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diff --git a/6340-h/6340-h(old).htm b/6340-h/6340-h(old).htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ae2b09a --- /dev/null +++ b/6340-h/6340-h(old).htm @@ -0,0 +1,6702 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <title> + Literary Lapses, by Stephen Leacock + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> + <pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Literary Lapses, by Stephen Leacock + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: Literary Lapses + +Author: Stephen Leacock + +Release Date: June 21, 2004 [EBook #6340] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY LAPSES *** + + + + +Etext produced by Gardner Buchanan + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + LITERARY LAPSES + </h1> + <h2> + By Stephen Leacock + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> LITERARY LAPSES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> My Financial Career </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> Lord Oxhead's Secret </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> Boarding-House Geometry </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> The Awful Fate of Melpomenus Jones </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> A Christmas Letter </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> How to Make a Million Dollars </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> How to Live to be 200 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> How to Avoid Getting Married </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> How to be a Doctor </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> The New Food </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> A New Pathology </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> The Poet Answered </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> The Force of Statistics </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> Men Who have Shaved Me </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> Getting the Thread of It </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> Telling His Faults </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> Winter Pastimes </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> Number Fifty-Six </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> Aristocratic Education </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> The Conjurer's Revenge </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> Hints to Travellers </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> A Manual of Education </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> Hoodoo McFiggin's Christmas </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> The Life of John Smith </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> On Collecting Things </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> Society Chat-Chat </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> Insurance up to Date </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> Borrowing a Match </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> A Lesson in Fiction </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> Helping the Armenians </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> A Study in Still Life.—The Country Hotel + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> An Experiment With Policeman Hogan </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> The Passing of the Poet </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> Self-made Men </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> A Model Dialogue </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> Back to the Bush </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> Reflections on Riding </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> Saloonio </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> Half-hours with the Poets </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART"> PART I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> PART II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART3"> PART III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> A, B, and C </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> Acknowledgments </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LITERARY LAPSES + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + My Financial Career + </h2> + <p> + When I go into a bank I get rattled. The clerks rattle me; the wickets + rattle me; the sight of the money rattles me; everything rattles me. + </p> + <p> + The moment I cross the threshold of a bank and attempt to transact + business there, I become an irresponsible idiot. + </p> + <p> + I knew this beforehand, but my salary had been raised to fifty dollars a + month and I felt that the bank was the only place for it. + </p> + <p> + So I shambled in and looked timidly round at the clerks. I had an idea + that a person about to open an account must needs consult the manager. + </p> + <p> + I went up to a wicket marked "Accountant." The accountant was a tall, cool + devil. The very sight of him rattled me. My voice was sepulchral. + </p> + <p> + "Can I see the manager?" I said, and added solemnly, "alone." I don't know + why I said "alone." + </p> + <p> + "Certainly," said the accountant, and fetched him. + </p> + <p> + The manager was a grave, calm man. I held my fifty-six dollars clutched in + a crumpled ball in my pocket. + </p> + <p> + "Are you the manager?" I said. God knows I didn't doubt it. + </p> + <p> + "Yes," he said. + </p> + <p> + "Can I see you," I asked, "alone?" I didn't want to say "alone" again, but + without it the thing seemed self-evident. + </p> + <p> + The manager looked at me in some alarm. He felt