe? - -“Well,” says I to myself, “supposing we admit that Modern Culture and -Infancy are identical in expression, and that the World is entering upon -its second childhood; what does it mean⸺ Is it the end of all things or -only a fresh start?” - -There you have me! I reply. There are some questions that even I cannot -answer. I give it up. - -If, as Dr. Einstein asserts, our planet has been receiving crooked -light-rays all this time, it is a very serious matter and there is no -knowing _what_ may come of it; certainly the Cosmic Light Company ought -to be investigated. But don’t be down-hearted, dear Reader, some day the -Einstein Amendment to the Law of Gravitation may be repealed, and made -retroactive into the bargain; it is all a matter of Relativity and it may -turn out that the Relativity-shoe is on the other foot and that it is the -Earth’s orbit that is on the blink and not the light rays at all. - -Perhaps Mr. G. B. Shaw will enlighten us—as a projector of crooked -light-rays, he ought to know something about it. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -PITY THE POOR GUEST OF HONOR - - -Once when marooned on a small island in the midst of a turbulent sea of -traffic, latitude Fifth Avenue, longitude Forty-second Street, I asked -the governor of the island, a man of great stature and kingly mien, what -he thought was the origin of the institution known as the Complimentary -Banquet. Checking with an imperious gesture a monstrous traffic wave that -seemed like to engulf us both the next moment, his voice came to me calm -and reassuring above the tumult that surged and roared about us. “If it’s -a wake you do be meaning, sorr, sure it’s as old as Ireland itself, it -is!” - -And the Traffic Cop was right. - -Nearly two thousand years ago Strabo, the Greek geographer, describing -the natives of Ivernia, wrote: “They are more savage than the English, -and enormous eaters, deeming it commendable to devour their deceased -relatives.” - -In this, probably the first reference in literature to the Irish wake, -the suggestion that the departed one contributed anything more than the -honor of his company must be taken with a grain of salt. Strabo was an -awful liar, and whole barrels of salt might be used on his “Geography” -without perceptibly affecting its flavor. In all probability the cannibal -touch was nothing more than an unseemly concession to the yellow taste of -the Attic metropolis. - -Nevertheless, though he never appeared on the menu, the “departed -relative,” the _sine qua non_ of all festive gatherings, was (as the -social instinct developed among the savage tribes) ever in increasing -demand, and it is to be feared that in smart Ivernian circles it was not -unusual to speed the departing relative in promoting the gaiety of an -otherwise dull season. - -Under such conditions it is hardly to be wondered at that in Ivernia, at -that period, personal popularity was the most unpopular thing imaginable, -and what more thinkable than that the reluctant candidate for a -complimentary dinner should feign for the occasion the grewsome condition -necessary for qualification. - -With the spread of Christianity, this irksome feat of mimicry on the part -of the Guest of Honor, at first a protective subterfuge, grew to be a -social convention. And irksome indeed it was. - -To feign at a banquet by the exercise of self-control a state of -unconsciousness, joyfully achieved by one’s fellow guests through more -convivial channels, was no task for the amateur. Then it was that, puffed -up, comatose, obese, along came the Professional Diner Out. And now, -after nearly two thousand years, what have we to show? - -Could the savage rite, described by Strabo, depressing as it must -have been, by any possibility be as gloomy as the Testimonial Banquet -of today? Is the Guest of Honor, sitting at the High Table feigning -unconsciousness, the miserable target for asphyxiating bombs of wit, -of anecdote, and of reminiscence—is he any less to be pitied than -the deceased relative of the Ivernian dinner? Yet we call ourselves -civilized; we think it barbaric to hang a fellow being for anything short -of murder. Why have we not equal consideration for the innocent Guest of -Honor? Why do we not dine him in effigy? - -Few of us have forgotten the outrage of 1912 when William Dean Howells -was dragged from his comfortable fireside by Col. Harvey, then the editor -of Harper’s Magazine, who deaf to his cries and entreaties, dined, wined -and flashlighted in the presence of a frenzied mob armed to the teeth -with knives, and forks and spoons. - -How much more humane to have dined Mr. Howells in effigy! A waxen image -simulating as far as possible the kindly features of the Great Novelist, -sitting in the place of honor, bowing, even smiling by means of some -ingenious mechanism! This, with a phonograph record of the graceful -speech of acknowledgment, and the ravening public would have gone home -happy and none the wiser. Thus with the dawn of a new era of Humanity, -one more chapter of the ponderous book of martyrs would be closed -forever. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -A NEW MONROE DOCTRINE - - -When Old Doctor Monroe discovered and patented his famous -anti-monarchical specific, warranted to prevent the spread of Effete -Despotism, Imperialitis and Throne Trouble, why didn’t he invent some -equally Reliable Nostrum to check the epidemic of Old World names that -was spreading like a blight of infantile paralysis among the thousands of -husky young cities then springing up all over the United States? Rome, -Syracuse, Troy, Thebes, Memphis, Ithaca, and a host of others, names dark -and ill ominous to chubby young cities with no evil traditions to live -down to, staining their bright banners with bloody blots and black bars -of sinister tradition where should only be the golden stars and crimson -bars of freedom. - -Indian names such as Oshkosh and Kankakee were to be had ready-made for -the asking; but they were few and for the most part too grotesque and -Asiatic sounding for the liking of a serious-minded young republic just -starting out in the city-raising business. - -But it is no easy task to find new names for cities, above all names that -are euphonious, and the last place one would expect to find them is the -Medical Dictionary. The names of diseases? And why should that deter us? -If a Rose by any other name will smell as sweet, surely a Rose with any -other smell will at least look and sound as pretty. Good Doctor Watts (or -was it Mr. Wesley?)[2] when adapting tunes for his new hymn-book answered -his critics by exclaiming, “Why should the devil have all the best -tunes!” - -Why, indeed! And by the same token, why should the Diseases have all the -prettiest sounding names? - -Try one on your city and see if you don’t like it. - -Has not Dyspepsia, Maine, an austere dignity about it that no old-world -city name could possibly confer? - -Neurasthenia, Kansas, on the other hand, brings up visions of shady -sidewalks, pleasant gardens, and glimpses through slender trees, of a -sun-kissed river. If your doctor should prescribe for you mountain air -and outdoor exercise would you not instantly buy a ticket to Colic, -Vermont? What more catchy name than Measles, Illinois, or Diphtheria, -Wisconsin? Stripped of medical association there is scarcely a name in -all the _materia medica_ that is wholly lacking in euphonistic charm. - -Why not bring the matter before a Special Session of Congress? Anything -is better than Persepolis and Pekin—even Tonsilitis, Missouri. - -[2] It was Martin Luther. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -DO CATS COME BACK? - - -Certain it is that Cats are disappearing; that is to say the common -friendly Tabbies and Tommies of the town we used to see doing their -morning marketing in the ash cans, or with whom we were wont to pass the -time of day in the neighboring door-yards. - -In the last week I have seen only two street cats and only one to speak -to, and that one was a stray orphan kitten who had been adopted by a -kind-hearted bookbinder; the other when I would have accosted her gave me -one strange look and vanished. - -I glanced hurriedly down at my shoes as my hands flew instinctively to -my necktie and hat, but the foot-gear were mates (of long standing) and -the hat and tie were each in its proper place; nothing was there about my -attire to shock the sensibilities of the most fastidious feline! - -What did it mean? No cat had ever treated me with such discourtesy -before. Then it was that I bethought me of how few of the feline -brotherhood or sisterhood I had seen abroad of late. - -Have they been carried off by an epidemic? Do cats catch influenza? or -catalepsy? Has the scrap-market been affected by the high cost of living? -Has the percentage of nutriment in the garbage can diminished to the -vanishing point? Have the mice struck for shorter hours? - -As I pondered thus at the corner of a lowly street, there tripped past my -line of vision a fur coat whose opulence and sheen made its background of -untidy brick and stone seem doubly dull and dingy. The motive power of -this unlikely pelt was (as far as could be seen) lisle thread and oxford -ties but I made no further note of the girl; my mind was fixed on the -coat—it was the third of its kind I had observed in as many minutes in -that mean street. - -A shiver ran through me; I had seen a ghost, a procession of ghosts. It -was as if a ouija board had suddenly screamed miaou! - -And they say cats come back. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE RUTHLESSNESS OF MR. COBB - - -One by one the idols of tradition go by the board. William Tell’s -Apple and Paul Revere’s Ride were long ago cast into the trash-basket -of Fiction; even Joan of Arc has been received into the mythology of -Sainthood, and now that hero of our happy childhood, Casablanca, the boy -who stood on the burning deck, is about to be snatched from us by that -reckless iconoclast, Mr. Irvin Cobb. - -Like the ruthless Woodman in the poem, Mr. Cobb has struck his axe into -the very roots of this revered tree of our childish belief⸺ - -According to Cobb, the Casabianca-tree is only a nut tree and a -horsechestnut tree at that. Writing in the _Saturday Evening Post_, -he tells us that Casabianca was nothing more than a “feeble-minded -leatherhead.” If that be so then Barbara Frietchie was a leatherhead, -and Edith Cavell, and all the host of those who gave up or were ready to -give up their lives for that purely imaginary thing, an ideal, and what -_could_ the blessed Evangelist have been thinking of when he wrote “_He -that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal._” -John 12:25. - -Exactly two thousand years ago when the city of Pompeii was destroyed -by an eruption of Mount Vesuvius, a Roman sentinel, another idol of -tradition just such a leatherhead as Casablanca, refused to desert his -post and was burned to death for the very foolish reason that he was “on -duty.” He is there to this day, standing “at attention,” in the shape of -a cast made from the matrix of molten lava that enveloped his living -body and you may call him a leatherhead if you like, but the memory of -his leatherheadedness will endure when sensible people like you, dear -reader, and me and Mr. Cobb are forgotten. - - * * * * * - -Nevertheless there are two sides to every question, and it is quite -possible that Casabianca may have been a perfectly sensible lad, whose -only thought was to disobey his captain and desert his post, but the tar -melting from the heat in the seams of the deck, and adhering to his feet -caused him to stick to the ship. Be that as it may, _I_ shall stick to -Casabianca! - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -MY LAKE - - -Mr. Finchsifter has compared my Lake to a gleaming sapphire reposing on a -corsage of emerald green plush. - -I have never seen Mr. Finchsifter’s wife—I do not even know that -Finchsifter is married, but since the emerald plush bosom of his poetic -fancy, stands for miles and miles of heaving Pines and fluttering Laurels -and Finchsifter stands barely four feet six in his stockings, by all the -laws of natural selection the human embodiment of his Brobdingnagian -simile, must be either Mrs. Finchsifter or some not impossible Eve of a -Finchsifter dream Paradise. A colossal counterpart (I picture her), of -the waxen Demi-Goddess in the Finchsifter show window displaying with -revolving impartiality on a faultless neck and bosom the glittering -treasures of India, Africa, Peru, Mexico and Maiden Lane. - -To be strictly truthful, I do not know that Mr. Finchsifter’s show window -can boast such a waxen deity as I have described; indeed for all I know -he possesses neither a show window nor the merchandise to advertise -in such a window, but I have as the saying is, a “hunch” that Mr. -Finchsifter’s imagery as applied to my Lake is based on something more -than a mere academic interest in the adornment, textile or lapidarious of -the human form. - -And my Lake—in the first place it is not my Lake (but of that later), -neither does it resemble a sapphire any more than the Pines and Laurels -on its bank (save that when agitated they heave or flutter) resemble a -green plush corsage. - -If I were asked for an image, I should compare my Lake to an -India-rubber band rather than to a sapphire. In form an elongated -ellipse, it possesses an elasticity of circumference that is little short -of miraculous. - -The boastful pedestrian, glowing from his early morning trot around its -shore will tell you it is a good ten miles. - -The persistent swain, scheming to lure his Heart’s Desire, high heeled -and reluctant, to the amorous shades of “Lover’s Landing,” tells her, -upon his honor, that it is not more than a mile all the way round. To be -precise, the distance round my Lake is something between a stroll and a -“constitutional”—or to put it relatively about what the circumambulation -of an ocean liner’s deck would be to an athletic inch worm. - -As I said before, my Lake is not my Lake. It is nobody’s Lake. Not a -human habitation profanes its bosky shores. The only beings that make -even a pretense of ownership are five starch-white swans that patrol -it from morning till night, turning fitfully this way and that and -probing its depths and shallows with their yellow bills as if seeking -for the missing Deed of title. On certain days when the diamond Lake -is still, and the Pine and Laurel corsage is untroubled by a tremor, -the starch-white company is doubled by five ghostly “understudies” who -reflect their whiteness curve for curve and feather for feather with a -fidelity of inversion that may find its match only in the art of a Shaw -or a Chesterton. - -It was on such a day as this that I met Mr. Finchsifter. I had completed -the circuit of the Lake and leaving the wooded path that skirts its -shore ascended through the woods to the level ground above, where on the -further side of a well kept automobile road rises the lofty iron grille -that engirdles for miles the country seat of Barabbas Wolfe, the Sausage -King, typifying at once, by the safe deposit-like thickness of its bars -and the view-inviting openness of its scrollwork, the innate love of -show, tempered by newly acquired exclusiveness of a lord not to the -manor born. - -Gazing, in beady eyed appraisal at the neat but somewhat constricted -Italian garden to which the railing at this point invited the eye—stood -Finchsifter. - -In this crowded jungle of spotless stone Lions, tomblike seats and -arches backed by California privet and immature cypresses there was an -irreverent suggestion of the Villa D’Este done into American slang. - -He turned hearing my step, “Where is it I have seen it—before?” - -“In the movies perhaps”—I ventured. - -“That’s it! Thank you very much!” he exclaimed. “I knew I had seen it -somewhere!” - -After ascertaining my name in reluctant payment for the unsolicited -tender of his own he continued, “but the Lions show better in the -‘pictures’ don’t they? Why didn’t they get them with moss already.” - -“With moss?” I queried. - -“Sure!” said Finchsifter. “Didn’t you know such a stone Lion comes also -with the moss, the same as the genuine old antique furniture comes with -the real hand-made worm-holes!” - -I remembered guiltily how on the occasion of my last visit to Lake towers -when asked by Mrs. Barabbas Wolfe, what I thought of her marble Lions, I -had exclaimed with truthful enthusiasm “Wonderful! But my dear lady _how_ -do you keep them so clean?” - -We walked on together, and though avoiding as we did so the physical -proximity of my Lake we could not exclude it wholly from our conversation. - -It was a passing glitter of the water caught through the pines below us -at a turn in the road that inspired the Diamond-plush simile from which -try as I may, I shall never be able to dissociate the image of my Lake. - -Greatly to my surprise I found myself becoming interested in Finchsifter, -and during the luncheon which followed our return to my Bungalow and -the dinner that evening at his hotel, we laid what promised to be the -foundation of a lasting friendship. - -To be sure he was a man of many words, but the words of Finchsifter were -well trained words, old family servants that knew their places and never -presumed, or took liberties with the listener. - -If a reply or comment were imperative—an adjective caught at random gave -instant clue to what had gone before—even as a single toe joint restores -to the naturalist the forgotten form of the Iohippus. - -Finchsifter was a mental rest cure, his talk was soothing as a verbal -brain massage. I conceived that one might form the Finchsifter habit, -in time even become a slave to it as men become slaves to cocaine, -Psychoanalysis, or Taxicabs. - -But this was not to be. - -As a would-be suicide has been turned from his purpose by the chill of -the water into which he has plunged—so it was by Finchsifter himself -that I was cured of the Finchsifter habit. - -It was on the occasion of our second meeting, appointed at the suggestion -of Finchsifter that we take our matutinal walk around the Lake in each -others company. - -He greeted me with a delighted smile, exclaiming as he took my hand in -both of his very new saffron gloves. - -“I have a great idea found—!—You are a poet? yes? Then you know all about -this Free Verse which I read always about in the magazines? Perhaps you -can yourself make it? Yes?” His face fairly shone with the inner flame of -his project. - -I found myself harkening against my will. What possible interest could -Finchsifter have in verse of any kind—let alone free verse. “This will -never do,” I reflected. “If he compels me to listen—then we shall cease -to be friends—I came here to rest. I might as well take the first train -back to New York!” Finchsifter was still talking. Eyeing me keenly as if -mentally debating my trustworthiness—he continued: “If it is sure enough -Free, then it don’t cost nothing.” - -“What are you talking about?” I said, recalled abruptly from my own -thoughts. - -“Free verse!” cried Finchsifter. “That’s my scheme!—but don’t you tell -it—It is between only ourselves—fifty-fifty—we split everything—_we_ -create the demand—we corner the supply, you and me together corner all -the free verse in the United States—in this world for that matter and -sell it for—” Again he hesitated—“If I might ask it—about what does a -Poet get for such a little piece of poetry? The kind that is not free. A -piece so long I mean.”—He measured a sonnet’s width of air between his -thumb and fore-finger—“what do you get for that much?” I told him what -the magazines pay me. - -“What! A dollar a line! Gott in Himmel! we make a fortune! That’s what -I tell Rebecca—If we corner all the free verse in the United States -and sell it for no more as five cents a line—we make our fortune! but -a dollar a line!—Himmel!”—he fairly danced for ecstasy and then it -was I made the discovery, by which I lost if not a Fortune at least a -Finchsifter. - -I stood still as the tide of words with its flotsam of tossing gestures, -continued—I heard nothing. I only waited for Finchsifter to subside. - -“Am I right!” He gasped at length with what by every law of supply and -demand should have been his latest breath. - -“I don’t know what you’re talking about”—I replied angrily. “All I know -is we’re walking the wrong way.” - -“What do you mean the wrong way?” said Finchsifter. - -“The wrong way round the Lake that’s what I mean!” - - * * * * * - -I don’t know how long we stood there arguing the question, I only know -that his mind was inaccessible to reason, persuasion—even bribery, for, -as a last resort, I offered to give him a list of all the best free -verse writers in America if he would only listen to reason—nothing would -move him—Finchsifter had always walked round the lake from right to left -and always would—and what I said about his rubbing its precious plush -corsage the wrong way of the nap was all rot. - -I turned on my heel and left him. Half an hour later when we met at -Lover’s Landing which is exactly half way round the Lake we passed -without speaking. - -And now I must wait each day until Finchsifter has taken his walk from -right to left round my Lake, taking my walk (from left to right) in the -chill of the evening to pacify the tutelary Goddess by smoothing back her -green plush corsage, which has been rubbed the wrong way by Finchsifter. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE HUNDREDTH AMENDMENT - - -After the passage of the Ninety-eighth Amendment making it a misdemeanor -to “_manufacture, sell, own, possess, purchase, nurse, dandle or -otherwise caress or display that effigy of the infant form commonly -known as a Doll_” … the abolition of that feathered symbol of vicarious -maternity, the Stork, followed as a matter of course. - -The passage of the Anti-Stork Bill or, to be more accurate, the -Ninety-ninth Amendment, thanks to the tenacity and tact of President -John Quincy Epstein, was the most expeditious piece of legislation put -through by the hundred and fifth Congress. - -It must not be forgotten, however, that the introduction of lectures on -obstetrics into the curriculum of the kindergartens had done much to -educate the child vote and that at the time the fate of the Stork was -hanging in the balance, that once esteemed Bird of Prurient Evasion was -already becoming unpopular and well on its way to join the Dodo. - -And now the department of government devoted to the cause of Infant -Uplift, having abolished the Mock-Offspring and settled the fate of the -Bird of Nativity, cast about for some new Field of Endeavor. - -And what more fitting than that they should light upon that hoary old -imposter masquerading under the several aliases Santa Claus, Saint -Nicholas, Kris Kringle, and Father Christmas? - -At once the Propaganda was started. - -Press agents were engaged, lecture tours arranged, magazines subsidized. - -No matter what it might cost, this “Vulture gnawing at the Palladium of -Infant Emancipation” must be destroyed!! - -Santa Claus, once, in the memory of living men and women, adored by -children and winked at by their parents, was now branded as an imposter, -a mountebank, a public nuisance, and a perverter of infant intelligence. - -Santa Claus was an outlaw from the Commonwealth of Reason. - -It was “thumbs down” for Santa! - -It may be well to explain right here (since none of the events chronicled -in this History has yet happened) that the movement for the Emancipation -and Self-Determination of Infants, which has now taken such great -strides, had its initiation in the presidential term of Miles Standish -Sovietski when Congress extended the franchise to every child over five -years of age who had made any serious contribution to literature or -higher mathematics. - -It was in the same year that President Sovietski signed the Sixty-fourth -Amendment to the Federal Constitution, prohibiting the publication of -fairy tales, and Congress suspended the Limitation-of-Search Act in order -that private libraries and nurseries might be raided without warning and -all copies of the forbidden works summarily seized and destroyed. - -Simultaneously with the federal enactment, the states of Washington, -Illinois, Nevada, and Oregon, ever in the advance of any great -intellectual movement, passed laws prohibiting “_the personification -or representation, public or private, in theatre, music hall, club -house, lodge, church fair, schoolhouse, or private residence, of any -supernatural, fairy, or otherwise mythical person or persons or fraction -thereof_.” - -The passing of a Constitutional Amendment was now an almost every-day -occurrence. Indeed, since the ratification of the Forty-fourth Amendment -prohibiting the use of sarsaparilla as a beverage (coffee and tea had -been legislated out of existence five years earlier) the enactment of -a new Amendment excited little or no comment. Even the Seventy-ninth -Amendment forbidding “_the use of caviar, club sandwiches, and buttonhole -bouquets, except for medicinal purposes_,” received only casual notice in -the Metropolitan Dailies. - -The twentieth century was rapidly nearing its close and the political -apathy that for fifty years had been gradually benumbing the Public -morale now threatened to paralyze completely what little still remained -of courage and initiative. - -Even the latest work of Bernard Shaw, “A Bird’s-Eye View of the -Infinite,” published (with a five volume preface) on Mr. Shaw’s hundred -and fortieth birthday, aroused so little resentment that his projected -visit to the United States had to be abandoned, in spite of the fact that -“Bean and Soup o’Bean,” written only a week earlier, was acknowledged to -have contributed largely to the triumph of the Seventy-ninth Amendment, -making Vegetarianism compulsory in the United States. - -The Hundredth Amendment passed quickly though the earlier stages of -routine and perfunctory debate without any appreciable sign of anything -approaching popular protest. - -Here and there a guarded expression such as “Poor old Santa! I’m sorry -he’s got to go!” was voiced, in the privacy of a club, by some elderly -gentleman. Nothing more. - -Somewhere, behind Somebody, was a Power that directed and guided—perhaps -threatened. Nobody knew who or what or where it was or in what manner -it worked, but work it did and to such purposes that, after a scant -week of cut and dried speech-making that deceived no one, the Amendment -was submitted unanimously by both houses of Congress and the foregone -conclusion of ratification was all that remained to make the abolition of -Santa Claus an accomplished fact. - -Then, inevitably as fish follows soup, followed the ratification. - -The Hundredth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States, -prohibiting Santa Claus, slipped through the ratification process like an -oil prospectus in a mail chute. There was only one hitch, Rhode Island, -but since Rhode Island had refused to ratify a single one of the last -Seventy-nine Amendments, her action was accepted as part of the program -and a proof of unanimity. - -So Santa Claus was abolished? - -Not so fast please!