that I had an awful secret + to reveal. + </p> + <p> + "Come in here," he said, and led the way to a private room. He turned the + key in the lock. + </p> + <p> + "We are safe from interruption here," he said; "sit down." + </p> + <p> + We both sat down and looked at each other. I found no voice to speak. + </p> + <p> + "You are one of Pinkerton's men, I presume," he said. + </p> + <p> + He had gathered from my mysterious manner that I was a detective. I knew + what he was thinking, and it made me worse. + </p> + <p> + "No, not from Pinkerton's," I said, seeming to imply that I came from a + rival agency. + </p> + <p> + "To tell the truth," I went on, as if I had been prompted to lie about it, + "I am not a detective at all. I have come to open an account. I intend to + keep all my money in this bank." + </p> + <p> + The manager looked relieved but still serious; he concluded now that I was + a son of Baron Rothschild or a young Gould. + </p> + <p> + "A large account, I suppose," he said. + </p> + <p> + "Fairly large," I whispered. "I propose to deposit fifty-six dollars now + and fifty dollars a month regularly." + </p> + <p> + The manager got up and opened the door. He called to the accountant. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Montgomery," he said unkindly loud, "this gentleman is opening an + account, he will deposit fifty-six dollars. Good morning." + </p> + <p> + I rose. + </p> + <p> + A big iron door stood open at the side of the room. + </p> + <p> + "Good morning," I said, and stepped into the safe. + </p> + <p> + "Come out," said the manager coldly, and showed me the other way. + </p> + <p> + I went up to the accountant's wicket and poked the ball of money at him + with a quick convulsive movement as if I were doing a conjuring trick. + </p> + <p> + My face was ghastly pale. + </p> + <p> + "Here," I said, "deposit it." The tone of the words seemed to mean, "Let + us do this painful thing while the fit is on us." + </p> + <p> + He took the money and gave it to another clerk. + </p> + <p> + He made me write the sum on a slip and sign my name in a book. I no longer + knew what I was doing. The bank swam before my eyes. + </p> + <p> + "Is it deposited?" I asked in a hollow, vibrating voice. + </p> + <p> + "It is," said the accountant. + </p> + <p> + "Then I want to draw a cheque." + </p> + <p> + My idea was to draw out six dollars of it for present use. Someone gave me + a chequebook through a wicket and someone else began telling me how to + write it out. The people in the bank had the impression that I was an + invalid millionaire. I wrote something on the cheque and thrust it in at + the clerk. He looked at it. + </p> + <p> + "What! are you drawing it all out again?" he asked in surprise. Then I + realized that I had written fifty-six instead of six. I was too far gone + to reason now. I had a feeling that it was impossible to explain the + thing. All the clerks had stopped writing to look at me. + </p> + <p> + Reckless with misery, I made a plunge. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, the whole thing." + </p> + <p> + "You withdraw your money from the bank?" + </p> + <p> + "Every cent of it." + </p> + <p> + "Are you not going to deposit any more?" said the clerk, astonished. + </p> + <p> + "Never." + </p> + <p> + An idiot hope struck me that they might think something had insulted me + while I was writing the cheque and that I had changed my mind. I made a + wretched attempt to look like a man with a fearfully quick temper. + </p> + <p> + The clerk prepared to pay the money. + </p> + <p> + "How will you have it?" he said. + </p> + <p> + "What?" + </p> + <p> + "How will you have it?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh"—I caught his meaning and answered without even trying to think—"in + fifties." + </p> + <p> + He gave me a fifty-dollar bill. + </p> + <p> + "And the six?" he asked dryly. + </p> + <p> + "In sixes," I said. + </p> + <p> + He gave it me and I rushed out. + </p> + <p> + As the big door swung behind me I caught the echo of a roar of laughter + that went up to the ceiling of the bank. Since then I bank no more. I keep + my money in cash in my trousers pocket and my savings in silver dollars in + a sock. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Lord Oxhead's Secret + </h2> + <h3> + A ROMANCE IN ONE CHAPTER + </h3> + <p> + It was finished. Ruin had come. Lord Oxhead sat gazing fixedly at the + library fire. Without, the wind soughed (or sogged) around the turrets of + Oxhead Towers, the seat of the Oxhead family. But the old earl heeded not + the sogging of the wind around his seat. He was too absorbed. + </p> + <p> + Before him lay a pile of blue papers with printed headings. From time to + time he turned them over in his hands and replaced them on the table with + a groan. To the earl they meant ruin—absolute, irretrievable ruin, + and with it the loss of his stately home that had been the pride of the + Oxheads for generations. More than that—the world would now know the + awful secret of his life. + </p> + <p> + The earl bowed his head in the bitterness of his sorrow, for he came of a + proud stock. About him hung the portraits of his ancestors. Here on the + right an Oxhead who had broken his lance at Crecy, or immediately before + it. There McWhinnie Oxhead who had ridden madly from the stricken field of + Flodden to bring to the affrighted burghers of Edinburgh all the tidings + that he had been able to gather in passing the battlefield. Next him hung + the dark half Spanish face of Sir Amyas Oxhead of Elizabethan days whose + pinnace was the first to dash to Plymouth with the news that the English + fleet, as nearly as could be judged from a reasonable distance, seemed + about to grapple with the Spanish Armada. Below this, the two Cavalier + brothers, Giles and Everard Oxhead, who had sat in the oak with Charles + II. Then to the right again the portrait of Sir Ponsonby Oxhead who had + fought with Wellington in Spain, and been dismissed for it. + </p> + <p> + Immediately before the earl as he sat was the family escutcheon emblazoned + above the mantelpiece. A child might read the simplicity of its proud + significance—an ox rampant quartered in a field of gules with a pike + dexter and a dog intermittent in a plain parallelogram right centre, with + the motto, "Hic, haec, hoc, hujus, hujus, hujus." + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + "Father!"