—Who’s writing this History anyway? - - * * * * * - - ’Twas the night before Christmas - And in the White House - Not a creature was stirring - Not even a * * * * * - -For the benefit of the clever reader who may have guessed the word left -out in the last line of the above quatrain, I will explain that the -asterisks are used in obedience to a clause of the Ninety-first Amendment -prohibiting, both in speech and print, the use of the word * * * * * -which, as the political emblem of the Free People’s Party (now happily -defunct), came into such contempt that it was made a misdemeanor “_to -print, publish, own, sell, purchase, or consult any book, pamphlet, -catalogue, circular, or dictionary containing the word * * * * *_” It -has been estimated that over eighty million dollars’ worth of Century -and Standard dictionaries were destroyed in the first year of this -Amendment’s operation. The loss in Nursery Rhymes, children’s books, and -Natural Histories is beyond computation. - -But to return to the White House. - -President John Quincy Epstein had retired to his study on the second -floor shortly before midnight, taking with him the engrossed copy of the -Hundredth Amendment which now only required his Spencerian signature to -expunge the name of Santa Claus forever from the American speech and -language as utterly and irrevocably as the forbidden word * * * * *. - -The hours passed in a perfectly orderly manner, like school children at -a fire drill—_one, two, three, four_—without pushing or jostling—_five, -six, seven, eight_—(don’t you think history is much more interesting in -the form of a simple “Outline” like this than spun out in the common -manner?)—_nine, ten_—! At eleven o’clock the door of the President’s -study was burst open by the order of the Vice President, Rebecca -Crabtree, now, by a sudden and mysterious stroke of Fate, herself become -the President of the United States. - -For John Quincy Epstein was dead. - -How or just when he died will never be known. Always a cold, forbidding -(not to say prohibiting) man, his body when found was still cold—if -anything colder; his watch which should have marked the exact moment of -his demise, was ticking merrily, so the exact moment will forever remain -unrecorded. - -But Santa Claus still lives and will live forever! - -On the massive gold-inlaid-with-ivory desk (a Christmas gift from the -United Department Stores of America), lay a paper, inscribed, and signed -in the President’s handwriting, and sealed with his official seal. - -It was the presidential veto of the Hundredth Amendment; and by virtue -of a clause in Amendment Thirty-three “_no Constitutional Amendment -vetoed by the President shall ever be resubmitted to the country nor any -fraction thereof_—” - -Santa Claus will live forever! Hurray for Santa Claus! - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -SAY IT WITH ASTERISKS - - -A vague and terrifying science, astronomy! Only as a subdued though -highly decorative lighting effect can I regard the stellar pageant with -equanimity. - -To be sure I have learned to locate the Dipper and Orion and Cassiopeia’s -Chair and a few other popular favorites, but this painful knowledge -was acquired solely for its conversational value on summer evenings at -week-end, house or yachting parties. - -Beyond that, all I know about the science of astronomy could be as -accurately demonstrated with the perforations of a colander, held up -to the light, as on the most perfect star map in the Encyclopedia -Britannica. If the truth must be told, I much prefer Asterisks. - - * * * * * - -With a moon and a mariner’s compass and a good road map or chart, the -traveler by land or sea can get along very well without the stars, but -in the trackless mazes of literature and art, how would the wandering -Philistine fare without Asterisks? An anthology or guide of any kind -without Asterisks would be as unthinkable as a Dalmatian dog without -spots or a red-headed boy without freckles. - -Imagine yourself in the city of Berlin with a de-stellated Baedeker. -You would make Moses-when-the-light-went-out look like a torchlight -procession! - -Not that I cite Herr Karl Baedeker as the model of stellar perfection. -Too many stars may prove as demoralizing as too many cooks. Even that -guide, topographer and friend of the tourist is at times bewildering, if -not misleading. - -On page 133 of Baedeker’s Berlin, “_Furniture From the Boudoir of Queen -Marie Antoinette_” has two stars, ** while “_Elijah in the Desert_,” on -page 108, has, in addition to all his other troubles, to worry along with -one star. - -And that is not the worst of it. - -On page 163, “_a well-preserved Archæopteryx in Solnhofen slate_,” to me -by all odds the most interesting object in Berlin, has no star at all! * -* * - -But no matter how annoying it is, you must never blame the Asterisks. -They only did as they were told and stood where Herr Baedeker placed -them and, if they did wrong, Herr Baedeker alone was responsible. A good -writer—or editor—is good to his Asterisks, and when he puts them in a -false position we must make due allowance. - -If Asterisks could combine and form a protective union, there might be -some hope for them, but a flair for collective bargaining is not in their -nature. That being the case, I suggest the establishment of a Federal -Licensing Bureau empowered to investigate the qualifications of would-be -employers of Asterisks and issue or withhold licenses accordingly. - -And it is high time something were done about it. - -Only lately there has been brought to my notice a case of so flagrant -a nature that, were there such an institution as a Society for the -Prevention of Cruelty to Asterisks, I should feel it my duty to call -their attention to it. - -To come down to brass tacks, as the saying is, the flagrant case of -cruelty to Asterisks, to which I refer, consists of a fat book, called -“The Best Short Stories of 1921.” Edited by Edward J. O’Brien—Published -by Small Maynard. - -Never, I think, were a mob of overworked employees so pitifully huddled -together in an ill-ventilated factory as are the Asterisks in this -Sweatshop of Twaddle. - -The Sweatshop proper—if a Sweatshop may be so qualified—is situated -in the rear of the book, occupying about a fifth of its volume, and -consists of: - -A Bibliographical Roll of Honor of American Short Stories for 1920 and -1921 in which “_the best stories are indicated by an Asterisk_.” - -A Roll of Honor of Foreign Short Stories in American Magazines in which -“_Stories of special excellence are indicated by an Asterisk_.” - -Volumes of short stories published in the United States. “_An Asterisk -before a title indicates distinction._” - -Volumes of short stories published in England and Ireland. “_An Asterisk -before a title indicates distinction._” - -Volumes of Short Stories published in France. “_An Asterisk before a -title, etc._” Follows then a list of articles on the Short Story and last -of all An Index of Short Stories in Books, and here the Asterisks are -forced to work overtime and Mr. O’Brien’s English gets a bit sloppy. He -says: - -“_Three Asterisks prefixed to a title indicate_ the more or less -permanent _literary value of the story_.” - -“More or less permanent” reminds me of an advertisement I once saw in a -street car: “Face Powder makes your complexion _more irresistible_.” Is -it possible that Mr. O’Brien wrote it? - -In the division entitled Magazine Averages, Mr. O’Brien comes another -cropper with “_Three Asterisk stories are of_ somewhat permanent -_literary value_.” Again, in the introduction, “_Sherwood Anderson -has made this year once more the_ most permanent _contribution to the -American Short Story_.” - -Mr. O’Brien’s invention of varying degrees of permanence is an important -contribution to science and entitles him to receive at the very least the -Order of the Golden Asterisk of the Second Class with Palms. - - * * * * * - -Such, in brief, is the Sweatshop in the rear where the toiling -Asterisks labor in weary shifts of one, two and three, pounding out -asinine averages and percentages of permanency and near-permanency and -plu-permanency with a zeal that would do credit to the framer of a -Volstead Act. - -Now let us walk round to the front of the Factory, where in his cosy -business office which he calls the “Introduction” the Foreman of the -works, Mr. Edward J. O’Brien, will tell us in the airy argon of the shop -all about the Fictional Flivvers—in which he is a second-hand dealer—how -they are made, what they are worth and, if permanent, just how long their -permanence will last. - -As Foreman O’Brien warms up to his subject he will describe in vitally -pulsating phrases that would drive a movie writer mad with envy, the -convulsion of Nature that attended the birth of the American Short Story. -“_The ever-widening seething maelstrom of cross currents thrusting into -more and more powerful conflict from year to year the contributory -elements brought to a new American culture by the dynamic creative -energies, physical and spiritual, of many races_.” - -All of which speechifying translated into plain talk conveys the -astounding information that the hooch of American Fiction is being brewed -in the much-advertised Melting Pot! Well, why couldn’t he say so and be -done with it? - -Speaking of the Anglo-Saxon he says: “_The Anglo-Saxon was beginning -to absorb large tracts of other racial fields of memory and to share -the experience of Scandinavian and Russian and German and Italian and -Polish and Irish and African and Asian members of the body politic._” The -Melting Pot again! What did I tell you! Continuing, Mr. O’Brien describes -the process of fermentation as a new chaos set up by tracts of remembered -racial experience interacting upon one another under the tremendous -pressure of our nervous, keen and eager civilization. He doesn’t explain -exactly how a thing so completely lacking in the elements of design as -a chaos should be “set up” to get the best results. All he tells us is -that fresh chaos is good material for American literature, and that our -Mr. Anderson and others are very busy in a half unconscious way, trying -to make “worlds” out of it. - -By “worlds” I take it Mr. O’Brien means something vast and vague and -“_vitally compelling_” and “organic” that our Mr. Anderson and others -will fuse into American Fiction “_in artistic crucibles of their own -devising_.” - -On the whole, things look pretty bright for the American Short Story, -what with the “fresh living current which flows through the best American -work, and the Psychological and imaginative reality which American -writers have conferred upon it,” and the “seething maelstrom of cross -currents,” and the “dynamic creative energies,” and above all the -_chaos_, the great American Chaos—fresh—unlimited—inexhaustible—ripe -for the “artistic crucible,” in which it is soon to be fused into a new -cosmos of “organic fiction” by the White Headed Boy of the Western World. - - * * * * * - -On the other hand, how gloomy the outlook pictured by Mr. O’Brien for the -Englishman and the Scotchman and the Irishman! “Living at home—writing -out of a background of racial memory and established tradition.” It -fairly gives me the shivers. No wonder their fiction lacks compelling -vitality! - -But wouldn’t you think that with all the Chaos lying round loose in -Europe these days, the Scotchman at least would grab enough of it to -create a bonnie new world of vitally compelling fiction for himself? -That’s what I thought, but it seems I thought wrong. The Foreign Chaos -differs from the Domestic variety in that it is “an end rather than a -beginning, a Chaos in which the Tower of Babel had fallen.” - -Once more, to translate the O’Brien speechifying into speech—for the -benefit of readers who are not movie fans—the American brand of Chaos is -fresh and the European Chaos is stale. - -The elemental principles underlying all forms of creation are the same, -whether you are creating a short story or a buckwheat cake. The same -dynamic laws must be obeyed. - -You may have the very best possible formula for the creation of a -buckwheat cake and the best crucible—I mean the most artistic frying pan -that can be bought; but unless the contributory elements of heat, butter -and eggs are physically and spiritually beyond reproach, your buckwheat -cake will be a failure. - -So, too, you may have the most perfect recipe for a short story—from -Mr. O’Brien’s own book—and you may have the most vitally compelling -Psychology—straight from the farm—but if your Chaos be of the European -cold-storage brand instead of the “strictly fresh,” or, better still, -“new-laid” domestic variety, your Short Story will be—like most of those -in Mr. O’Brien’s collection—quite unfit for human consumption. - - * * * * * - -That Mr. O’Brien is a scientist of the first rank has been amply proved -by his startling invention of comparative Permanence—see Roll of -Honor—but, though it is interesting to know that by the use of Asterisks -what was once believed to be the essential characteristic of Permanence -can be modified, I doubt if half of one per cent Permanence will ever -become popular. - -But Mr. O’Brien has made another and more practical contribution to -science. - -He has computed by means of Asterisks, that thirty-eight short stories by -American authors “would not occupy more space than five novels of average -length.” - -What a priceless boon to the budding author about to embark upon his -first short story! - -All he has to do is to borrow five novels of average length, cut out the -pages and divide the total number into seven equal piles, each one of -which will be seven and three-fifths of the total pile. - -Six of these piles he may throw away or return to the friends who loaned -them—or the Public Library, as the case may be. He must then take the -seventh pile and placing the pages end to end on the floor—the roof of -the house will do if the floor be too small—and procuring a strip of -paper of exactly the same length, begin the Story at one end and continue -writing until he reaches the other end. - -This will insure the work’s being of the right length for an American -Short Story, and, if Mr. O’Brien’s other two conditions as to “form and -substance” are properly fulfilled, the Story will be quite all right -and may be published—with three Asterisks—in the Roll of Honor for the -following year. - - * * * * * - -The luncheon hour at the O’Brien Sweatshop is devoted to an Efficiency -Drill of all the Asterisks employed. - -The Drill lasts an hour and is designed to keep the Asterisks in perfect -physical condition for their arduous work. - -First, there is a grand march of Asterisks in varying formations of ones, -twos and threes. This is followed by running matches and exhibitions of -high jumping, wrestling and leaping through hoops. - -An exciting game of Roll of Honor closes the exercises. - -This is the most violent exercise of all and consists of rolling -blindfold down an inclined plane and landing in a huge pile of short -stories. - -The Asterisk that picks up the best Short Story, receives as a reward an -honorable mention in the Annual Report. - - * * * * * - -There have been many unkind things said about the late-lamented year -Nineteen Twenty-One, but after inspecting this work of Edward J. -O’Brien’s I am inclined to think that the title proclaiming it to be -a collection of Nineteen Twenty-One’s best Short Stories, is the most -slanderous statement of them all. It is enough to make even the Statue -of Liberty blush! - -In no English-speaking country is the Short Story such a recognized -feature of everyday social intercourse as it is in America. - -It is almost impossible for two Americans to meet anywhere or at any time -of the day or night without an exchange of Short Stories. Sometimes the -form of the telling is good, sometimes bad. More often it is very bad -form indeed, but two things the Story must have—to “get over”—substance -and brevity. - -The same two things are demanded in the written story. I do not include -Form, because Form is essential to Brevity. Artistic Brevity cannot be -achieved without Form. - -Substance, to paraphrase the Bard, is such stuff as Stories are made on. -It must be of good weave, or the story will not hold together. - -Some of the Stories in the O’Brien collection are of a rotten fabric, -others, while well woven, have a most disagreeable pattern. Others again -are dyed with imported dyes from Kipling, Conrad and Company. At least -one of the stories has no fabric at all, but the weaver—like the Weaver -in the Fairy Tales—has gone through the motions of weaving so plausibly, -not to say impudently, that many, like Mr. O’Brien, are deceived by it. - -Mr. O’Brien, defining Substance, tells us that it amounts to nothing -unless it be organic substance “_in which the pulse of life is beating_.” -Thereby he admits that Substance is Stuff, but insists that it must be -Live Stuff! - -Mr. O’Brien is mistaken; in one of the finest Short Stories ever written -the Substance of the Story is a Shadow! - -The Story is by “Anderson.” - -What, _our_ Mr. Anderson? - -Great Heavens, no! Hans Christian Andersen. - - * * * * * - -I have not the space to speak in detail of more than one of the Stories -in Mr. O’Brien’s collection, nor will it be necessary; one specimen of -the deadly _Amonita Bulbosa_ in a mess of mushrooms is enough to justify -the partaker thereof in damning the whole dish, if he live to express -any opinion at all; so, if in a collection that claims to be composed of -“Best Short Stories” I find one that is very bad in both Substance and -Form, indeed so bad in Substance that it hardly deserves to be called a -Story at all, I may surely, with perfect justice, damn the whole book as -being false to its title and not what it pretends to be. - -But in censuring Mr. Anderson’s story “Brothers,” I am not so much -criticizing the author as admonishing the compiler of “The Best Stories” -for the gross misuse of an Asterisk. - -One does not have to be an officer of the S. P. C. A. to rebuke a truck -driver who is abusing a horse that is hitched to a truckload of junk that -is much too heavy for it. - -By the same token, I do not pose as a critic when I take Mr. O’Brien to -task for hitching an Asterisk to Sherwood Anderson’s story, “Brothers.” - -I should not have noticed the Anderson load of junk, but for the -stupidity of its driver, which annoys me. - -It is no way to treat an Asterisk. - - * * * * * - -The kindest thing that can be said of “Brothers” is that its inclusion in -a collection of American Short Stories puts it in a false position. It is -unmistakably American—the mark of the “Melting Pot” is all over it—and I -suppose it is Short, though it takes a lot of patience to read it, but it -is _not_ a story in the accepted sense of the word. - -It starts nowhere, it does nothing and it gets nowhere, reminding one -vaguely of the three Japanese monkeys who see nothing, hear nothing and -say nothing. - -To apply the O’Brien test, it has no Substance. The weaver went through -the motions of weaving, but he wove nothing. There is no “stuff” here. - -Neither has it Form. The material—such as it is—is not shaped “into -the most beautiful and satisfying form by skillful selection and -arrangement.” That is to say, it violates Mr. O’Brien’s own rule. - -If I were asked to give the thing a name, I should say that “Brothers” -is a sort of cross between a very dull parody of one of G. S. Street’s -“Episodes” and a grimy but ambitious newspaper “story” touched up with a -dash of that old-fashioned freak of lap-dog literature known as the “Poem -in Prose,” much petted by Turgenieff in the early eighties, a vehicle—if -one may be permitted to change similes in midstream—in which you pay as -you enter and as you leave, both. - -You pay as you enter with a soddenly self-conscious rhapsody in G minor, -and you pay as you leave with a tiresome repetition of the same. - -When a Story of the O’Brien school begins like that, you feel sure it is -going to lead to something disgusting and you are seldom disappointed, -certainly not in this instance. - -It is a sort of elegy on the falling leaves. - -Mr. Anderson almost weeps for pity of the falling leaves. Listen to the -patter of the Andersonian tears: - -“* * * the yellow, red and golden leaves fall straight down heavily. The -rain beats them brutally down. They are denied a last golden flash across -the sky. In October, leaves should be carried away, out over the plains, -in a wind. They should go dancing away.” - -You have a feeling as you read this, that Mr. A. rather fancies it -himself. You can almost hear him say: “I do this fallen-leaf stuff rather -well, if you know what I mean!” and since it is the only pretty bit in -the Story, you hardly blame him for repeating it at the end. - -For my part, I am suspicious; I am not from Missouri, but, nevertheless, -I require to be shown. - -I ask myself: “Is Mr. Anderson sincere?” - -I read further on, and I find that he is not. - -This is what I read: - -“* * * His arms tightened about the body of the little dog so that it -screamed with pain. I stepped forward and tore the arms away, and the dog -fell to the ground and lay whining. No doubt it had been injured. Perhaps -ribs had been crushed. The old man stared at the dog lying at his feet.” - -Nothing more about the little dog until, a few lines further on, Mr. -Anderson shows that the dying agony of a little dog excited only a -passing interest in him. “An hour ago the old man of the house in the -forest went past my door and the little dog was not with him. It may be -that as we talked in the fog he crushed the life out of his companion. -It may be that the dog, like the workman’s wife and her unborn child, is -now dead. The leaves of the trees that line the road before my window are -falling like rain—the yellow, red and golden leaves fall straight down -heavily * * *,” and so on, with a repetition of the opening rhapsody of -grief for the falling leaves. - -So, you see, to Sherwood Anderson a falling leaf is a heart-rending -sight, but a falling puppy, even though its ribs be crushed and it scream -with agony, is quite another thing. - -No, Mr. Anderson is not sincere. - -And if an artist, though he fairly reek with seething dynamic chaos and -vitally compelling psychology, have not sincerity, all the Asterisks in -Mr. O’Brien’s sweatshop will avail him naught. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Neither Here Nor There, by Oliver Herford - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEITHER HERE NOR THERE *** - -***** This file should be named 56165-0.txt or 56165-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/1/6/56165/ - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Neither Here Nor There - -Author: Oliver Herford - -Release Date: December 11, 2017 [EBook #56165] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEITHER HERE NOR THERE *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> - -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" height="750" alt="Cover image" /> - -<p class="caption">A MIRROR OF FRIVOLITY</p> - -<p class="center larger">NEITHER HERE<br /> -NOR THERE</p> - -<p class="caption">By<br /> -OLIVER HERFORD</p> - -<p class="caption"><i>Author of “The Rubaiyat of a Persian Kitten,” “This Giddy Globe,” etc.</i></p> - -<p>¶ As a humorous commentator upon -morals and manners with special -attention to cats, tutti frutti trees, -Bolshevism for babies and trouser -creases. Mr. Herford leaves nothing -to be desired. His book is a mirror -of engaging frivolity, an incisive -but good-humored thrust at the -follies of the day. Here and there a -very rich and moving note is struck, -as in THE BON DIEU’S BIRTHDAY -PARTY where one finds in full -flower that tender fantasy which is -the greatest charm of Mr. Herford’s -imagination.</p> - -<p class="caption">GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY <i>Publishers</i> New York</p> - -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><span class="u">NEITHER HERE NOR THERE</span></p> - -<p class="center larger">OLIVER HERFORD</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="max30"> - -<div class="u"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> - -</div> - -<div class="u"> - -<h2><i>Other Books of</i> OLIVER HERFORD</h2> - -</div> - -<div class="u"> - -<h3 class="l">POEMS AND VERSES</h3> - -<ul> -<li>ARTFUL ANTICS</li> -<li>THE BASHFUL EARTHQUAKE AND OTHER FABLES AND VERSES</li> -<li>ALPHABET OF CELEBRITIES</li> -<li>OVERHEARD IN A GARDEN</li> -<li>RUBAIYAT OF A PERSIAN KITTEN</li> -<li>THE FAIRY GOD-MOTHER-IN-LAW</li> -<li>KITTEN’S GARDEN OF VERSES</li> -<li>THE LAUGHING WILLOW</li> -<li>THE HERFORD ÆSOP</li> -</ul> - -<h3 class="l">ANIMAL BOOKS</h3> - -<ul> -<li>A CHILD’S PRIMER OF NATURAL HISTORY</li> -<li>MORE ANIMALS</li> -<li>JINGLE JUNGLES</li> -</ul> - -<h3 class="l">SATIRICAL</h3> - -<ul> -<li>THE ASTONISHING TALE OF A PEN AND INK PUPPET</li> -<li>SIMPLE GEOGRAPHY</li> -<li>THE MYTHOLOGICAL ZOO</li> -<li>CONFESSIONS OF A CARICATURIST</li> -<li>THIS GIDDY GLOBE</li> -</ul> - -<h3 class="l">IN COLLABORATION</h3> - -<h4><i>With John Cecil Clay</i></h4> - -<ul> -<li>HEARTICULTURE</li> -<li>CUPID’S FAIR WEATHER BOOK</li> -<li>CUPID’S ENCYCLOPEDIA</li> -<li>HAPPY DAYS</li> -</ul> - -<h4><i>With Cleveland Moffett</i></h4> - -<ul> -<li>THE BISHOP’S PURSE</li> -</ul> - -<h4><i>With Ethel Watts Mumford</i></h4> - -<ul> -<li>CYNIC’S CALENDAR</li> -</ul> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger">NEITHER HERE<br /> -NOR THERE</p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> -OLIVER HERFORD</p> - -<div class="figcenter titlepage" style="width: 70px;"> -<img src="images/ghd-logo.jpg" width="70" height="70" alt="GHD" /> -</div> - -<p class="center">NEW YORK<br /> -GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">COPYRIGHT, 1922,<br /> -BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80px;"> -<img src="images/ghd-copyright.jpg" width="80" height="65" alt="GHD" /> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage">NEITHER HERE NOR THERE. I</p> - -<p class="center">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="titlepage">TO M. H.</p> - -<p class="center">On board S.S. <i>Carmania</i><br /> -Lat. 50° N., Long. 30° W.</p> - -<p class="center">“NEITHER HERE—NOR THERE”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td class="tdr smaller">PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Secret</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_SECRET">9</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Our Leisure Class</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#OUR_LEISURE_CLASS">13</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Concerning Revolving Doors</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CONCERNING_REVOLVING">17</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Bolshevism for Babies</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#BOLSHEVISM_FOR_BABIES">21</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Tutti-Frutti Tree</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_TUTTI-FRUTTI_TREE">25</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Those Bill Boards</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THOSE_BILL-BOARDS">28</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Lure of the “Ad”</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_LURE_OF_THE_AD">33</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Look Before She Leaps</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#LOOK_BEFORE_SHE_LEAPS">37</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Low Cost of Cabbing</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_LOW_COST_OF_CABBING">42</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Great Match Box Mystery</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_GREAT_MATCH-BOX">45</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Are Cats People?</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ARE_CATS_PEOPLE">51</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Mlle. Fauteuil</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#MLLE_FAUTEUIL">56</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Money and Fireflies</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#MONEY_AND_FIREFLIES">60</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Concerning the Trouser-Crease</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#CONCERNING_THE_TROUSER-CREASE">63</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">An Old-Fashioned Heaven</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#AN_OLD-FASHIONED_HEAVEN">68</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Another Lost Art</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ANOTHER_LOST_ART">71</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Mr. Chesterton and the Soliloquy</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#MR_CHESTERTON_AND_THE">74</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span><span class="smcap">Bunk</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#BUNK">77</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Cost of a Pyramid</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_COST_OF_A_PYRAMID">82</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Waltzing Mice and Dancing Men</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#WALTZING_MICE_AND_DANCING">87</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Hobgoblin</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_HOBGOBLIN">92</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Voice of the Pussy-Willow</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_VOICE_OF_THE_PUSSY-WILLOW">96</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Pernicious Peaches</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#PERNICIOUS_PEACHES">99</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Second Childhood’s Happy Hour</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#SECOND_CHILDHOODS_HAPPY">105</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Pity the Poor Guest of Honour</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#PITY_THE_POOR_GUEST_OF">109</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A New Monroe Doctrine</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#A_NEW_MONROE_DOCTRINE">114</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Do Cats Come Back?</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#DO_CATS_COME_BACK">117</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Ruthlessness of Mr. Cobb</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_RUTHLESSNESS_OF_MR">120</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">My Lake</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#MY_LAKE">123</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Hundredth Amendment</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_HUNDREDTH">134</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Say It with Asterisks</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#SAY_IT_WITH_ASTERISKS">144</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> - -<h1>NEITHER HERE NOR THERE</h1> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face1.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="THE_SECRET">THE SECRET</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">Eve was bored. She confided the fact -to the Serpent.</p> - -<p>“Tell me something new!” she wailed, and -the Serpent—he had never seen a lady cry -before—was deeply moved (the Serpent has -always been misjudged) and—there being -no National Board of Censors—told her -everything he knew.</p> - -<p>When he had finished, Eve yawned and -looked boreder than ever. “Is <i>that</i> all?” -she said.</p> - -<p>The Dramatic Critic asks the same question -on the first night of a new Play—“Will -there never be an end to these Dormitory -Farces,” he moans, pondering darkly the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -while how he may transmute its leaden dullness -to the precious gold of a scintillating -paragraph.</p> - -<p>Father Time has nothing to say on the -matter. If you ask him to show you a new -thing, he shrugs his wings and growls, “You -can search me.” Things old and things new -are all alike to Father Time.</p> - -<p>Peradventure, in the uttermost recess of -the Great Pyramid lies a hair of an unknown -color, or a blueprint of the fourth -dimension, or better still the ms. of a new -play, or a joke that has never been cracked.</p> - -<p>When a Roman bath is unearthed in Kent -or a milliner’s shop in Pompeii we wait -breathless to hear of the discovery of a new -story, or a new dress pattern, but always -it is the same old skull, the same old amphora.</p> - -<p>Even the newness of Fashion is a jest of -antiquity.</p> - -<p>In an Italian book printed in the sixteenth -century is a story of a fool “who went about -the streets naked, carrying a piece of cloth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -upon his shoulders. He was asked by some -one why he did not dress himself, since he -had the materials. ‘Because’ replied he, ‘I -wait to see in what manner the fashions will -end. I do not like to use my cloth for a -dress which in a little time will be of no use -to me, on account of some new fashion.’”</p> - -<p>There may be a newer version of this -story in the ashes of the Alexandrian library -or beneath the ruins of Babylon, but this -has at least the freshness and luster of its -four-hundred years. Also it throws a light, -a very searchlight, on the translucent demoiselles -of today (see them shyly run to cover -at the mere mention of a searchlight.)</p> - -<p>Now we know their guilty secret. Each -of them has, hoarded away in a secret -drawer (as money in panicky times) a -roll of fine silk or voile, or panne velvet, or -crepe de chine which she is sparing from the -scissors till the Wheel of Fashion shall oscillate -with less fury. Then she will put away -the skimpy, flimsy makeshift garments of -transformed window curtains and bath towels,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -converted <i>robes de nuit</i> and remnants of -net or chiffon she has been vainly trying to -hide behind—and then—then alas, we shall -see her no more!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face2.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="OUR_LEISURE_CLASS">OUR LEISURE CLASS</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">Once—and not so terribly long ago at -that—we used to be very fond of telling -ourselves (and our visitors from Europe) -that in America we have no Leisure -Class.</p> - -<p>That there were people of leisure in our -midst, we could not deny, though we preferred -to call them idle rich, but as for -a special class whose whole business in life -was to abstain from all useful activity—oh, -no!</p> - -<p>Even our idle rich, unblest as they are -with the hereditary gift for idling, and untaught -save by a brief generation or two of -acquired experience, find the profession of -Leisure a strenuous not to say noisy task,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -for while those to the leisure born know -by the very feel of it that the habit of idleness -is a perfect fit, the newly-idle must -look for confirmation in the mirror of public -admiration; hence Publicity, the blare of -the Sunday Supplement.</p> - -<p>But taken as a class our idle rich (though -it is being rapidly licked or lick-spittled -into shape) is at best an amateur aristocracy -of leisure. For the real thing, for -the genuine hunting, sporting, leisure-loving -American aristocracy, we must go -back to the aboriginal Red Man.</p> - -<p>And how the busybody Puritan hated the -Indian! With his air of well-bred taciturnity, -his love of sport, of rest, of nature, and -his belief in a happy Hereafter, the noble -Red Man was in every respect his hateful -opposite, yet if any Pilgrim brother had -dared even to hint that the Indian might -have points of superiority it would have -been the flaming woodpile for him, or something -equally disagreeable in the purifying -way.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> - -<p>How different it might have been!</p> - -<p>If only the Puritan had been less stuck up -and self-righteous, the Red Man less reserved! -If they could but have understood -that Nature intended them for each other, -these opposites, these complements of each -other.</p> - -<p>Why else had Nature brought them together -from the ends of the earth?</p> - -<p>But alas, Eugenics had not yet been invented -and the Puritan and the Indian just -naturally hated each other at first sight and -so (like many another match-maker) -Mother Nature slipped up in her calculations, -and a wonderful flower of racial possibility -was forever nipped in the bud.</p> - -<p>If the Puritan, with his piety and thrift -and domesticity and his doctrine of election -and the Noble Red Man, with his love of -paint and syncopated music and dancing -and belief in a happy Hereafter, had overcome -their mutual prejudices and instead -of warring with flintlocks and tomahawks,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -had pursued each other with engagement -rings and marriage licenses, what a grand -and glorious race we might be today!</p> - -<p>What a land of freedom might be ours!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face3.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="CONCERNING_REVOLVING">CONCERNING REVOLVING -DOORS.</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">There has been some discussion of late -as to the etiquette of the revolving -door. When a man accompanied by a -woman is about to be revolved in it, which -should go first? Some think the man should -precede the woman furnishing the motive -power, while she follows idly in the next -compartment. Others hold that the rule -“Ladies first” can have no exception, therefore -the man must stand aside and let the -female of his species do the rough work of -starting the door’s revolution while the man, -coming after, keeps it going and stops it -at the right moment.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Starting something” is perhaps of all -pastimes in the world the one most popular -with the sex we are accustomed to call the -gentle sex; one might almost say that “starting -something” is Woman’s prerogative; on -the other hand there is nothing on earth so -abhorrent to that same gentle sex as the -thing that is called Consistency; and though -she may be perfectly charmed to start a -revolution in South America, or in silk pajamas, -or suffrage, or the rearing of children -it does not follow that she will take kindly -to the idea of starting the revolution of a -revolving door.</p> - -<p>As for the rule “Ladies first,” its application -to the etiquette of doors in general -(as distinguished from the revolving variety) -is purely a matter of geography. In -some European countries it is the custom, -when entering a room, for the man to precede -the woman, and if it be a closed street -or office door, the man will open it and following -the door inward, hold the door open -while she passes in. If the door opens outward<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -the woman naturally enters first, since -her companion must remain outside to hold -the door open.</p> - -<p>The American rule compelling the woman -to precede her escort when entering a room -or building doubtless originated with our -ancestor the cave-man.</p> - -<p>On returning to his Apartment with his -wife after a hunting expedition Mr. Hairy -K. Stoneaxe would say with a persuasive -Neolithic smile (and gentle shove) “After -you my dear,” being rewarded for his politeness -by advance information as to whether -there were Megatheriums or Loxolophodons -or an ambuscade of jealous rivals lurking -in the darkness of his stone-upholstered -sitting-room.</p> - -<p>By all means let the lady go first; by so -doing we pay the homage that is due to her -sex and even though there are no Megatheriums -of Loxolophodons in these days—there -<i>may</i> be burglars! Only in the case of a door -that must be opened inwards would I suggest -an amendment. What more lamentable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -sight than that of a gentle lady squeezing -precariously through a half-opened door -while her escort, determined that though -they both perish in the attempt, she shall -go first, reaches awkwardly past her shoulder -in the frantic endeavor to push back the -heavy self-closing door while at the same -time contorting the rest of his person into -the smallest possible compass that she may -have room to pass without disaster to her -ninety-dollar hat, not to speak of her elbows -and shins.</p> - -<p>How much happier—and happiness is the -mainspring of etiquette—they would be, -this same pair, if (with a possible “allow me” -to calm her fears) the escort should push -boldly the door to its widest openness and -holding it thus with one hand behind his -back, with the other press his already removed -hat against his heart as the lady -grateful and unruffled sweeps majestically -by.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face4.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="BOLSHEVISM_FOR_BABIES">BOLSHEVISM FOR BABIES</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“That babies don’t commit such crimes as forgery is true,</div> -<div class="verse">But little sins develop, if you leave them to accrue;</div> -<div class="verse">For anything you know, they’ll represent, if you’re alive,</div> -<div class="verse">A burglary or murder at the age of thirty-five.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="dropcap">When W. S. Gilbert wrote these -lines, he stated in an amusing way -a great truth, for the doctrine of infant depravity -and original sin thus lightly touched -upon is, when stripped of its Calvinistic -mummery, a recognized scientific verity.</p> - -<p>I sometimes think that if the “highbrow” -mothers who turn to books by long-haired -professors with retreating chins for advice -in child training, should study instead the -nonsensical wisdom of Gilbert’s book, they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -would derive more benefit therefrom. At -least it would do them (and their children) -no harm.</p> - -<p>I wish as much as that could be said of a -book I have lately come across entitled -“Practical Child Training,” by Ray C. -Beery (Parent’s Association). So far from -harmless it is, in my opinion, a more fitting -title for it would be “Bolshevism for -Babies.”</p> - -<p>Obedience, says the author, “is your corner-stone. -Therefore lay it carefully.” -And this is how it is laid: “<i>While you are -teaching the child the first lessons in correct -obedience, do not give any commands either -in the lesson or outside except those which -the child will be sure to obey willingly.</i>”</p> - -<p>Obedience is to be taught by wheedling -and cajolery, which lessons the clever child -will apply in later life as bribery and corruption. -The author denies this in Book -I, p. 130, but his denial is so curious it deserves -quoting: “<i>You would entirely vitiate -its principles if in giving this lesson you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -should state it to the child like this: ‘If you -do not do thus and so, I will give you no -candy.</i>’” Then on the same page: “<i>While -the thought of candy in the child’s mind -causes him to obey, yet the lesson is planned -in such a way that you are not buying obedience.</i>”</p> - -<p>The “five principles of discipline” are embodied -in the following story: The father -of a boy sees him and two other boys throwing -apples through a barn window, two of -whose panes had been broken. To make a -long story short, the parent, instead of reproving -his offspring, says: “Good shot, -Bob! Do you see that post over there? See -if you can hit it two out of three times.” “It -would have been unwise for that father -(adds the author of “Practical Child Training”) -to say, ‘I’d rather you’d not throw -at that window opening—can’t you sling at -something else?’ The latter remark would -suggest that the window was the best target -and the boys would have been dissatisfied at -having to stop throwing at it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> - -<p>The inference that the boys only needed -the father’s objection to an act on their part -to convince them that it was a desirable -act would be ludicrous if it weren’t so immoral.</p> - -<p>If you ask me which disgusts me most, -the Father or his sons, I should reply without -a moment’s hesitation—the Author of -the book!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face5.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="THE_TUTTI-FRUTTI_TREE">THE TUTTI-FRUTTI TREE</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">When the author of the most famous -Love Song ever written, cried, -“There is no new thing under the sun,” -cigarettes, chewing-gum, the thermos-bottle -and the “snapper” for fastening ladies’ -frocks—(an indispensable thing when one -has several hundred wives)—were yet to be -invented.</p> - -<p>Neither so far as we can learn, had Solomon -who knew and could address in its own -language every flower and tree in existence, -ever heard of the Tutti-Frutti Tree.</p> - -<p>There is to my certain belief only one tree -in existence answering to that name, and I -christened it myself. I am its Godfather.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> - -<p>In the heartmost heart of the fruitful -Paradise of New Jersey stands a small but -ancient stone cottage that has come to regard -me as its lord, and on Squire Williams’ -estate, whose verdant acres lie just outside -my garden fence, grows the Tutti-Frutti -Tree.</p> - -<p>Once it was a young Apple Tree. It is -still young, but as the result of a series of -sap transfusions it is also several other -kinds of tree, and when it grows up it will -bear apples, quinces, two kinds of pears, -peaches and, I believe, plums—almost -everything in fact except Water Melons.</p> - -<p>Some day a future Stevenson will immortalize -it in verse something after this fashion,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>The Tutti-Frutti Tree so bright,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>It gives me fruit with all its might,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Apples, peaches, pears and quinces,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>I’m sure we should all be happy as princes.</i></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>It’s quite absurd, of course, but just suppose -the Tree of Knowledge in that First -Garden has been a Tutti-Frutti Tree instead -of an Apple Tree! With seven separate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -kinds of fruit to choose from, all -equally forbidden and, for that reason, -equally desirable, how could Eve ever have -decided which one to pluck?</p> - -<p>And with Eve’s hesitation Sin would have -been lost to the world!</p> - -<p>Let us give thanks that the Tree of -Knowledge of Good and Evil was <i>not</i> a -Tutti-Frutti Tree.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face6.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="THOSE_BILL-BOARDS">THOSE BILL-BOARDS</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">Every now and again, generally when -the warm weather is upon us, somebody -or other starts a heated discussion -about something that is of no particular interest -to anybody.</p> - -<p>This time it is Mr. Joseph Pennell, the -artist, who wails and gnashes his pen about -the terrible bill-board and advertising pictures -that deface the public buildings and -thoroughfares of American cities and the -public scenery of the American countryside.</p> - -<p>If my opinion were asked I should be -tempted to quote the gentle answer with -which the late William D. Howells was wont<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -to turn away argument, and say to Mr. Pennell, -“I think perhaps you are partly right.”</p> - -<p>But since I am not on Mr. Pennell’s list -of great American artists, a list, by the way -that contains only two names, I am free to -say what I really think, and that is that if -the dear old familiar “Ads” were suddenly -to disappear from the streets and cars, I -should miss them very much.</p> - -<p>Perhaps I have acquired a taste for them -as the dweller near a street railroad first endures, -then tolerates, and at last becomes so -completely habituated to the roaring of -wheels and the clang of metal that he is unable -to sleep without their soothing lullaby.</p> - -<p>Soothing—that’s what they are, these advertising -pictures. They soften the underground -torment of travel in the Subway, -they take the place of the scenery which beguiles -the tedium of ordinary travel, and at -least they are, as a rule, more interesting to -contemplate than the people in the opposite -seat. Those people are strangers, the people -in the advertisement panels are, many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -of them, old friends, friends met in other -cars in other cities. Mr. Pennell no doubt -would like to see them thrown off the train, -but I am always glad to meet them again, -and to some of them, with whom I have a -sort of informal bowing acquaintance, I -mentally take off my hat.</p> - -<p>One amiable gentleman in particular I -always look for and hail with delight when -I find myself sitting opposite to him. He -is an Italian, I take it, from his appearance, -and from Naples, to judge by his accent, -which, though I have never heard his voice, is -depicted as plainly as the nose on his face.</p> - -<p>Neither do I know his name, but I call -him Signor Pizzicato, for it is quite evident -that nature intended him for an Operatic -career. How he ever came to be a barber, -I cannot imagine. Perhaps he sang in the -Barber of Seville and lost his voice and became -a realist, as some painters lose their -sense of form and become cubists or futurists. -Whatever he should have been or -might have been or was, a barber is what he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -is now, and I gaze upon him in fascination -as with a priceless gesture of thumb and -forefinger (as if he should pluck an individual -mote from a sunbeam) he extols to his -customer and to you, the bouquet so ravishing -of the hair tonic he holds in his other -hand, on the sale of which he presumably -receives a large commission.</p> - -<p>Then there is that delightful little Miss -clad in airy next-to-nothings—but no, on -second thought I shall not introduce you to -her. I fear she is not to be trusted. The -last time I sat opposite to her in a street-car -in Cleveland—(or was it in Buffalo)—she -caused me to go five blocks past my destination -which happened to be a railway station, -so that I was two blocks late for my train.</p> - -<p>All I will tell you about her, gentle reader, -is that she has fringed gentian eyes with a -look in them that says quite plainly nothing -would gratify her more than to play the -same trick upon you.</p> - -<p>All this chatter, I am aware, has nothing -to do with Art, that is to say the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -“Art of Painting”; that large, severe-looking -female you sometimes see crouched in -an uncomfortable position on a still more -uncomfortable cornice of a public building, -wearing a laurel wreath and a granite peplum, -and holding in her hand a huge stone -palette.</p> - -<p>But sometimes this severe female climbs -down from her stone perch and takes a day -off, Coney Island-wise, on the billboards -and street cars, and then if she is not always -at her best, she is often very amusing.</p> - -<p>And just because a goddess isn’t stuck -up it doesn’t prove that she isn’t a goddess—does -it?</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face7.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="THE_LURE_OF_THE_AD">THE LURE OF THE “AD”</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">Kipling once, when sojourning in a -far country, complained bitterly of the -thoughtlessness of his friends at home in -sending him a batch of magazines shorn (to -save postage) of all the advertisements. -Which shows that the most grown-up of -artists may still have the heart of a child.</p> - -<p>For my part, if I were forced to make -choice between the advertising pages and the -reading matter (so-called), I should in nine -periodicals out of ten choose the former.</p> - -<p>To the grown-up child the advertising -section of the magazine takes the place of -the Shop-Window of infancy through -which, with bulging eyes and mouth agape,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -like some mazed minnow staring at the submerged -Rhine-Gold, he once gazed at the -tinsel treasure so bitterly beyond his penny’s -reach.</p> - -<p>And now, just as far out of reach as ever, -in the display-window of the advertising -page, the grown-up child gazes at the miraculous -Motor-Car gliding, velvet shod, -through palmy solitudes reflecting the rays -of the setting sun with a splendor out-Solomoning -Solomon.</p> - -<p>Or the “Home Beautiful,” constructed -throughout of selected materials of distinctive -quality, and roofed with spark-proof -shingles of the most refined pastel tints, -“<i>just the home you have dreamed about at -a price that will dumfound you! Enclose -this coupon with your order.</i>”</p> - -<p>Again it is the magical cabinet that -brings into your very lap as it were the -Galli-Curci, the Tetrazzini or any other -“ini,” “owski” or “elli” it may please your -fancy to pick from its golden perch in the -operatic aviary.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> - -<p>And what a relief to turn from the -magazine pictures of the slick-haired hero -and the slinky heroine of fiction (perpetually -<i>vis-à-vis</i> yet always looking past -each other)—to turn from these to the very -attractive, intelligent-looking girls of the advertising -pages, girls exquisitely coiffed, -gowned and silk-hosed and ever happily employed -in some useful task: this one (in the -Paquin “trottoir” of mouse-colored voile) -joyously propelling a vacuum-cleaner, this -(in the afternoon toilette of tricolette) mixing -the ingredients for a custard pie in a -forget-me-not-blue Wedgwood bowl, and -this, not less lovely than either of her sisters, -polishing a bathtub with some magic powder -till it glistens like a Childs’ restaurant.</p> - -<p>Now, any one of these dear girls, on her -face alone—not to mention her graceful carriage -and delicately moulded stockings—might -without the least effort in the world -have obtained a position as a Star in a Musical -Comedy—with her picture in the <i>Cosmopolitan</i> -or <i>Vanity Fair</i> at least once a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -fortnight—but she prefers the simple household -task, the vacuum cleaner, the spotless oil-stove, -the shining bathtub to the plaudits -of the masses.</p> - -<p>And this is only one of the many lessons -that are to be learned from the advertising -pages. Who can look at the busy little -Dutch lady in the blue frock and white cap -and apron, stick in hand, chasing the Demon -Dirt in street cars, subway and elevated stations, -billboards and electric signs, all over -town, all over the continent for that matter—who -can look at the determined back of -that fierce little lady (no one has ever seen -her face, save the Demon) without inwardly -swearing that wherever Demon Dirt may -show his face, whether it be on the stage, the -picture screen or the printed page of fiction -he will do unto him even as doth the Little -Dutch Lady with the big stick—</p> - -<p>Or is it a rolling pin?</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face8.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="LOOK_BEFORE_SHE_LEAPS">LOOK BEFORE SHE LEAPS</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">The Fourteenth of February in Leap -Year is a dread-letter day for the -shrinking bachelor and the shy (wife-shy) -grass widower.</p> - -<p>The butterfly-winged statue of Femininity -that, for three happy leapless years, he -worshiped from a safe distance (at the foot -of its pedestal), has come to life, has climbed -down from its vestal perch, changed fearfully -from cool quiet marble to something -of the consistency of warm india rubber—from -an adorable image to—the female of -the species.</p> - -<p>And with all the term implies. The butterfly -wings of Psyche, iridescent, like rainbows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -reflected on mother-of-pearl, have -shrivelled and blackened into the umbrella-ribbed -wings of the vampire and the petalled -lips from which could only be thought to -issue the maidenly negative “yes” or the -melting affirmative “no”—are twisted into -little scarlet snakes that hiss, “Kisssss me my -fool!”</p> - -<p>“Look before she leaps!” is the Leap-Year -slogan of the shrinking Bachelor, and -it is a perfectly splendid motto, as mottoes -go.</p> - -<p>But a motto is like a cure for a cold which -is only good to cure a cold that has not yet -been caught, and the shrinking one is already -as good as caught and his perfectly -splendid slogan is of no more use than an -icebox to an Esquimaux or a fur coat in -Hell.</p> - -<p>The Leap-Year Bachelor’s only hope is to -feign death. Like the Bear in Æsop, the -Female of the Species Human has no use -for any but a “live one.”</p> - -<p>If he flees he is lost—(or found, according<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -to whether the speech be given to the male or -the female actor of the scene,)—and if he be -a grass widower, he is made hay while the -sun shines.</p> - -<p>Now whether Providence intended the instinct -of flight for the preservation of the -hunted one or as a stimulus to the hunter, -will never be known. With wolves and -tigers it works both ways, but with the leap-year -“Vamp” it works pretty much only one -way.</p> - -<p>And so the gentle bachelor flees and is -caught and is lived upon happily ever -after⸺</p> - -<div class="dotbreak">. . . .</div> - -<p>To see a statue come to life must be a -terrifying spectacle. Ovid’s tale of Pygmalion -and Galatea is only for those who -get their ideas about artists from magazines -to the vacuity of whose contents the -face of the girl on the cover may well serve -as an index.</p> - -<p>I am quite certain that when Pygmalion -saw his perfect marble (perfect to him anyway)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -turn to imperfect flesh and blood, the -completed result of months of hard work obliterated—undone—as -if it had never been—and -in its place “just a girl,” very sweet -and lovely and all that—but compared to -his statue—oh no!</p> - -<p>And that is looking at it from its brightest -“angle” (as the motion-picture intellectuals -say). As a matter of fact, judging from -the agonizing sensation of the human leg -(or arm) when rudely awakened from -dreamless slumber, the process of transmutation -from senseless stone to pulsating -flesh must be a very painful one indeed. -However pleasing the countenance of the -living Galatea might be under normal conditions -its expression of mingled bewilderment, -rage and physical anguish must have -been disconcerting, not to say terrifying, to -the sensitive soul of the sculptor, and anything -but consoling for the loss of his hard-won -and cherished handiwork.</p> - -<p>I can picture Pygmalion fleeing madly -from his studio, not even waiting for the elevator<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -and vowing by all the gods, then administrating -human affairs, never again to -make a wish without touching wood or at -least crossing his fingers.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face9.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="THE_LOW_COST_OF_CABBING">THE LOW COST OF CABBING</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">In the last ten years or so all the necessaries -and most of the luxuries of life -have more than doubled in cost—all but one—the -Cab—or to be more accurate, the -Taxi-cab.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it is because a cab is quite as -often a necessity as it is a luxury and so -falls between two schools, the Stoic and Epicurean, -that it is an exception to the rule of -rising cost.</p> - -<p>Did I say rising cost? If I am not very -much mistaken the cost of cabbing, so far -from not rising <i>has actually fallen</i> in the last -ten years, and that brings me to my great invention.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> - -<p>It is a scheme for saving money, a Thrift -scheme. It is like this—Every time you -take a street-car (what with the dislocated -service and the abolition of transfers) you -are paying nearly twice what you used to -pay, and soon you will be paying even more.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, a trip that in a hackney -cab, fifteen years ago, cost you a dollar-fifty, -today in a taxicab costs you only -seventy-five cents.</p> - -<p>Now make a swift calculation—</p> - -<p>If you take six cars a day you lose thirty -cents. A loss of thirty cents a day doesn’t -seem very much, but in a year, it amounts -to a loss of $109.50 which is not to be treated -lightly.</p> - -<p>Now if you take six Taxis at an average -cost of, say two dollars per trip, you are -saving (let me see, six times two) twelve -dollars a day and twelve dollars a day is four -thousand three hundred and eighty dollars -a year, which added to the $109.50 you have -saved by not riding in street-cars makes a -grand total of $4489.50! And this is only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -what you save by taking six cabs a day. If -you took twice as many cabs <i>you would save -twice that amount</i>, and if you increased your -cabbage to one hundred per diem (a day) -your savings for the first year would amount -to $448,950.50—nearly half a million dollars!</p> - -<p>Go over my figures carefully with your -wife when she returns from business this evening—It -is a live proposition—Think -it over!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face10.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="THE_GREAT_MATCH-BOX">THE GREAT MATCH-BOX MYSTERY</h2> - -<h3>PART ONE</h3> - -<p>I wonder—has any one ever made a -psychoanalytical study of the habits of -the Match-box family?</p> - -<p>By Match-box family I mean the yellow -and black, self-sufficient variety that arrive -from the grocer in packages of a dozen and -are at once torn apart and distributed (like -kittens or missionaries) to every point of the -compass.</p> - -<p>Each box has its own special territory, and -there it should stand, ready to the last -match for any sudden emergency, such as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -the re-animation of the just-gone-out pipe, -or the finding of the eyeglasses in the dark -that their owner may be able to read the -time on his radium-faced wrist-watch, or a -thousand and one things.</p> - -<p>There are indeed a thousand and one -good and sufficient reasons (apart from its -being its plain duty) why a match-box -should always be on the job, and like the -thousand and one cures for rheumatism not -one of them (unless it be a horse-chestnut -in the pocket) can be relied upon to work.</p> - -<p>I sometimes think “a thousand and one” -must be an unlucky number.</p> - -<p>The greater the need of its services the -less likely is the match-box to be in that particular -place where any number of witnesses -will testify upon oath they had seen it only a -moment before.</p> - -<p>What is the strikeology of it? Have -match-boxes that perverted sense of humor -that finds expression in practical jokes? -No, it is nothing like that. Would that it -were! It is something less easy to explain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -It is something sinister—something rather -frightening.</p> - -<div class="dotbreak">. . . .</div> - -<p>I am a devout reader of detective stories -and with much study of their methods -have come to regard myself as something of -a sleuth, in a purely theoretic way of course; -nevertheless I have always hoped some day -to put my theories to the test, and here was -the chance. <i>I would find out where the -match-boxes go</i>, I would follow their trail -to the bitter end, even if it led to the door of -the White House itself!</p> - -<div class="dotbreak">. . . .</div> - -<p>First I made a careful blue-print plan of -the flat in which I (and the match-boxes) -live, marking plainly in red ink all the doors, -windows, fire-escapes (fire-escapes are most -important); dumbwaiters, closets, trapdoors -(there weren’t any but I put them in to -make it more professional); then—but why -go into all the thousand and—there’s that -unlucky number again—the thousand and -two minute and uninteresting details? You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -would only skip them and turn to the last -paragraph to end the horrible suspense and -learn at once what I discovered. * * *</p> - -<h3>PART TWO</h3> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><i>Synopsis of Previous Chapter.</i> Having -observed that Match-boxes, placed in every -room of the house, invariably disappear in -a few hours, the narrator resolves to solve -the mystery even though the trail should -lead straight to the White House in Washington. -Accordingly he makes a plan of -all the rooms, closets, etc., and searches -every possible hiding-place, but no trace -of the Match-boxes is found.</p> - -</div> - -<p>What can have become of them! I have -searched every corner of every room in -the house—Stay! There is one room I have -overlooked—the Haunted Room in the West -Corridor, haunted by the ghosts of dead -cigarettes, unfinished poems and murdered -ideas. It is my study (or studio, as the occasion -may be). With trembling hand on -the porcelain door-knob, I pause to recall -the secret combination.</p> - -<p>In vain I rack my brain to remember the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -secret combination of my study door. Then -suddenly it flashes upon me that long ago I -wrote it down in the address book I carried -in my pocket.</p> - -<p>There are twelve pockets in the suit I am -wearing. Fearfully I go through the twelve -pockets and many are the lost treasures and -forgotten-to-mail letters I find, but no Address -Book! Wait! there is still another -pocket! One I never use—<span class="smcapuc">THE THIRTEENTH -POCKET</span>!</p> - -<p>With the deliberation of despair I empty -the Thirteenth Pocket of its contents—a -broken cigarette, two amalgamated postage -stamps, a device for cleaning pipe bowls, -some box-checks for <i>The Famous Mrs. Fair</i>, -four rubber bands, a fragment of an Erie -time-table and—the Address Book!</p> - -<p>On the last page of the Address Book is -the Combination, written in a pale Greek -cipher, but still legible, grasping the porcelain -door-knob firmly between my thumb -and four fingers I scan the cipher eagerly. -De-coded, it reads as follows—<i>Twist knob<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -to the right as far as possible and push door.</i></p> - -<div class="dotbreak">. . . .</div> - -<p>With heart beating like a typewriter I -obeyed the directions to the letter, and to my -intense relief the door yielded and in another -moment I was in the room!</p> - -<p>And there, scattered over the surface of -my desk like surprised conspirators, feigning -ignorance of one another’s presence, -were twelve yellow Match-boxes!</p> - -<p>How they mastered the combination of the -door and got into the room, I shall not attempt -to explain. I am only an amateur -Detective.</p> - -<p>All I know is that Match-boxes, though -they be scattered to the ends of the house -(or World), always get together in some -one place.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it is for safety, they get together.</p> - -<p>I have always wondered why they are -called Safety Matches.</p> - -<p>Perhaps that is the reason!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face11.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="ARE_CATS_PEOPLE">ARE CATS PEOPLE?</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">If a fool be sometimes an angel unawares, -may not a foolish query be a momentous -question in disguise? For example, the old -riddle: “Why is a hen?” which is thought -by many people to be the silliest question -ever asked, is in reality the most profound. -It is the riddle of existence. It has an answer, -to be sure, but though all the wisest -men and women in the world <i>and</i> Mr. H. G. -Wells have tried to guess it, the riddle -“Why is a hen?” has never been answered -and never will be. So, too, the question: -“Are Cats People?” seemingly so trivial, -may be, under certain conditions, a question -of vital importance.</p> - -<p>Suppose, now, a rich man dies, leaving all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -his money to his eldest son, with the proviso -that a certain portion of it shall be spent -in the maintenance of his household as it -then existed, all its members to remain under -his roof, and receive the same comfort, attention, -or remuneration they had received in -his (the testator’s) lifetime. Then suppose -the son, on coming into his money, and being -a hater of cats, made haste to rid himself of -a feline pet that had lived in the family -from early kittenhood, and had been an especial -favorite of his father’s.</p> - -<p>Thereupon, the second son, being a lover -of cats and no hater of money, sues for possession -of the estate on the ground that his -brother has failed to carry out the provisions -of his father’s will, in refusing to maintain -the household cat.</p> - -<p>The decision of the case depends entirely -on the social status of the cat.</p> - -<p>Shall the cat be considered as a member -of the household? What constitutes a -household anyway?</p> - -<p>The definition of “Household” in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -Standard Dictionary is as follows: “<i>A -number of persons living under the same -roof.</i>”</p> - -<p>If cats are people, then the cat in question -is a person and a member of the household, -and for failing to maintain her and -provide her with the comfort and attention -to which she has been used, the eldest son -loses his inheritance. Having demonstrated -that the question “Are Cats People?” is anything -but a trivial one, I now propose a -court of inquiry, to settle once for all and -forever, the social status of <i>felis domesticus</i>.</p> - -<p>And I propose for the office of judge of -that court—myself!</p> - -<p>In seconding the proposal and appointing -myself judge of the court, I have been careful -to follow political precedent by taking -no account whatever of any qualifications I -may or may not have for the office.</p> - -<p>For witnesses, I summon (from wherever -they may be) two great shades, to wit: King -Solomon, the wisest man of his day, and -Noah Webster, the wordiest.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> - -<p>And I say to Mr. Webster, “Mr. Webster, -what are the common terms used to -designate a domestic feline whose Christian -name chances to be unknown to the -speaker?” and Mr. Webster answers without -a moment’s hesitation:</p> - -<p>“Cat, puss, pussy and pussy-cat.”</p> - -<p>“And what is the grammatical definition -of the above terms?”</p> - -<p>“They are called nouns.”</p> - -<p>“And what, Mr. Webster, is the accepted -definition of a noun?”</p> - -<p>“A noun is the name of a person, place or -thing.”</p> - -<p>“Kindly define the word ‘place’.”</p> - -<p>“A particular locality.”</p> - -<p>“And ‘thing’.”</p> - -<p>“An inanimate object.”</p> - -<p>“That will do, Mr. Webster.”</p> - -<p>So, according to Mr. Noah Webster, the -entity for which the noun cat stands, must, if -not a person, be a locality or an inanimate -object!</p> - -<p>A cat is surely not a locality, and as for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -being an inanimate object, her chance of -avoiding such a condition is nine times better -even than a king’s.</p> - -<p>Then a cat <i>must</i> be a person.</p> - -<p>Suppose we consult King Solomon.</p> - -<p>In the Book of Proverbs, Chapter XXX, -verse 26, Solomon says: “The coneys are but -a feeble folk, yet they make their houses in -the rocks.”</p> - -<p>A coney is a kind of rabbit; folk, according -to Mr. Webster, only another word for -people.</p> - -<p>That settles it! If the rabbits are people, -cats are people.</p> - -<p>Long lives to the cat!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face12.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="MLLE_FAUTEUIL">MLLE. FAUTEUIL</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">It is harder for a table or chair to behave -naturally on the stage than for a camel -to be free and easy in a needle’s eye, or for -Mr. Rockefeller to get into Heaven (or -Hell?) with the money.</p> - -<p>What can be more pathetic than the spectacle -of a helpless young chair or table or -settee starting on a stage career shining -with gilt varnish and high ambition to reflect -in art’s mirror the drawing-room manners -of the furniture of real life.</p> - -<p>Mlle. Fauteuil (that is her stage name, -in private life she is just plain Sofa) is -fresh, charming and of the best manufacture. -She appears nightly in a Broadway<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -theater, yet she has attracted no attention. -She has received no press notices.</p> - -<p>Certainly this is from no lack of charm on -her part. Her legs are delightful. In the -contemplation of their gilded curves, one -scarcely notices that she has no arms or that -her back is slightly curved, and her upholstery, -a brocade of the season before last.</p> - -<p>In a hushed papièr-mâché voice the property -man told me the story of Mlle. Fauteuil’s -persecution—how, at the first rehearsal -with scenery, she occupied a perfectly -proper position between the center table and -the bay window, how the Leading Lady insisted -on her being moved as she obstructed -that superior person’s path when, after writing -the letter, she crosses to the window to -see if her Husband is in the garden.</p> - -<p>Mlle. Fauteuil was then transferred to -a station between the table and the fire-place. -This was all right, until the scene between -the Husband and Wife, when the Husband -walks back and forth (quickly up stage and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -slowly down stage), <i>between the table and -the fire-place</i>.</p> - -<p>This time it was not a case of politely requesting -the intervention of the stage-manager.</p> - -<div class="dotbreak">. . . .</div> - -<p>Poor mangled Fauteuil! When she was -picked up from the orchestra pit where he -had thrown her it was found that two of her -rungs were fractured and her left castor was -broken clean off at the ankle.</p> - -<p>After half a day in the hospital without -either anesthetics, flowers or press notices, -she reappeared on the left side of the stage, -between the center table and the safe. Here -she was conspicuous and happy until it was -found that the Erring Son in his voyage -from the window to the safe, was compelled -to take a difficult step to one side to avoid -the fauteuil.</p> - -<p>Bandied from right to left, up stage and -down stage, at last Mlle. Fauteuil landed in -her present obscure position, to the right of -the stairway pillar, where, though miserably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -obscure, she interferes with nobody’s stage -business.</p> - -<p class="break">In the interior set as now played there is -only one chair with a speaking part—this -is, the Jacobean chair on which the leading -man leans when talking to the ingénue. In -the first act, it faces left so that he may -show his favorite profile. In the second act, -the chair is reversed in order that the audience -may enjoy his more popular and extensively -photographed left profile.</p> - -<p>The moral of this story is that the furniture -on the stage must never appear more -intelligent than the actors.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face13.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="MONEY_AND_FIREFLIES">MONEY AND FIREFLIES</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">Oh, yes, Money talks. We all know -that, and a very noisy talker it is and -very harsh and metallic is its accent. But -sometimes money talks in a whisper, so low -that it can hardly be heard.</p> - -<p>Then is the time it should be watched, even -if spies and dictaphones must be set upon it. -The money whose eloquence, we are told, -wished the shackles of Prohibition on this -land of the free, talked with such a “still -small voice” that everybody (except you and -me, dear Reader) mistook it for the voice of -conscience.</p> - -<p>Speaking of money perhaps you don’t -know it, but it is nevertheless true, that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -light given off by one of the many species of -Firefly is the most efficient light known, being -produced at about one four-hundredth -part of the cost of the energy which is expended -in the candle flame. That is what -William J. Hammer says in his book on -Radium, giving as his authority Professor -S. P. Langley and F. W. Very.</p> - -<p>And Sir Oliver Lodge says if the secret of -the Firefly were known, a boy turning a -crank could furnish sufficient energy to light -an entire electric circuit.</p> - -<p>But to the Casual Observer there is only -one variety of Firefly.… Like Wordsworth’s -primrose:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The Firefly with fitful glim</div> -<div class="verse">Is just a Lightning Bug to him</div> -<div class="verse">And it is nothing more.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>In reality there are almost as many different -kinds of Firefly in the United States -alone as there are varieties of the great -American Pickle.</p> - -<p>The late Professor Hagen of Harvard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -College, it is said, when enjoying the beauties -of Nature one night in the company -of the Casual Observer, was aroused from -an apparent reverie by the question “Have -you noticed the Fireflies, Professor?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” replied Professor Hagen, “I have -already counted thirteen distinct species.”</p> - -<p>Another quite different story is told of a -well-known English actress—Cecilia Loftus, -if you insist on knowing her name. It -was her first visit to America and Miss Loftus -was sitting with another Casual Observer -on the piazza of a country house whose -grounds were separated from the road by a -belt of trees.</p> - -<p>“Do you see the Fireflies?” said the Casual -Observer, pointing toward the road.</p> - -<p>“Fireflies!” exclaimed Cecilia, “why, I -thought they were hansom-cab lights!”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face14.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="CONCERNING_THE_TROUSER-CREASE">CONCERNING THE TROUSER-CREASE</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">It may perchance be questioned how long -Britannia shall continue to rule the -waves, but that she will ever cease to rule the -fashions (the male fashions, I mean) is beyond -the dreams of the boldest tailor or the -maddest hatter.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, every rule has its exception -and the Rule of Fashion is no exception to -the rule that rules that every rule has its -exception.</p> - -<p>Every once in a while, since the invention -of trousers, one or another English King -has ruled that the human trouser-crease shall -crown the Eastern and Western slope instead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -of the Northern and Southern exposure -of the trouser-leg.</p> - -<p>The law has never been considered by -Parliament, for even the most radical -House of Commons would balk at legislation -so subversive of individual freedom, but -by word of mouth, by courier, by post, by -cable, by wireless, by airplane the edict has -passed through all the nations and all the -tribes to the trousermost ends of the earth.</p> - -<p>And with what result?</p> - -<p>With no result whatever. As far as it -has been possible to push inquiry, it is safe -to say that no trouserian biped bearing the -mark of a lateral crease has been met with -in any quarter of the Globe, or, for that matter, -ever will be.</p> - -<p>Strange, is it not, that the Tailors (proverbially -the most complacent, not to say -timid, of men) should, without any plan or -program or fuss or demonstration of any -sort, unite as one man—or rather one tailor—and -refuse to obey the unlimited monarch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -of the male fashions of the civilized world. -What is the explanation?</p> - -<p>There are two explanations. One is Commercialism.</p> - -<p>There is no profit to be made out of a -change in the geography of a trouser-crease. -It is purely a matter of self-determination -on the part of the inhabitant of the trousers.</p> - -<p>If there were no more financial profit to -be gained by the remaking of the creases in -the map of Europe than is to be got out of -changing the trouser-crease, there would be -no call for a League of Nations.</p> - -<p>Should some inventive tailor (<i>inventive -tailor!</i>) devise a crease that could be woven -into the very being of the Trouser, then it -would be a very different matter. The -slightest variation in the location of the -crease would cause an upheaval in the (I’m -tired of the word Trouser)—in the “Pant” -market that would mean millions of dollars -to the trade.</p> - -<p>As it is there is no money in it.</p> - -<p>The other explanation is that the story of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -King Edward or King George creasing -the Royal Pants in any but the usual place -is made out of whole cloth.</p> - -<p>But let us suppose for a moment (just -for the fun of the thing) that in some possible -scheme or caprice of creation there -<i>were</i> such a thing as an inventive tailor.</p> - -<p>And the inventive tailor invented a permanent -trouser-crease and planted it on the -Eastern and Western frontiers of the trouser-legs.</p> - -<p>What would be the probable effect of the -innovation on the trouser-bearing species of -the human race?</p> - -<p>In that process of advancing alternate -trouser-legs we call locomotion do we not -consciously, or unconsciously, follow in the -direction indicated by the point of the -crease?</p> - -<p>What then would happen if the crease -were transferred from the front to the sides?</p> - -<p>The Crab alone of all living creatures exhibits -in its legs a formation that corresponds -to the human trouser-crease.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> - -<p>This ridge-like formation or crease occurs -in the <i>side</i> of the Crab’s legs, not in the -front as in the human species!</p> - -<p>And the slogan of the Crab (as everyone -knows) is, “First make sure you’re right -<i>and then go sideways</i>.”</p> - -<p>Shall we too go sideways?</p> - -<p class="break">Charlie Chaplin is the only human creature -whose feet go East and West as his -face travels North and his trouser-creases -are so complicated it would be difficult to -classify them.</p> - -<p>Perhaps they hold the secret of his centrifugal -orientation, his inexplicable fascination.</p> - -<p>Who knows!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face15.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="AN_OLD-FASHIONED_HEAVEN">AN OLD-FASHIONED HEAVEN</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">We have to thank an Anglican clergyman, -the Rev. G. Vale Owen, for -the latest description of the Future Life of -our species. Impelled by a “gentle, steady -but accumulative force” this good man became -the unwilling amanuensis of the spirit -of his mother and “other friends” and has -written a description of the houses, trees, -bridges, gardens and people of the other -world and their occupations that could -scarcely be improved upon by the most imaginative -motion-picture photographer, or -mechanic or scrub-woman or whoever it may -be that writes the scenarios.</p> - -<p>We of this world are still, after many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -thousand years of waiting, eager for the -faintest ray of light that may be thrown -on the actual conditions of what we call -“the world to come,” or as the Spiritists -love to say, “behind the veil,” but for the -tawdry imaginings of the Reverend Mr. -Owen the “Veil” serves only as an opaque -screen upon whose surface they flicker grotesquely -like the disorderly apparitions of -a cinema projection.</p> - -<p>As a Seer this reverend gentleman, without -for a moment questioning his sincerity, -is a failure; his narrative, is childish in its -crudity and tedious as a dream told at the -breakfast table.</p> - -<p>One thing, however, is interesting, and -that is to trace as we do, through the transcendental -claptrap of “rainbow brides” -and white-winged angels and the pseudo-scientific -jargon of “planes,” “vibrations,” -“spheres,” and “fourth dimension,” the—shall -I say humanizing—influence of the -cinema.</p> - -<p>For the first time we learn that there are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -bath tubs in the Heavenly Mansions—Bathtubs! -With hot and cold water, and Dr. -Owen does not stop at bathtubs; he assures -us there are also—don’t faint—<i>water -nymphs</i>! Can’t you see all Israel clamoring -for the picture rights!</p> - -<p>Imagine the angelic shade of St. Anthony -or Mr. Spurgeon coming unexpectedly upon -a school of water nymphs!</p> - -<p>And how is this for a motion-picture -“fade out”?</p> - -<p>“<i>As we knelt the whole summit of the hill -seemed to become transparent—we saw -right through it and a part of the regions -below was brought out with distinctness. -The scene we saw was a dry and barren -plain in semi-darkness and standing, leaning -against a rock, was a man of large -stature.</i>”</p> - -<p>I strongly suspect that the Reverend Mr. -Vale Owen is, like myself (to my shame -confess it), a motion-picture fan!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face2.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="ANOTHER_LOST_ART">ANOTHER LOST ART</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">These are mournful days for the Polite -Arts. One by one they are passing -away—the Art of Conversation, the Art -of Paying Calls, the Art of Letter Writing.</p> - -<p>The Art of Conversation is no longer -even a subject for conversation. No one -so much as remembers of what it died. Did -it languish and fade away into an Eternal -Pause as such a dignified gentleman of -the old school as the Art of Conversation -would be expected to do—or was it murdered?</p> - -<p>The mystery surrounding the death of -the Art of Conversation has never been -properly cleared up. Some think it died of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> -heart failure induced by the killing modern -pace. Others say it starved to death. Others -again, that it was done to death by -the chewing-gum trust. For my part, I -believe the Art of Conversation talked itself -to death. It died of obesity—it grew and -grew and grew until, when all the world -talked there was nobody left to listen. Then -it burst.</p> - -<p>No such mystery hangs about the death -of the Art of Paying Calls. Here it was -a case of plain every-day murder—and -what is more, the murderer still lives. Millions -of electric volts are pumped into him -every day, but he still lives—the more electricity -we give him the livelier he grows. -He is the Telephone, and the Telephone is -the murderer of the Art of Calling.</p> - -<p>Poor old Art of Calling! We shake our -heads and murmur perfunctory regrets—“good -old chap,” and all that sort of thing, -but really in our heart of hearts, let me whisper -it very low—we don’t really miss him -very much; to tell the truth, we are rather,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -that is to say, <i>quite</i> glad he is dead. If -anyone of us had had the courage of his -conviction he would have killed him long -ago. To speak plainly, the Art of Calling -was a pestiferous tyrant—and he only got -what he deserved.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face3.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="MR_CHESTERTON_AND_THE">MR. CHESTERTON AND THE -SOLILOQUY</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">“I often talk to myself,” says Mr. G. -K. Chesterton, speaking in defense of -the stage soliloquy. “If a man does not talk -to himself it is because he is not worth talking -to.”</p> - -<p>The deduction is obvious, but it is based -upon false premises. If Mr. Chesterton is -worth talking to, it is certainly not because -he talks to himself. It is impossible to -imagine a more foolish waste of energy than -that expended in talking to one’s self. The -man who talks to himself is twice damned -(as a fool). First, for wasting speech on -an auditor who knows in advance every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -word he will utter. Second, for listening to -a speaker whose every word he can foretell -before it is uttered.</p> - -<p>Mr. Chesterton’s argument, failing as it -does to prove that he is worth talking to, -is still less happy as a defense of the stage -soliloquy.</p> - -<p>A character in a play talks to himself not, -as Mr. Chesterton would have us believe, -because he is worth talking to, but to enlighten -the audience on points which the inexpert -playwright has otherwise failed to -make plain.</p> - -<p>The stage soliloquy is only permissible as -an indication of the character of one who -talks to himself in real life. For instance, -if I wished to dramatize G. K. Chesterton, -since he often talks to himself, I should have -him soliloquize upon the stage. I might -make it a double part with two Mr. Chestertons -dressed as the two Dromios. As a -stage device the soliloquy is only a confession -of weakness on the part of the playwright,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -and has been justly sentenced to -death.</p> - -<p>Its only hope for a reprieve is to retain -(at great expense) an ex-president or an -eminent K. C. who might argue that since -the “fourth wall” of a stage interior is -removed in order that the audience may -view the actions of the players, it is therefore -permissible to remove the “fourth wall” -of the players’ heads so that the audience -may view the action of their brains.</p> - -<p>And the ex-president or the eminent K. -C. would probably “get away with it.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face4.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="BUNK">BUNK</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">When Alexander the Great cut with -his sword the Gordian Knot, which -had baffled all his efforts to untie with -honest fingers, it goes without saying that -his impudent performance received the applause -of the onlookers.</p> - -<p>As he stood there, his heavy sword still -swaying from the impetus of the stroke and -exclaimed with a challenging glare at those -before him (and belike an apprehensive -glance over his shoulder), “Did I or did I -not untie that knot?”—whatever might—nay, -must have been the unspoken comment -that passed from eye to eye, the answer -shouted in unison, was without a shadow of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -a doubt the Phrygian equivalent of “You -sure did!”</p> - -<p>For the Great God Bunk (whose worshipers -are born at the rate of one a minute) -is as old as the world itself; and since we -have it on good authority that the world is -a stage, even though we do not suspect him -of a hand in its making, we know the old -rogue assisted at the first dress rehearsal -famous for all time for the smallness of the -cast and the inexpensiveness of the costuming.</p> - -<p>King Gordius, whose genius contrived the -unpickable knot, is now comfortably forgotten, -while Alexander who destroyed what he -could not understand, still enjoys uneasy -immortality; for what is immortality at best -but the suspended sentence of Oblivion?</p> - -<p>And the knot? The hempen hieroglyph -that was never solved. When oblivion has -overtaken Alexander and even the name of -Gordius is forgotten, the world, which is -surprisingly young for its age, will still babble<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -wonderingly of the knot that never was -and never will be untied.</p> - -<p>Another high priest of the Great God -Bunk was Christopher Columbus, and on -how frail a foundation rests his immortal -fame—nothing more than the fragile, calcareous -container, (and fractured at that) -of an unborn domestic fowl.</p> - -<p>Unquestionably the fame of Columbus -rests upon his impudent pretense of balancing -an egg by crushing it violently upon the -table. To be sure, Columbus also discovered -America, but in that he was only one of -a multitude. At that moment in the world’s -history the discovering of America was, like -golf, something between a sport and an obsession, -everybody was discovering America. -So common was it, that only a few of the discoverers -are remembered by name, and had -it not been for his famous egg-balancing -fraud the name of Christopher Columbus -would surely be among the forgotten ones.</p> - -<p>To balance an egg on its apex—though -not impossible, is a tedious and dispiriting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -task; and even if Columbus had accomplished -it honestly without fracturing the -shell, so far from adding to his laurels he -might have lost them altogether. Queen -Isabella would never have had the patience -to sit through so long and boresome a performance, -and when the Queen leaves, you -know the performance is over.</p> - -<p>Indeed, it is quite thinkable that it was -the dread of just such an ending to his audience -and the resultant stage fright reacting -upon an excitable sea-faring nature that -caused Columbus to break the egg.</p> - -<p>The question now asks itself: Has Christopher -Columbus, posing as a clever impostor -when in reality only a stage-frightened -bungler, obtained his fame under false pretenses? -In unmasking his clandestine honesty -do we but prove him the greater fraud? -Bunk only knows!</p> - -<p>Queen Dido of Carthage, on the other -hand, came by her dishonesty quite honestly—she -inherited it from her royal father’s -sister Jezebel.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yes, Jezebel, the patron sinner of half a -world of womankind, was Queen Dido’s -aunt. Good or bad, what was her Aunt -Jezebel’s was also Dido’s by right of inheritance. -And none of all the prophets of -the Great God Bunk was greater than this -prophetess.</p> - -<p>Did she not for certain moneys receive -the title to so much land as might be compassed -by the bigness of a bull’s hide.</p> - -<p>She did.</p> - -<p>Did she not then carve said bull’s hide into -fine strips and therewith enclose enough real -estate for the foundation of the city of -Carthage?</p> - -<p>She did.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face14.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="THE_COST_OF_A_PYRAMID">THE COST OF A PYRAMID</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">If you were suddenly asked, by way of a -mental test, what particular thing or person -was most closely associated in your mind -with the word <i>strong</i>, you would probably -say a giant or an ox unless you had been -listening to a sermon whose text was the -sixteenth chapter of Judges, thirtieth verse, -in which case you would be more likely to -say Samson, but the typical example of -physical strength, would hardly be an Onion.</p> - -<p>And yet the Onion, although, like the -proverbial Prophet, it may be without honor -among its fellow vegetables, is regarded by -at least one human outsider as the giant and -ox and Samson combined of the vegetable -world.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> - -<p>Whatever your gastronomic leanings may -be, let you not be tempted to think lightly -of the Onion.</p> - -<p>Though its name be unhallowed when it -appears in vulgar consort with Tripe, and its -reek abhorrent in the habitations of the -lowly, though it be viewed with contempt as -a poor relation by its kinsman the lily, the -Onion has a glorious past; it has a record -of achievement that is second to none; it -was, as I shall presently show, chiefly due to -the strength of Onions that at least one of -the great Egyptian Pyramids owed its existence. -Even Samson might envy the record -of the Onion!</p> - -<div class="dotbreak">. . . .</div> - -<p>When I tell you that the Pyramids of -Egypt, at any rate one of them, was built -by sheer vegetable strength, you may not -believe me, but perhaps you may believe the -historian Herodotus.</p> - -<p>Herodotus found engraved on one of -the Pyramids a complete record of the exact -number of onions, radishes and leeks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -supplied and consumed by the workmen who -piled its monstrous stones one upon the -other.<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>And how were the Pyramids erected? -By some forgotten mechanical farce? No.</p> - -<p>According to the late Cope Whitehouse, -Engineer and Egyptologist, the Pyramids -were built from the apex downward over the -conical hills that abound in the locality, the -interior of the hill being afterwards dug -away to form chambers and galleries. All -of which was accomplished by the unaided -physical power of human muscles and -sinews.</p> - -<p>And whence came this power?</p> - -<p>It was derived mainly from the vegetable -energy of Onions, leeks and radishes transmuted -by the chemistry of digestion and assimilation -to the muscles and sinews of the -slaves employed in building the Pyramid.</p> - -<p>Furthermore, Herodotus tells us that with -the engraved record of the onions, leeks and -radishes consumed by the slaves, was also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -the computation of their cost which -amounted to 1,600 talents of silver, this being -the total cost of the vegetable fuel for -operating the human machinery employed -in the construction of the Pyramid.</p> - -<p>And now let me ask you—what it is, this -thing we call Scent, this mysterious emanation -which is the Love Message of the Rose, -the Call of the Sea, the Strength of the Onion?</p> - -<p>You don’t know? Neither do I, no more -does anybody.</p> - -<p>Of all the five recording faculties which -we human creatures share with other animals, -the sense of Smell is the most elusive, -the most penetrating. It apprises us of -impending peril when all our other wires of -sensation are “busy” or “out of order” and -incapable of giving us warning. It has the -mysterious power of reproducing through -the “flash back” we call memory the forgotten -records of all of the other four sense-films, -and yet the scientists who can tell -us all about light waves and sound waves,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -and even make pictures of them, have very -little to say about the movement of the invisible -bodies whose impact upon our consciousness -produces the sensation of smell.</p> - -<p>The terrific scent-energy hurled forth -from the seemingly inexhaustible storage -battery of an Onion or a Tuberose is more of -a mystery to our men of science than is the -composition of the crooked light waves from -the planet Mars or the height of the flames -of the Corona, measured in a solar eclipse.</p> - -<p>Even Dr. Einstein, to whom the movements -of the heavenly bodies are as simple as -is a game of baseball to the average intellect, -cannot tell us whether the scent-atoms hurled -from the Onion rush forth in an impeccable -tangent or are pitched in a hyperbolic curve.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Herod.</i>: 11, 125.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face7.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="WALTZING_MICE_AND_DANCING">WALTZING MICE AND DANCING -MEN</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“On some men the Gods bestow Fortitude,</div> -<div class="verse">On others a disposition for Dancing.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="dropcap">Thus the poet Hesiod, three thousand -years ago, scored with vitriolic antithesis -the Dancing man of his day⸺</p> - -<p>And of all the days, for like the poor (and -no less deplorable) the Dancing man is always -with us.</p> - -<p>The gods had much to answer for in the -days of Hesiod, and man had much to put -up with. Anything, good or evil, that befell -him, from the measles to melancholia—from -fortitude to dancing—was a gift of the gods, -wished on him as a token of their high esteem,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -or otherwise. All man had to do was to -accept the gift, and, if it chanced to be boils, -as in the case of Job, he might be thankful -it was nothing worse.</p> - -<p>Today we view a gift of the gods with distrust. -Before giving thanks we inspect it -in the light of Science. We examine it (as -a gift horse) in the mouth. If it is a good -gift, such as patience, or an aptitude for -cooking, we nurture and encourage it; if it -is an undesirable gift, like the measles, we -eradicate it, or give it to someone else as -quickly as possible.</p> - -<p>Without knowing it, Hesiod uttered a -scientific truth.</p> - -<p>That Fortitude and a Disposition to -Dance are gifts of the gods is just as true -physiologically as it is poetically speaking.</p> - -<p>The Dancing man dances, the man of -Fortitude faces a cannon—or a musical comedy—because -he is built that way. In other -words, his behavior is due to certain pathological -structural conditions which are inherited.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> - -<p>The behavior of the man of Fortitude is -due to the poverty of cerebral tissue in that -part of the brain whose function it is to -stimulate the activity known as imagination. -That is to say, he faces the cannon without -the least concern, because he can not imagine -what it will be like to have a cannon explode -right in his face.</p> - -<p>What then are the pathological conditions -in the brain of the Dancing man that cause -him to dance? Unfortunately for the cause -of Science, the brain of the true Dancing -man is almost as rare a commodity as Radium. -In the United States alone there -is scarcely more than a fraction of an ounce -of this elusive gray tissue. To procure -even the minute quantity necessary for -experimental purposes would require the -sacrifice of thousands of Dancing men. -This in these days of Antivivisection Hysteria, -is out of the question.</p> - -<p>Luckily for Science, there exists in the -animal Kingdom another creature afflicted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -with the same peculiar tendency to perpetual -rotation as the Dancing man.</p> - -<p>It is but one alliterative step from the -Dancing man to the Dancing mouse.</p> - -<p>The restlessness and almost incessant -movement in circles and the peculiar excitability -of the Dancing mouse is attributed -by Rawitz, the famous physiologist, to the -<i>lack of certain senses which compels the -animal to strive through varied movements -to use to the greatest advantage those senses -which it does possess</i>.</p> - -<p>Comparative physiologists have discovered -that the ability of animals to regulate -the position of the body with respect to -external objects is dependent in a large -measure upon the groups of sense organs -which collectively are called the ear.</p> - -<p>To quote Rawitz again:</p> - -<p><i>The waltzing mouse has only one normal -canal and that is the anterior vertical. The -horizontal and posterior vertical canals are -crippled and frequently they are grown together.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> - -<p>Panse, on the other hand, expresses his -belief that there are unusual structural conditions -in the brain, perhaps in the cerebellum, -to which are due the dance movements.</p> - -<p>When the doctors disagree what are we -going to do about it?</p> - -<p>For my part I am willing to leave it to -Cicero—</p> - -<p>“<i>Nemo fere saltat sobrius, nisi forte insanit.</i>”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face6.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="THE_HOBGOBLIN">THE HOBGOBLIN</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">There is a Hobgoblin that stalks in -the path of the athletic young writers -of the day and frightens them almost out of -their wits.</p> - -<p>The Hobgoblin is the third person singular, -past tense, of the verb “Say,” and his -name is <span class="smcapuc">SAID</span>.</p> - -<p>The Hobgoblin <span class="smcapuc">SAID</span> does not stalk alone; -with him stalk his sisters and his cousins and -his aunts, indeed, all the <span class="smcapuc">SAID</span> family except -old Gran’ma <span class="smcapuc">QUOTH</span>. Old Gran’ma <span class="smcapuc">QUOTH</span>, -who is much too old to stalk, stays at home -and dreams of the good old days when she -was a verb of fashion, honored and courted -by all the greatest writers of the day.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> - -<p>And when her grandchildren come home -in the evening and tell how they frightened -the athletic young writers almost out of their -wits, she nearly bursts her old-fashioned -stays, laughing at the drollery of it. -“Egad!” she cries. “An’ I were an hundred -years younger, I’d like nought better -than to take a hand myself, and lay my stick -about their backs, the young whippersnappers!”</p> - -<p>And I for one, would like to see her do it.</p> - -<p>How the <span class="smcapuc">SAID</span> family ever became professional -Hobgoblins, I can not say. All I -know is that, once a hardworking and highly -respected family, suddenly they found themselves -shunned. There was nothing left for -them but to become <span class="smcapuc">HOBGOBLINS</span>. Now their -only pleasure in life is to see what funny -antics they can make the athletic young -writers perform in trying to escape from -them.</p> - -<p>And funny they certainly are.</p> - -<p>Here are a few specimens from some of -our leading “best sellers”:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> - -<p>“To think I have fallen to that!” <i>grated</i> -Gilstar with clenched teeth.</p> - -<p>“I get rather a good price,” Gilstar <i>dared</i>.</p> - -<p>“I’ll give you twenty-five dollars,” he <i>offered</i> -wildly.</p> - -<p>“What are your terms?” he <i>clucked</i>.</p> - -<p>But why bother about “best sellers,” when -you can make almost as funny ones at home? -Here is a home-brewed one:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Where are you going to, my pretty maid?”</div> -<div class="verse">“I’m going to the Doctor’s, to ask his aid,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">I caught a cold when I slept in the loft,”</div> -<div class="verse indent5">“Sir,” she coughed,</div> -<div class="verse indent5">“Sir,” she coughed,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">“I’m going to the Doctor’s sir,” she coughed.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“May I go with you, my pretty maid?”</div> -<div class="verse">“Oh, yes, indeed, if you’re not afraid</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Of catching my cold, I shall be pleased,”</div> -<div class="verse indent5">“Sir,” she sneezed,</div> -<div class="verse indent5">“Sir,” she sneezed,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">“Oh, yes, if you please, kind sir,” she sneezed.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Of catching your cold I have no fear,</div> -<div class="verse">For I’ll take no chances, my pretty dear!”</div> -<div class="verse indent1">At this the maiden was sorely ruffled,</div> -<div class="verse indent5">“Sir?” she snuffled,</div> -<div class="verse indent5">“Sir?” she snuffled,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">“What do you mean, kind sir,” she snuffled.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“I mean I won’t kiss you, my pretty maid!”</div> -<div class="verse">“Nobody asked you, my smart young Blade!”</div> -<div class="verse indent1">In her pocket-handkerchief, large and new,</div> -<div class="verse indent5">“Sir!” she blew,</div> -<div class="verse indent5">“Sir!” she blew,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">“Nobody asked you, sir!” she blew.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face8.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="THE_VOICE_OF_THE_PUSSY-WILLOW">THE VOICE OF THE PUSSY-WILLOW</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">On the first of May I took a day off and -used the telephone. It is best to take a -day off if you want to get a number these -times, and the number asked for was Spring -one, nine, two, two—yes, Spring, Nineteen -Twenty-Two. “There’s no such number,” -said Central; “what you want is Winter -1921.” I assured her that was the last number -in the world I desired, and after a wait -of an hour or so she gave me Blizzard 1888 -on a busy wire, comparing notes with Winter -1920, and I began to despair of ever getting -my number.</p> - -<p>I rang off and waited. I am a patient -person, I waited a whole hour to allow the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -wire to cool off. Then I called again and -this time I was rewarded by hearing at the -other end of the wire a faint far-off, fuzzy, -mewing sound.</p> - -<p>It was the voice of the Pussy-Willow!</p> - -<p>It was Lawrence Sterne, wasn’t it? who -wrote, “God tempers the wind to the shorn -lamb,” and it is quite a happy thought that -the gentle airs that succeed the blustering -winds of March, are a Providential concession -to the tender nurslings of the April -fields.</p> - -<p>But the Pussy-Willow comes in February -and early March and it would be asking -too much to expect Providence to temper -the wholesome and necessary rigors of these -months for the sake of the venturesome kittens -of the Willow bough.</p> - -<p>Who but Providence (or Mr. Hoover) -could ever have thought of the happy expedient -of providing each and every Pussy-Willow, -not only in the United States but -also in England, France, Belgium and even -Germany, with a warm fur overcoat!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> - -<p>And I verily believe that if the Pussy-Willows -were lodged on the cold wet ground -instead of perched on the high and dry -branches, Providence (or Mr. Hoover) -would have seen to it that in addition to -fur coats they were provided with galoshes.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face9.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="PERNICIOUS_PEACHES">PERNICIOUS PEACHES</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">The Pernicious Peaches whereof we -speak are never out of season. They -may be seen almost any month of the year -on the covers of magazines, devoted to the -moral and social uplift of young girls in general, -and the American young girl in particular.</p> - -<p>The February magazine peach crop is -usually most abundant—All through the -merry month of Saint Valentine they hang -on the news-stands, singly or in clusters, and -Peaches they are to be sure—Peaches in -the stupidest, cheapest, slangiest nonsense -of the word.</p> - -<p>There they hang to quote the redundant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -Dr. Roget, F. R. S.—“<i>simpering, smirking, -sniggling, giggling, ogling, tittering, prinking, -preening, flaunting, flirting, mincing, -coquetting, frivoling, attitudinizing, self-conscious -artificial, smug, namby-pamby, -sentimental, unnatural, stagy, shallow, -weak, wanting, soft, sappy, spoony, fatuous, -idiotic, imbecile, driveling, blatant, babbling, -vacant, foolish, silly, senseless, addle-pated, -giddy, childish, chuckle-headed, puerile</i>,” -and, what is above all else inexcusable in a -peach—mushy.</p> - -<p>And these (in journals that set the fashions -moral, mental, social and sartorial) for -our young American sister at the most impressionable -age of her life—the age when, -whatever may be her dormant possibilities, -she is by her nature irresistibly impelled to -pattern herself after the favorite girl of her -class in school, or the favorite actress on -the stage—to copy her coiffure, her dress, -her deportment, even the expression of her -face.</p> - -<p>And how, you ask, can a young girl be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -harmed by imitating what, however vacuous -or silly, is after all only an expression?</p> - -<p>The answer is, that just as a persistent -bend of thought modifies and in time fixes -the expression of the face, so a habitual expression -(or lack of expression) of face influences -the bend of thought and, in time, -fixes the character.</p> - -<p>If you don’t believe this, dear girl, stand -before your looking-glass and smirk at yourself -as hard as you can, until you look (as -much as it is possible for a human girl to -look) like a magazine-cover Peach. Then -try to hold the “Peach” look while you recite:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>The stars of midnight shall be dear</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>To her; and she shall lean her ear</i></div> -<div class="verse indent2"><i>In many a secret place</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Where rivulets dance their wayward round</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>And beauty born of murmuring sound</i></div> -<div class="verse indent2"><i>Shall pass into her face.</i></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>You see it’s impossible! You can’t do it, -any more than you can stroke your head up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -and down at the same time as you stroke -your chest sideways. Your mouth has come -out of curl—the foolish light has gone out of -your eyes. Perhaps (if you really feel what -you were reciting) you look just the least -bit solemn. If so, try to hold the solemn -look while you recite the following by a -popular song writer:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Call me pet names dearest—</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Call me a bird</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>That flies to my breast</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>At one cherishing word,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>That folds its wild wings there</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Ne’er dreaming of flight,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>That tenderly sings there in loving delight.</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Oh my sad heart keeps pining</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>For one fond word,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Call me pet names dearest,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Call me a bird!</i></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>By the time you have finished, your solemn -reflection in the glass will have changed to -something almost as idiotic as the “peach” -on the magazine cover.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> - -<p>Without question, the vulgar standards of -expression these simpering sirens are setting -for the impressionable young girl of today -will degrade her just as surely as the wholesome, -high-bred type of womanhood evolved -by Charles Dana Gibson improved and developed -all that was best in her sister of -twenty years ago.</p> - -<div class="dotbreak">. . . .</div> - -<p>The theory that nature imitates art is -much older than Oscar Wilde, who (owing -to the carelessness of Mr. Whistler) is supposed -to have originated it.</p> - -<p>It is so old that Mr. G. K. Chesterton any -moment may rise to dispute it, and announce -to an astonished London that it is Art that -imitates Nature; nevertheless, Nature <i>does</i> -imitate Art.</p> - -<p>Is it possible that there is method in all -this magazine madness? Is it possible that -these magazines being devoted (among -other devotions) to ladies’ attire, fear that -too great an improvement in the female of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -our species would divert her thoughts from -the imbecilities of dress to higher—and less -profitable—things?</p> - -<p>Allah forbid!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face10.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="SECOND_CHILDHOODS_HAPPY">SECOND CHILDHOOD’S HAPPY -HOUR</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">I sometimes ask myself (when there -is no one else to pester) whether the -present tendency toward Primitivism, in -Art, Religion, Government, Conduct and -Costume (everything in fact) may not be a -sign that the world is coming, if not already -come, to its second childhood, and I invariably -answer myself in the affirmative.</p> - -<p>Second Childhood, as of course you know, -is the “happy hour” of an old age whose -faculties have diminished to the exact degree -that marks the undeveloped mental and -physical attributes of infancy.</p> - -<p>Take any baby—not your own, dear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -reader, yours is an exception I know, but -any common ordinary baby—and I think -when you have examined it you will agree -with me that, judged by ultra-modern standards -of culture, it is the most decadent being -on earth.</p> - -<p>To begin with, the baby’s sociological -viewpoint is a mixture of passionate pessimism -and pure unmitigated Anarchism.</p> - -<p>Its musical output is a hysterical cacophony -with all the exasperating disregard of -consonance and key characteristic of the up-to-date -composition.</p> - -<p>Its Plastic and Graphic Art (achieved -through the accident of the inverted Porridge -bowl or the overturned inkwell) is -the Post-Impressionism of Matisse and Picasso, -whose law is the Law of Moses—“Thou -shalt not make unto thee any graven -image, or any likeness of any thing that is -in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, -or that is in the water under the -earth.”</p> - -<p>The Literary Message of the baby is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -combination of the styles of Gertrude Stein, -Carl Sandberg and an unassisted Ouija -board and is only to be interpreted through -the medium of maternal intuition.</p> - -<p>And as for the Art Sartorial, are not the -fashions feminine venturing each successive -season a little nearer to that of the newborn -babe?</p> - -<p>“Well,” says I to myself, “supposing we -admit that Modern Culture and Infancy -are identical in expression, and that the -World is entering upon its second childhood; -what does it mean⸺ Is it the end of -all things or only a fresh start?”</p> - -<p>There you have me! I reply. There are -some questions that even I cannot answer. -I give it up.</p> - -<p>If, as Dr. Einstein asserts, our planet has -been receiving crooked light-rays all this -time, it is a very serious matter and there -is no knowing <i>what</i> may come of it; certainly -the Cosmic Light Company ought to be investigated. -But don’t be down-hearted, -dear Reader, some day the Einstein Amendment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -to the Law of Gravitation may be repealed, -and made retroactive into the bargain; -it is all a matter of Relativity and it -may turn out that the Relativity-shoe is on -the other foot and that it is the Earth’s orbit -that is on the blink and not the light rays -at all.</p> - -<p>Perhaps Mr. G. B. Shaw will enlighten us—as -a projector of crooked light-rays, he -ought to know something about it.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face12.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="PITY_THE_POOR_GUEST_OF">PITY THE POOR GUEST OF -HONOR</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">Once when marooned on a small island -in the midst of a turbulent sea of traffic, -latitude Fifth Avenue, longitude Forty-second -Street, I asked the governor of the -island, a man of great stature and kingly -mien, what he thought was the origin of -the institution known as the Complimentary -Banquet. Checking with an imperious gesture -a monstrous traffic wave that seemed -like to engulf us both the next moment, his -voice came to me calm and reassuring above -the tumult that surged and roared about us. -“If it’s a wake you do be meaning, sorr, sure -it’s as old as Ireland itself, it is!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> - -<p>And the Traffic Cop was right.</p> - -<p>Nearly two thousand years ago Strabo, -the Greek geographer, describing the natives -of Ivernia, wrote: “They are more savage -than the English, and enormous eaters, -deeming it commendable to devour their deceased -relatives.”</p> - -<p>In this, probably the first reference in literature -to the Irish wake, the suggestion -that the departed one contributed anything -more than the honor of his company must be -taken with a grain of salt. Strabo was an -awful liar, and whole barrels of salt might -be used on his “Geography” without perceptibly -affecting its flavor. In all probability -the cannibal touch was nothing more -than an unseemly concession to the yellow -taste of the Attic metropolis.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, though he never appeared -on the menu, the “departed relative,” the -<i>sine qua non</i> of all festive gatherings, was -(as the social instinct developed among the -savage tribes) ever in increasing demand, -and it is to be feared that in smart Ivernian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -circles it was not unusual to speed the departing -relative in promoting the gaiety of -an otherwise dull season.</p> - -<p>Under such conditions it is hardly to be -wondered at that in Ivernia, at that period, -personal popularity was the most unpopular -thing imaginable, and what more thinkable -than that the reluctant candidate for a complimentary -dinner should feign for the occasion -the grewsome condition necessary for -qualification.</p> - -<p>With the spread of Christianity, this irksome -feat of mimicry on the part of the -Guest of Honor, at first a protective subterfuge, -grew to be a social convention. And -irksome indeed it was.</p> - -<p>To feign at a banquet by the exercise of -self-control a state of unconsciousness, joyfully -achieved by one’s fellow guests through -more convivial channels, was no task for the -amateur. Then it was that, puffed up, comatose, -obese, along came the Professional -Diner Out. And now, after nearly two -thousand years, what have we to show?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> - -<p>Could the savage rite, described by -Strabo, depressing as it must have been, -by any possibility be as gloomy as the Testimonial -Banquet of today? Is the Guest of -Honor, sitting at the High Table feigning -unconsciousness, the miserable target for -asphyxiating bombs of wit, of anecdote, and -of reminiscence—is he any less to be pitied -than the deceased relative of the Ivernian -dinner? Yet we call ourselves civilized; we -think it barbaric to hang a fellow being for -anything short of murder. Why have we -not equal consideration for the innocent -Guest of Honor? Why do we not dine him -in effigy?</p> - -<p>Few of us have forgotten the outrage of -1912 when William Dean Howells was -dragged from his comfortable fireside by -Col. Harvey, then the editor of Harper’s -Magazine, who deaf to his cries and entreaties, -dined, wined and flashlighted in the -presence of a frenzied mob armed to the -teeth with knives, and forks and spoons.</p> - -<p>How much more humane to have dined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -Mr. Howells in effigy! A waxen image -simulating as far as possible the kindly features -of the Great Novelist, sitting in the -place of honor, bowing, even smiling by -means of some ingenious mechanism! This, -with a phonograph record of the graceful -speech of acknowledgment, and the ravening -public would have gone home happy -and none the wiser. Thus with the dawn -of a new era of Humanity, one more chapter -of the ponderous book of martyrs would -be closed forever.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face11.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="A_NEW_MONROE_DOCTRINE">A NEW MONROE DOCTRINE</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">When Old Doctor Monroe discovered -and patented his famous anti-monarchical -specific, warranted to prevent -the spread of Effete Despotism, Imperialitis -and Throne Trouble, why didn’t he invent -some equally Reliable Nostrum to -check the epidemic of Old World names that -was spreading like a blight of infantile -paralysis among the thousands of husky -young cities then springing up all over the -United States? Rome, Syracuse, Troy, -Thebes, Memphis, Ithaca, and a host of -others, names dark and ill ominous to -chubby young cities with no evil traditions -to live down to, staining their bright banners<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -with bloody blots and black bars of -sinister tradition where should only be the -golden stars and crimson bars of freedom.</p> - -<p>Indian names such as Oshkosh and Kankakee -were to be had ready-made for the -asking; but they were few and for the most -part too grotesque and Asiatic sounding for -the liking of a serious-minded young republic -just starting out in the city-raising business.</p> - -<p>But it is no easy task to find new names -for cities, above all names that are euphonious, -and the last place one would expect to -find them is the Medical Dictionary. The -names of diseases? And why should that -deter us? If a Rose by any other name will -smell as sweet, surely a Rose with any other -smell will at least look and sound as pretty. -Good Doctor Watts (or was it Mr. Wesley?)<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> -when adapting tunes for his new -hymn-book answered his critics by exclaiming, -“Why should the devil have all the best -tunes!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> - -<p>Why, indeed! And by the same token, -why should the Diseases have all the prettiest -sounding names?</p> - -<p>Try one on your city and see if you don’t -like it.</p> - -<p>Has not Dyspepsia, Maine, an austere -dignity about it that no old-world city name -could possibly confer?</p> - -<p>Neurasthenia, Kansas, on the other hand, -brings up visions of shady sidewalks, pleasant -gardens, and glimpses through slender -trees, of a sun-kissed river. If your doctor -should prescribe for you mountain air and -outdoor exercise would you not instantly -buy a ticket to Colic, Vermont? What more -catchy name than Measles, Illinois, or Diphtheria, -Wisconsin? Stripped of medical association -there is scarcely a name in all the -<i>materia medica</i> that is wholly lacking in -euphonistic charm.</p> - -<p>Why not bring the matter before a Special -Session of Congress? Anything is better -than Persepolis and Pekin—even Tonsilitis, -Missouri.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> It was Martin Luther.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face1.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="DO_CATS_COME_BACK">DO CATS COME BACK?</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">Certain it is that Cats are disappearing; -that is to say the common friendly -Tabbies and Tommies of the town we used to -see doing their morning marketing in the -ash cans, or with whom we were wont to pass -the time of day in the neighboring door-yards.</p> - -<p>In the last week I have seen only two -street cats and only one to speak to, and -that one was a stray orphan kitten who had -been adopted by a kind-hearted bookbinder; -the other when I would have accosted her -gave me one strange look and vanished.</p> - -<p>I glanced hurriedly down at my shoes as -my hands flew instinctively to my necktie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -and hat, but the foot-gear were mates (of -long standing) and the hat and tie were each -in its proper place; nothing was there about -my attire to shock the sensibilities of the -most fastidious feline!</p> - -<p>What did it mean? No cat had ever -treated me with such discourtesy before. -Then it was that I bethought me of how -few of the feline brotherhood or sisterhood I -had seen abroad of late.</p> - -<p>Have they been carried off by an epidemic? -Do cats catch influenza? or catalepsy? -Has the scrap-market been affected -by the high cost of living? Has the percentage -of nutriment in the garbage can diminished -to the vanishing point? Have the -mice struck for shorter hours?</p> - -<p>As I pondered thus at the corner of a -lowly street, there tripped past my line of -vision a fur coat whose opulence and sheen -made its background of untidy brick and -stone seem doubly dull and dingy. The -motive power of this unlikely pelt was (as -far as could be seen) lisle thread and oxford<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -ties but I made no further note of the girl; -my mind was fixed on the coat—it was the -third of its kind I had observed in as many -minutes in that mean street.</p> - -<p>A shiver ran through me; I had seen a -ghost, a procession of ghosts. It was as if -a ouija board had suddenly screamed miaou!</p> - -<p>And they say cats come back.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face15.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="THE_RUTHLESSNESS_OF_MR">THE RUTHLESSNESS OF MR. -COBB</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">One by one the idols of tradition go by -the board. William Tell’s Apple and -Paul Revere’s Ride were long ago cast into -the trash-basket of Fiction; even Joan of -Arc has been received into the mythology -of Sainthood, and now that hero of our -happy childhood, Casablanca, the boy who -stood on the burning deck, is about to be -snatched from us by that reckless iconoclast, -Mr. Irvin Cobb.</p> - -<p>Like the ruthless Woodman in the poem, -Mr. Cobb has struck his axe into the very -roots of this revered tree of our childish belief⸺</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> - -<p>According to Cobb, the Casabianca-tree -is only a nut tree and a horsechestnut tree at -that. Writing in the <i>Saturday Evening -Post</i>, he tells us that Casabianca was nothing -more than a “feeble-minded leatherhead.” -If that be so then Barbara Frietchie -was a leatherhead, and Edith Cavell, and all -the host of those who gave up or were ready -to give up their lives for that purely imaginary -thing, an ideal, and what <i>could</i> the -blessed Evangelist have been thinking of -when he wrote “<i>He that hateth his life in this -world shall keep it unto life eternal.</i>” John -12:25.</p> - -<p>Exactly two thousand years ago when the -city of Pompeii was destroyed by an eruption -of Mount Vesuvius, a Roman sentinel, -another idol of tradition just such a leatherhead -as Casablanca, refused to desert his -post and was burned to death for the very -foolish reason that he was “on duty.” He -is there to this day, standing “at attention,” -in the shape of a cast made from the matrix -of molten lava that enveloped his living<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -body and you may call him a leatherhead -if you like, but the memory of his -leatherheadedness will endure when sensible -people like you, dear reader, and me -and Mr. Cobb are forgotten.</p> - -<div class="dotbreak">. . . .</div> - -<p>Nevertheless there are two sides to every -question, and it is quite possible that Casabianca -may have been a perfectly sensible -lad, whose only thought was to disobey his -captain and desert his post, but the tar melting -from the heat in the seams of the deck, -and adhering to his feet caused him to stick -to the ship. Be that as it may, <i>I</i> shall stick -to Casabianca!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face14.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="MY_LAKE">MY LAKE</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">Mr. Finchsifter has compared -my Lake to a gleaming sapphire reposing -on a corsage of emerald green -plush.</p> - -<p>I have never seen Mr. Finchsifter’s wife—I -do not even know that Finchsifter is married, -but since the emerald plush bosom of -his poetic fancy, stands for miles and miles -of heaving Pines and fluttering Laurels and -Finchsifter stands barely four feet six in his -stockings, by all the laws of natural selection -the human embodiment of his Brobdingnagian -simile, must be either Mrs. Finchsifter -or some not impossible Eve of a Finchsifter -dream Paradise. A colossal counterpart<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -(I picture her), of the waxen Demi-Goddess -in the Finchsifter show window -displaying with revolving impartiality on a -faultless neck and bosom the glittering -treasures of India, Africa, Peru, Mexico -and Maiden Lane.</p> - -<p>To be strictly truthful, I do not know -that Mr. Finchsifter’s show window can -boast such a waxen deity as I have described; -indeed for all I know he possesses neither a -show window nor the merchandise to advertise -in such a window, but I have as the saying -is, a “hunch” that Mr. Finchsifter’s -imagery as applied to my Lake is based on -something more than a mere academic interest -in the adornment, textile or lapidarious -of the human form.</p> - -<p>And my Lake—in the first place it is not -my Lake (but of that later), neither does -it resemble a sapphire any more than the -Pines and Laurels on its bank (save that -when agitated they heave or flutter) resemble -a green plush corsage.</p> - -<p>If I were asked for an image, I should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -compare my Lake to an India-rubber band -rather than to a sapphire. In form an elongated -ellipse, it possesses an elasticity of -circumference that is little short of miraculous.</p> - -<p>The boastful pedestrian, glowing from -his early morning trot around its shore will -tell you it is a good ten miles.</p> - -<p>The persistent swain, scheming to lure his -Heart’s Desire, high heeled and reluctant, -to the amorous shades of “Lover’s Landing,” -tells her, upon his honor, that it is -not more than a mile all the way round. To -be precise, the distance round my Lake is -something between a stroll and a “constitutional”—or -to put it relatively about what -the circumambulation of an ocean liner’s -deck would be to an athletic inch worm.</p> - -<p>As I said before, my Lake is not my Lake. -It is nobody’s Lake. Not a human habitation -profanes its bosky shores. The only -beings that make even a pretense of ownership -are five starch-white swans that patrol -it from morning till night, turning fitfully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -this way and that and probing its depths -and shallows with their yellow bills as if -seeking for the missing Deed of title. On -certain days when the diamond Lake is still, -and the Pine and Laurel corsage is untroubled -by a tremor, the starch-white company -is doubled by five ghostly “understudies” -who reflect their whiteness curve for -curve and feather for feather with a fidelity -of inversion that may find its match only in -the art of a Shaw or a Chesterton.</p> - -<p>It was on such a day as this that I met -Mr. Finchsifter. I had completed the circuit -of the Lake and leaving the wooded -path that skirts its shore ascended through -the woods to the level ground above, where -on the further side of a well kept automobile -road rises the lofty iron grille that engirdles -for miles the country seat of Barabbas -Wolfe, the Sausage King, typifying at -once, by the safe deposit-like thickness of -its bars and the view-inviting openness of -its scrollwork, the innate love of show, tempered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -by newly acquired exclusiveness of a -lord not to the manor born.</p> - -<p>Gazing, in beady eyed appraisal at the -neat but somewhat constricted Italian garden -to which the railing at this point invited -the eye—stood Finchsifter.</p> - -<p>In this crowded jungle of spotless stone -Lions, tomblike seats and arches backed by -California privet and immature cypresses -there was an irreverent suggestion of the -Villa D’Este done into American slang.</p> - -<p>He turned hearing my step, “Where is it -I have seen it—before?”</p> - -<p>“In the movies perhaps”—I ventured.</p> - -<p>“That’s it! Thank you very much!” he -exclaimed. “I knew I had seen it somewhere!”</p> - -<p>After ascertaining my name in reluctant -payment for the unsolicited tender of his -own he continued, “but the Lions show better -in the ‘pictures’ don’t they? Why -didn’t they get them with moss already.”</p> - -<p>“With moss?” I queried.</p> - -<p>“Sure!” said Finchsifter. “Didn’t you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -know such a stone Lion comes also with the -moss, the same as the genuine old antique -furniture comes with the real hand-made -worm-holes!”</p> - -<p>I remembered guiltily how on the occasion -of my last visit to Lake towers when -asked by Mrs. Barabbas Wolfe, what I -thought of her marble Lions, I had exclaimed -with truthful enthusiasm “Wonderful! -But my dear lady <i>how</i> do you keep -them so clean?”</p> - -<p>We walked on together, and though -avoiding as we did so the physical proximity -of my Lake we could not exclude it wholly -from our conversation.</p> - -<p>It was a passing glitter of the water -caught through the pines below us at a turn -in the road that inspired the Diamond-plush -simile from which try as I may, I shall -never be able to dissociate the image of my -Lake.</p> - -<p>Greatly to my surprise I found myself -becoming interested in Finchsifter, and during -the luncheon which followed our return<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -to my Bungalow and the dinner that evening -at his hotel, we laid what promised to -be the foundation of a lasting friendship.</p> - -<p>To be sure he was a man of many words, -but the words of Finchsifter were well -trained words, old family servants that -knew their places and never presumed, or -took liberties with the listener.</p> - -<p>If a reply or comment were imperative—an -adjective caught at random gave instant -clue to what had gone before—even as a -single toe joint restores to the naturalist -the forgotten form of the Iohippus.</p> - -<p>Finchsifter was a mental rest cure, his -talk was soothing as a verbal brain massage. -I conceived that one might form the Finchsifter -habit, in time even become a slave to -it as men become slaves to cocaine, Psychoanalysis, -or Taxicabs.</p> - -<p>But this was not to be.</p> - -<p>As a would-be suicide has been turned -from his purpose by the chill of the water -into which he has plunged—so it was by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -Finchsifter himself that I was cured of the -Finchsifter habit.</p> - -<p>It was on the occasion of our second meeting, -appointed at the suggestion of Finchsifter -that we take our matutinal walk -around the Lake in each others company.</p> - -<p>He greeted me with a delighted smile, -exclaiming as he took my hand in both of -his very new saffron gloves.</p> - -<p>“I have a great idea found—!—You are -a poet? yes? Then you know all about this -Free Verse which I read always about in -the magazines? Perhaps you can yourself -make it? Yes?” His face fairly shone with -the inner flame of his project.</p> - -<p>I found myself harkening against my -will. What possible interest could Finchsifter -have in verse of any kind—let alone -free verse. “This will never do,” I reflected. -“If he compels me to listen—then we shall -cease to be friends—I came here to rest. -I might as well take the first train back to -New York!” Finchsifter was still talking. -Eyeing me keenly as if mentally debating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -my trustworthiness—he continued: “If it is -sure enough Free, then it don’t cost nothing.”</p> - -<p>“What are you talking about?” I said, -recalled abruptly from my own thoughts.</p> - -<p>“Free verse!” cried Finchsifter. “That’s -my scheme!—but don’t you tell it—It is -between only ourselves—fifty-fifty—we -split everything—<i>we</i> create the demand—we -corner the supply, you and me together -corner all the free verse in the United States—in -this world for that matter and sell it -for—” Again he hesitated—“If I might -ask it—about what does a Poet get for such -a little piece of poetry? The kind that is not -free. A piece so long I mean.”—He measured -a sonnet’s width of air between his -thumb and fore-finger—“what do you get -for that much?” I told him what the magazines -pay me.</p> - -<p>“What! A dollar a line! Gott in Himmel! -we make a fortune! That’s what I tell -Rebecca—If we corner all the free verse in -the United States and sell it for no more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -as five cents a line—we make our fortune! -but a dollar a line!—Himmel!”—he fairly -danced for ecstasy and then it was I made -the discovery, by which I lost if not a Fortune -at least a Finchsifter.</p> - -<p>I stood still as the tide of words with its -flotsam of tossing gestures, continued—I -heard nothing. I only waited for Finchsifter -to subside.</p> - -<p>“Am I right!” He gasped at length with -what by every law of supply and demand -should have been his latest breath.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about”—I -replied angrily. “All I know is we’re -walking the wrong way.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean the wrong way?” -said Finchsifter.</p> - -<p>“The wrong way round the Lake that’s -what I mean!”</p> - -<div class="dotbreak">. . . .</div> - -<p>I don’t know how long we stood there -arguing the question, I only know that his -mind was inaccessible to reason, persuasion—even -bribery, for, as a last resort, I offered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -to give him a list of all the best free verse -writers in America if he would only listen -to reason—nothing would move him—Finchsifter -had always walked round the -lake from right to left and always would—and -what I said about his rubbing its -precious plush corsage the wrong way of the -nap was all rot.</p> - -<p>I turned on my heel and left him. Half -an hour later when we met at Lover’s Landing -which is exactly half way round the Lake -we passed without speaking.</p> - -<p>And now I must wait each day until -Finchsifter has taken his walk from right -to left round my Lake, taking my walk -(from left to right) in the chill of the evening -to pacify the tutelary Goddess by -smoothing back her green plush corsage, -which has been rubbed the wrong way by -Finchsifter.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face13.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="THE_HUNDREDTH">THE HUNDREDTH -AMENDMENT</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">After the passage of the Ninety-eighth -Amendment making it a misdemeanor -to “<i>manufacture, sell, own, possess, -purchase, nurse, dandle or otherwise -caress or display that effigy of the infant -form commonly known as a Doll</i>” … the -abolition of that feathered symbol of vicarious -maternity, the Stork, followed as a -matter of course.</p> - -<p>The passage of the Anti-Stork Bill or, -to be more accurate, the Ninety-ninth -Amendment, thanks to the tenacity and tact -of President John Quincy Epstein, was the -most expeditious piece of legislation put<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -through by the hundred and fifth Congress.</p> - -<p>It must not be forgotten, however, that -the introduction of lectures on obstetrics -into the curriculum of the kindergartens had -done much to educate the child vote and -that at the time the fate of the Stork was -hanging in the balance, that once esteemed -Bird of Prurient Evasion was already becoming -unpopular and well on its way to -join the Dodo.</p> - -<p>And now the department of government -devoted to the cause of Infant Uplift, having -abolished the Mock-Offspring and settled -the fate of the Bird of Nativity, cast -about for some new Field of Endeavor.</p> - -<p>And what more fitting than that they -should light upon that hoary old imposter -masquerading under the several aliases -Santa Claus, Saint Nicholas, Kris Kringle, -and Father Christmas?</p> - -<p>At once the Propaganda was started.</p> - -<p>Press agents were engaged, lecture tours -arranged, magazines subsidized.</p> - -<p>No matter what it might cost, this “Vulture<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -gnawing at the Palladium of Infant -Emancipation” must be destroyed!!</p> - -<p>Santa Claus, once, in the memory of living -men and women, adored by children and -winked at by their parents, was now branded -as an imposter, a mountebank, a public -nuisance, and a perverter of infant intelligence.</p> - -<p>Santa Claus was an outlaw from the -Commonwealth of Reason.</p> - -<p>It was “thumbs down” for Santa!</p> - -<p>It may be well to explain right here -(since none of the events chronicled in this -History has yet happened) that the movement -for the Emancipation and Self-Determination -of Infants, which has now -taken such great strides, had its initiation -in the presidential term of Miles Standish -Sovietski when Congress extended the franchise -to every child over five years of age -who had made any serious contribution to -literature or higher mathematics.</p> - -<p>It was in the same year that President -Sovietski signed the Sixty-fourth Amendment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -to the Federal Constitution, prohibiting -the publication of fairy tales, and Congress -suspended the Limitation-of-Search -Act in order that private libraries and -nurseries might be raided without warning -and all copies of the forbidden works summarily -seized and destroyed.</p> - -<p>Simultaneously with the federal enactment, -the states of Washington, Illinois, -Nevada, and Oregon, ever in the advance -of any great intellectual movement, passed -laws prohibiting “<i>the personification or representation, -public or private, in theatre, -music hall, club house, lodge, church fair, -schoolhouse, or private residence, of any -supernatural, fairy, or otherwise mythical -person or persons or fraction thereof</i>.”</p> - -<p>The passing of a Constitutional Amendment -was now an almost every-day occurrence. -Indeed, since the ratification of the -Forty-fourth Amendment prohibiting the -use of sarsaparilla as a beverage (coffee and -tea had been legislated out of existence five -years earlier) the enactment of a new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -Amendment excited little or no comment. -Even the Seventy-ninth Amendment forbidding -“<i>the use of caviar, club sandwiches, -and buttonhole bouquets, except for medicinal -purposes</i>,” received only casual notice -in the Metropolitan Dailies.</p> - -<p>The twentieth century was rapidly nearing -its close and the political apathy that for -fifty years had been gradually benumbing -the Public morale now threatened to paralyze -completely what little still remained of -courage and initiative.</p> - -<p>Even the latest work of Bernard Shaw, -“A Bird’s-Eye View of the Infinite,” published -(with a five volume preface) on Mr. -Shaw’s hundred and fortieth birthday, -aroused so little resentment that his projected -visit to the United States had to be -abandoned, in spite of the fact that “Bean -and Soup o’Bean,” written only a week -earlier, was acknowledged to have contributed -largely to the triumph of the Seventy-ninth -Amendment, making Vegetarianism -compulsory in the United States.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> - -<p>The Hundredth Amendment passed -quickly though the earlier stages of routine -and perfunctory debate without any appreciable -sign of anything approaching -popular protest.</p> - -<p>Here and there a guarded expression -such as “Poor old Santa! I’m sorry he’s -got to go!” was voiced, in the privacy of a -club, by some elderly gentleman. Nothing -more.</p> - -<p>Somewhere, behind Somebody, was a -Power that directed and guided—perhaps -threatened. Nobody knew who or what or -where it was or in what manner it worked, -but work it did and to such purposes that, -after a scant week of cut and dried speech-making -that deceived no one, the Amendment -was submitted unanimously by both -houses of Congress and the foregone conclusion -of ratification was all that remained -to make the abolition of Santa Claus an accomplished -fact.</p> - -<p>Then, inevitably as fish follows soup, followed -the ratification.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> - -<p>The Hundredth Amendment to the Constitution -of the United States, prohibiting -Santa Claus, slipped through the ratification -process like an oil prospectus in a mail -chute. There was only one hitch, Rhode -Island, but since Rhode Island had refused -to ratify a single one of the last Seventy-nine -Amendments, her action was accepted -as part of the program and a proof of -unanimity.</p> - -<p>So Santa Claus was abolished?</p> - -<p>Not so fast please!—Who’s writing this -History anyway?</p> - -<div class="dotbreak">. . . .</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">’Twas the night before Christmas</div> -<div class="verse">And in the White House</div> -<div class="verse">Not a creature was stirring</div> -<div class="verse">Not even a * * * * *</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>For the benefit of the clever reader who -may have guessed the word left out in the -last line of the above quatrain, I will explain -that the asterisks are used in obedience to a -clause of the Ninety-first Amendment prohibiting, -both in speech and print, the use<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -of the word * * * * * which, as the political -emblem of the Free People’s Party (now -happily defunct), came into such contempt -that it was made a misdemeanor “<i>to print, -publish, own, sell, purchase, or consult any -book, pamphlet, catalogue, circular, or dictionary -containing the word * * * * *</i>” It -has been estimated that over eighty million -dollars’ worth of Century and Standard dictionaries -were destroyed in the first year of -this Amendment’s operation. The loss in -Nursery Rhymes, children’s books, and -Natural Histories is beyond computation.</p> - -<p>But to return to the White House.</p> - -<p>President John Quincy Epstein had retired -to his study on the second floor shortly -before midnight, taking with him the engrossed -copy of the Hundredth Amendment -which now only required his Spencerian -signature to expunge the name of -Santa Claus forever from the American -speech and language as utterly and irrevocably -as the forbidden word * * * * *.</p> - -<p>The hours passed in a perfectly orderly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -manner, like school children at a fire drill—<i>one, -two, three, four</i>—without pushing or -jostling—<i>five, six, seven, eight</i>—(don’t you -think history is much more interesting in -the form of a simple “Outline” like this than -spun out in the common manner?)—<i>nine, -ten</i>—! At eleven o’clock the door of the -President’s study was burst open by the -order of the Vice President, Rebecca Crabtree, -now, by a sudden and mysterious -stroke of Fate, herself become the President -of the United States.</p> - -<p>For John Quincy Epstein was dead.</p> - -<p>How or just when he died will never be -known. Always a cold, forbidding (not to -say prohibiting) man, his body when found -was still cold—if anything colder; his watch -which should have marked the exact moment -of his demise, was ticking merrily, so the -exact moment will forever remain unrecorded.</p> - -<p>But Santa Claus still lives and will live -forever!</p> - -<p>On the massive gold-inlaid-with-ivory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -desk (a Christmas gift from the United -Department Stores of America), lay a -paper, inscribed, and signed in the President’s -handwriting, and sealed with his -official seal.</p> - -<p>It was the presidential veto of the Hundredth -Amendment; and by virtue of a -clause in Amendment Thirty-three “<i>no -Constitutional Amendment vetoed by the -President shall ever be resubmitted to the -country nor any fraction thereof</i>—”</p> - -<p>Santa Claus will live forever! Hurray -for Santa Claus!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/face2.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Decorative illustration drawing of a stylised face" /> -</div> - -<h2 id="SAY_IT_WITH_ASTERISKS">SAY IT WITH ASTERISKS</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">A vague and terrifying science, astronomy! -Only as a subdued though -highly decorative lighting effect can I regard -the stellar pageant with equanimity.</p> - -<p>To be sure I have learned to locate the -Dipper and Orion and Cassiopeia’s Chair -and a few other popular favorites, but this -painful knowledge was acquired solely for -its conversational value on summer evenings -at week-end, house or yachting parties.</p> - -<p>Beyond that, all I know about the science -of astronomy could be as accurately demonstrated -with the perforations of a colander, -held up to the light, as on the most perfect -star map in the Encyclopedia Britannica.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -If the truth must be told, I much prefer -Asterisks.</p> - -<div class="starbreak6">* * * * * *</div> - -<div class="starbreak5">* * * * *</div> - -<p>With a moon and a mariner’s compass -and a good road map or chart, the traveler -by land or sea can get along very well without -the stars, but in the trackless mazes of -literature and art, how would the wandering -Philistine fare without Asterisks? An -anthology or guide of any kind without -Asterisks would be as unthinkable as a -Dalmatian dog without spots or a red-headed -boy without freckles.</p> - -<p>Imagine yourself in the city of Berlin with -a de-stellated Baedeker. You would make -Moses-when-the-light-went-out look like a -torchlight procession!</p> - -<p>Not that I cite Herr Karl Baedeker as -the model of stellar perfection. Too many -stars may prove as demoralizing as too many -cooks. Even that guide, topographer and -friend of the tourist is at times bewildering, -if not misleading.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> - -<p>On page 133 of Baedeker’s Berlin, “<i>Furniture -From the Boudoir of Queen Marie -Antoinette</i>” has two stars, ** while “<i>Elijah -in the Desert</i>,” on page 108, has, in addition -to all his other troubles, to worry along with -one star.</p> - -<p>And that is not the worst of it.</p> - -<p>On page 163, “<i>a well-preserved Archæopteryx -in Solnhofen slate</i>,” to me by all odds -the most interesting object in Berlin, has no -star at all! * * *</p> - -<p>But no matter how annoying it is, you -must never blame the Asterisks. They only -did as they were told and stood where Herr -Baedeker placed them and, if they did -wrong, Herr Baedeker alone was responsible. -A good writer—or editor—is good to -his Asterisks, and when he puts them in a -false position we must make due allowance.</p> - -<p>If Asterisks could combine and form a -protective union, there might be some hope -for them, but a flair for collective bargaining -is not in their nature. That being the -case, I suggest the establishment of a Federal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -Licensing Bureau empowered to investigate -the qualifications of would-be employers -of Asterisks and issue or withhold -licenses accordingly.</p> - -<p>And it is high time something were done -about it.</p> - -<p>Only lately there has been brought to my -notice a case of so flagrant a nature that, -were there such an institution as a Society -for the Prevention of Cruelty to Asterisks, -I should feel it my duty to call their attention -to it.</p> - -<p>To come down to brass tacks, as the saying -is, the flagrant case of cruelty to Asterisks, -to which I refer, consists of a fat -book, called “The Best Short Stories of -1921.” Edited by Edward J. O’Brien—Published -by Small Maynard.</p> - -<p>Never, I think, were a mob of overworked -employees so pitifully huddled together in -an ill-ventilated factory as are the Asterisks -in this Sweatshop of Twaddle.</p> - -<p>The Sweatshop proper—if a Sweatshop -may be so qualified—is situated in the rear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -of the book, occupying about a fifth of its -volume, and consists of:</p> - -<p>A Bibliographical Roll of Honor of -American Short Stories for 1920 and 1921 -in which “<i>the best stories are indicated by -an Asterisk</i>.”</p> - -<p>A Roll of Honor of Foreign Short -Stories in American Magazines in which -“<i>Stories of special excellence are indicated -by an Asterisk</i>.”</p> - -<p>Volumes of short stories published in the -United States. “<i>An Asterisk before a title -indicates distinction.</i>”</p> - -<p>Volumes of short stories published in -England and Ireland. “<i>An Asterisk before -a title indicates distinction.</i>”</p> - -<p>Volumes of Short Stories published in -France. “<i>An Asterisk before a title, etc.</i>” -Follows then a list of articles on the Short -Story and last of all An Index of Short -Stories in Books, and here the Asterisks are -forced to work overtime and Mr. O’Brien’s -English gets a bit sloppy. He says:</p> - -<p>“<i>Three Asterisks prefixed to a title indicate</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -the more or less permanent <i>literary -value of the story</i>.”</p> - -<p>“More or less permanent” reminds me of -an advertisement I once saw in a street car: -“Face Powder makes your complexion <i>more -irresistible</i>.” Is it possible that Mr. -O’Brien wrote it?</p> - -<p>In the division entitled Magazine Averages, -Mr. O’Brien comes another cropper -with “<i>Three Asterisk stories are of</i> somewhat -permanent <i>literary value</i>.” Again, in -the introduction, “<i>Sherwood Anderson has -made this year once more the</i> most permanent -<i>contribution to the American Short -Story</i>.”</p> - -<p>Mr. O’Brien’s invention of varying degrees -of permanence is an important contribution -to science and entitles him to receive -at the very least the Order of the -Golden Asterisk of the Second Class with -Palms.</p> - -<div class="starbreak5">* * * * *</div> - -<p>Such, in brief, is the Sweatshop in the -rear where the toiling Asterisks labor in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -weary shifts of one, two and three, pounding -out asinine averages and percentages of -permanency and near-permanency and plu-permanency -with a zeal that would do credit -to the framer of a Volstead Act.</p> - -<p>Now let us walk round to the front of the -Factory, where in his cosy business office -which he calls the “Introduction” the Foreman -of the works, Mr. Edward J. O’Brien, -will tell us in the airy argon of the shop all -about the Fictional Flivvers—in which he -is a second-hand dealer—how they are made, -what they are worth and, if permanent, just -how long their permanence will last.</p> - -<p>As Foreman O’Brien warms up to his -subject he will describe in vitally pulsating -phrases that would drive a movie writer mad -with envy, the convulsion of Nature that attended -the birth of the American Short -Story. “<i>The ever-widening seething maelstrom -of cross currents thrusting into more -and more powerful conflict from year to -year the contributory elements brought to a -new American culture by the dynamic creative<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -energies, physical and spiritual, of -many races</i>.”</p> - -<p>All of which speechifying translated into -plain talk conveys the astounding information -that the hooch of American Fiction is -being brewed in the much-advertised Melting -Pot! Well, why couldn’t he say so and -be done with it?</p> - -<p>Speaking of the Anglo-Saxon he says: -“<i>The Anglo-Saxon was beginning to absorb -large tracts of other racial fields of -memory and to share the experience of -Scandinavian and Russian and German and -Italian and Polish and Irish and African -and Asian members of the body politic.</i>” -The Melting Pot again! What did I tell -you! Continuing, Mr. O’Brien describes -the process of fermentation as a new chaos -set up by tracts of remembered racial experience -interacting upon one another under -the tremendous pressure of our nervous, -keen and eager civilization. He doesn’t -explain exactly how a thing so completely -lacking in the elements of design as a chaos<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -should be “set up” to get the best results. -All he tells us is that fresh chaos is good -material for American literature, and that -our Mr. Anderson and others are very busy -in a half unconscious way, trying to make -“worlds” out of it.</p> - -<p>By “worlds” I take it Mr. O’Brien means -something vast and vague and “<i>vitally compelling</i>” -and “organic” that our Mr. Anderson -and others will fuse into American -Fiction “<i>in artistic crucibles of their own -devising</i>.”</p> - -<p>On the whole, things look pretty bright -for the American Short Story, what with the -“fresh living current which flows through -the best American work, and the Psychological -and imaginative reality which American -writers have conferred upon it,” and the -“seething maelstrom of cross currents,” and -the “dynamic creative energies,” and above -all the <i>chaos</i>, the great American Chaos—fresh—unlimited—inexhaustible—ripe -for -the “artistic crucible,” in which it is soon to -be fused into a new cosmos of “organic fiction”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -by the White Headed Boy of the -Western World.</p> - -<div class="starbreak3x4">*** *** *** ***</div> - -<p>On the other hand, how gloomy the outlook -pictured by Mr. O’Brien for the Englishman -and the Scotchman and the Irishman! -“Living at home—writing out of a -background of racial memory and established -tradition.” It fairly gives me the -shivers. No wonder their fiction lacks compelling -vitality!</p> - -<p>But wouldn’t you think that with all the -Chaos lying round loose in Europe these -days, the Scotchman at least would grab -enough of it to create a bonnie new world -of vitally compelling fiction for himself? -That’s what I thought, but it seems I -thought wrong. The Foreign Chaos differs -from the Domestic variety in that it is “an -end rather than a beginning, a Chaos in -which the Tower of Babel had fallen.”</p> - -<p>Once more, to translate the O’Brien -speechifying into speech—for the benefit of -readers who are not movie fans—the American<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -brand of Chaos is fresh and the European -Chaos is stale.</p> - -<p>The elemental principles underlying all -forms of creation are the same, whether you -are creating a short story or a buckwheat -cake. The same dynamic laws must be -obeyed.</p> - -<p>You may have the very best possible formula -for the creation of a buckwheat cake -and the best crucible—I mean the most artistic -frying pan that can be bought; but -unless the contributory elements of heat, -butter and eggs are physically and spiritually -beyond reproach, your buckwheat cake -will be a failure.</p> - -<p>So, too, you may have the most perfect -recipe for a short story—from Mr. -O’Brien’s own book—and you may have the -most vitally compelling Psychology—straight -from the farm—but if your Chaos -be of the European cold-storage brand instead -of the “strictly fresh,” or, better still, -“new-laid” domestic variety, your Short -Story will be—like most of those in Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -O’Brien’s collection—quite unfit for human -consumption.</p> - -<div class="starbreak5">* * * * *</div> - -<p>That Mr. O’Brien is a scientist of the first -rank has been amply proved by his startling -invention of comparative Permanence—see -Roll of Honor—but, though it is interesting -to know that by the use of Asterisks what -was once believed to be the essential characteristic -of Permanence can be modified, I -doubt if half of one per cent Permanence -will ever become popular.</p> - -<p>But Mr. O’Brien has made another and -more practical contribution to science.</p> - -<p>He has computed by means of Asterisks, -that thirty-eight short stories by American -authors “would not occupy more space than -five novels of average length.”</p> - -<p>What a priceless boon to the budding -author about to embark upon his first short -story!</p> - -<p>All he has to do is to borrow five novels -of average length, cut out the pages and -divide the total number into seven equal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -piles, each one of which will be seven and -three-fifths of the total pile.</p> - -<p>Six of these piles he may throw away or -return to the friends who loaned them—or -the Public Library, as the case may be. He -must then take the seventh pile and placing -the pages end to end on the floor—the roof -of the house will do if the floor be too small—and -procuring a strip of paper of exactly -the same length, begin the Story at one end -and continue writing until he reaches the -other end.</p> - -<p>This will insure the work’s being of the -right length for an American Short Story, -and, if Mr. O’Brien’s other two conditions -as to “form and substance” are properly -fulfilled, the Story will be quite all right and -may be published—with three Asterisks—in -the Roll of Honor for the following year.</p> - -<div class="starbreak5">* * * * *</div> - -<p>The luncheon hour at the O’Brien Sweatshop -is devoted to an Efficiency Drill of all -the Asterisks employed.</p> - -<p>The Drill lasts an hour and is designed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -keep the Asterisks in perfect physical condition -for their arduous work.</p> - -<p>First, there is a grand march of Asterisks -in varying formations of ones, twos and -threes. This is followed by running matches -and exhibitions of high jumping, wrestling -and leaping through hoops.</p> - -<p>An exciting game of Roll of Honor closes -the exercises.</p> - -<p>This is the most violent exercise of all and -consists of rolling blindfold down an inclined -plane and landing in a huge pile of -short stories.</p> - -<p>The Asterisk that picks up the best Short -Story, receives as a reward an honorable -mention in the Annual Report.</p> - -<div class="starbreak5">* * * * *</div> - -<p>There have been many unkind things said -about the late-lamented year Nineteen -Twenty-One, but after inspecting this work -of Edward J. O’Brien’s I am inclined to -think that the title proclaiming it to be a -collection of Nineteen Twenty-One’s best -Short Stories, is the most slanderous statement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -of them all. It is enough to make even -the Statue of Liberty blush!</p> - -<p>In no English-speaking country is the -Short Story such a recognized feature of -everyday social intercourse as it is in America.</p> - -<p>It is almost impossible for two Americans -to meet anywhere or at any time of the day -or night without an exchange of Short -Stories. Sometimes the form of the telling -is good, sometimes bad. More often it is -very bad form indeed, but two things the -Story must have—to “get over”—substance -and brevity.</p> - -<p>The same two things are demanded in the -written story. I do not include Form, because -Form is essential to Brevity. Artistic -Brevity cannot be achieved without Form.</p> - -<p>Substance, to paraphrase the Bard, is -such stuff as Stories are made on. It must -be of good weave, or the story will not hold -together.</p> - -<p>Some of the Stories in the O’Brien collection -are of a rotten fabric, others, while well<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -woven, have a most disagreeable pattern. -Others again are dyed with imported dyes -from Kipling, Conrad and Company. At -least one of the stories has no fabric at all, -but the weaver—like the Weaver in the -Fairy Tales—has gone through the motions -of weaving so plausibly, not to say impudently, -that many, like Mr. O’Brien, are -deceived by it.</p> - -<p>Mr. O’Brien, defining Substance, tells us -that it amounts to nothing unless it be organic -substance “<i>in which the pulse of life -is beating</i>.” Thereby he admits that Substance -is Stuff, but insists that it must be -Live Stuff!</p> - -<p>Mr. O’Brien is mistaken; in one of the -finest Short Stories ever written the Substance -of the Story is a Shadow!</p> - -<p>The Story is by “Anderson.”</p> - -<p>What, <i>our</i> Mr. Anderson?</p> - -<p>Great Heavens, no! Hans Christian Andersen.</p> - -<div class="starbreak5">* * * * *</div> - -<p>I have not the space to speak in detail of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> -more than one of the Stories in Mr. -O’Brien’s collection, nor will it be necessary; -one specimen of the deadly <i>Amonita Bulbosa</i> -in a mess of mushrooms is enough to -justify the partaker thereof in damning the -whole dish, if he live to express any opinion -at all; so, if in a collection that claims to be -composed of “Best Short Stories” I find one -that is very bad in both Substance and -Form, indeed so bad in Substance that it -hardly deserves to be called a Story at all, I -may surely, with perfect justice, damn the -whole book as being false to its title and not -what it pretends to be.</p> - -<p>But in censuring Mr. Anderson’s story -“Brothers,” I am not so much criticizing the -author as admonishing the compiler of “The -Best Stories” for the gross misuse of an -Asterisk.</p> - -<p>One does not have to be an officer of the -S. P. C. A. to rebuke a truck driver who is -abusing a horse that is hitched to a truckload -of junk that is much too heavy for it.</p> - -<p>By the same token, I do not pose as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -critic when I take Mr. O’Brien to task for -hitching an Asterisk to Sherwood Anderson’s -story, “Brothers.”</p> - -<p>I should not have noticed the Anderson -load of junk, but for the stupidity of its -driver, which annoys me.</p> - -<p>It is no way to treat an Asterisk.</p> - -<div class="starbreak5">* * * * *</div> - -<p>The kindest thing that can be said of -“Brothers” is that its inclusion in a collection -of American Short Stories puts it in a -false position. It is unmistakably American—the -mark of the “Melting Pot” is all -over it—and I suppose it is Short, though it -takes a lot of patience to read it, but it is <i>not</i> -a story in the accepted sense of the word.</p> - -<p>It starts nowhere, it does nothing and it -gets nowhere, reminding one vaguely of the -three Japanese monkeys who see nothing, -hear nothing and say nothing.</p> - -<p>To apply the O’Brien test, it has no Substance. -The weaver went through the motions -of weaving, but he wove nothing. -There is no “stuff” here.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> - -<p>Neither has it Form. The material—such -as it is—is not shaped “into the most beautiful -and satisfying form by skillful selection -and arrangement.” That is to say, it violates -Mr. O’Brien’s own rule.</p> - -<p>If I were asked to give the thing a name, -I should say that “Brothers” is a sort of -cross between a very dull parody of one of -G. S. Street’s “Episodes” and a grimy but -ambitious newspaper “story” touched up -with a dash of that old-fashioned freak of -lap-dog literature known as the “Poem in -Prose,” much petted by Turgenieff in the -early eighties, a vehicle—if one may be permitted -to change similes in midstream—in -which you pay as you enter and as you leave, -both.</p> - -<p>You pay as you enter with a soddenly -self-conscious rhapsody in G minor, and you -pay as you leave with a tiresome repetition -of the same.</p> - -<p>When a Story of the O’Brien school begins -like that, you feel sure it is going to lead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -to something disgusting and you are seldom -disappointed, certainly not in this instance.</p> - -<p>It is a sort of elegy on the falling leaves.</p> - -<p>Mr. Anderson almost weeps for pity of -the falling leaves. Listen to the patter of -the Andersonian tears:</p> - -<p>“* * * the yellow, red and golden leaves -fall straight down heavily. The rain beats -them brutally down. They are denied a last -golden flash across the sky. In October, -leaves should be carried away, out over the -plains, in a wind. They should go dancing -away.”</p> - -<p>You have a feeling as you read this, that -Mr. A. rather fancies it himself. You can -almost hear him say: “I do this fallen-leaf -stuff rather well, if you know what I mean!” -and since it is the only pretty bit in the -Story, you hardly blame him for repeating -it at the end.</p> - -<p>For my part, I am suspicious; I am not -from Missouri, but, nevertheless, I require -to be shown.</p> - -<p>I ask myself: “Is Mr. Anderson sincere?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> - -<p>I read further on, and I find that he is not.</p> - -<p>This is what I read:</p> - -<p>“* * * His arms tightened about the -body of the little dog so that it screamed -with pain. I stepped forward and tore the -arms away, and the dog fell to the ground -and lay whining. No doubt it had been injured. -Perhaps ribs had been crushed. The -old man stared at the dog lying at his feet.”</p> - -<p>Nothing more about the little dog until, a -few lines further on, Mr. Anderson shows -that the dying agony of a little dog excited -only a passing interest in him. “An hour -ago the old man of the house in the forest -went past my door and the little dog was not -with him. It may be that as we talked in the -fog he crushed the life out of his companion. -It may be that the dog, like the workman’s -wife and her unborn child, is now dead. -The leaves of the trees that line the road -before my window are falling like rain—the -yellow, red and golden leaves fall straight -down heavily * * *,” and so on, with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -repetition of the opening rhapsody of grief -for the falling leaves.</p> - -<p>So, you see, to Sherwood Anderson a falling -leaf is a heart-rending sight, but a falling -puppy, even though its ribs be crushed -and it scream with agony, is quite another -thing.</p> - -<p>No, Mr. Anderson is not sincere.</p> - -<p>And if an artist, though he fairly reek -with seething dynamic chaos and vitally -compelling psychology, have not sincerity, -all the Asterisks in Mr. O’Brien’s sweatshop -will avail him naught.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Neither Here Nor There, by Oliver Herford - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEITHER HERE NOR THERE *** - -***** This file should be named 56165-h.htm or 56165-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/1/6/56165/ - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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