—The girl's voice rang clear through the half light of the + wainscoted library. Gwendoline Oxhead had thrown herself about the earl's + neck. The girl was radiant with happiness. Gwendoline was a beautiful girl + of thirty-three, typically English in the freshness of her girlish + innocence. She wore one of those charming walking suits of brown holland + so fashionable among the aristocracy of England, while a rough leather + belt encircled her waist in a single sweep. She bore herself with that + sweet simplicity which was her greatest charm. She was probably more + simple than any girl of her age for miles around. Gwendoline was the pride + of her father's heart, for he saw reflected in her the qualities of his + race. + </p> + <p> + "Father," she said, a blush mantling her fair face, "I am so happy, oh so + happy; Edwin has asked me to be his wife, and we have plighted our troth—at + least if you consent. For I will never marry without my father's warrant," + she added, raising her head proudly; "I am too much of an Oxhead for + that." + </p> + <p> + Then as she gazed into the old earl's stricken face, the girl's mood + changed at once. "Father," she cried, "father, are you ill? What is it? + Shall I ring?" As she spoke Gwendoline reached for the heavy bell-rope + that hung beside the wall, but the earl, fearful that her frenzied efforts + might actually make it ring, checked her hand. "I am, indeed, deeply + troubled," said Lord Oxhead, "but of that anon. Tell me first what is this + news you bring. I hope, Gwendoline, that your choice has been worthy of an + Oxhead, and that he to whom you have plighted your troth will be worthy to + bear our motto with his own." And, raising his eyes to the escutcheon + before him, the earl murmured half unconsciously, "Hic, haec, hoc, hujus, + hujus, hujus," breathing perhaps a prayer as many of his ancestors had + done before him that he might never forget it. + </p> + <p> + "Father," continued Gwendoline, half timidly, "Edwin is an American." + </p> + <p> + "You surprise me indeed," answered Lord Oxhead; "and yet," he continued, + turning to his daughter with the courtly grace that marked the nobleman of + the old school, "why should we not respect and admire the Americans? + Surely there have been great names among them. Indeed, our ancestor Sir + Amyas Oxhead was, I think, married to Pocahontas—at least if not + actually married"—the earl hesitated a moment. + </p> + <p> + "At least they loved one another," said Gwendoline simply. + </p> + <p> + "Precisely," said the earl, with relief, "they loved one another, yes, + exactly." Then as if musing to himself, "Yes, there have been great + Americans. Bolivar was an American. The two Washingtons—George and + Booker—are both Americans. There have been others too, though for + the moment I do not recall their names. But tell me, Gwendoline, this + Edwin of yours—where is his family seat?" + </p> + <p> + "It is at Oshkosh, Wisconsin, father." + </p> + <p> + "Ah! say you so?" rejoined the earl, with rising interest. "Oshkosh is, + indeed, a grand old name. The Oshkosh are a Russian family. An Ivan + Oshkosh came to England with Peter the Great and married my ancestress. + Their descendant in the second degree once removed, Mixtup Oshkosh, fought + at the burning of Moscow and later at the sack of Salamanca and the treaty + of Adrianople. And Wisconsin too," the old nobleman went on, his features + kindling with animation, for he had a passion for heraldry, genealogy, + chronology, and commercial geography; "the Wisconsins, or better, I think, + the Guisconsins, are of old blood. A Guisconsin followed Henry I to + Jerusalem and rescued my ancestor Hardup Oxhead from the Saracens. Another + Guisconsin..." + </p> + <p> + "Nay, father," said Gwendoline, gently interrupting, "Wisconsin is not + Edwin's own name: that is, I believe, the name of his estate. My lover's + name is Edwin Einstein." + </p> + <p> + "Einstein," repeated the earl dubiously—"an Indian name perhaps; yet + the Indians are many of them of excellent family. An ancestor of mine..." + </p> + <p> + "Father," said Gwendoline, again interrupting, "here is a portrait of + Edwin. Judge for yourself if he be noble." With this she placed in her + father's hand an American tin-type, tinted in pink and brown. The picture + represented a typical specimen of American manhood of that Anglo-Semitic + type so often seen in persons of mixed English and Jewish extraction. The + figure was well over five feet two inches in height and broad in + proportion. The graceful sloping shoulders harmonized with the slender and + well-poised waist, and with a hand pliant and yet prehensile. The pallor + of the features was relieved by a drooping black moustache. + </p> + <p> + Such was Edwin Einstein to whom Gwendoline's heart, if not her hand, was + already affianced. Their love had been so simple and yet so strange. It + seemed to Gwendoline that it was but a thing of yesterday, and yet in + reality they had met three weeks ago. Love had drawn them irresistibly + together. To Edwin the fair English girl with her old name and wide + estates possessed a charm that he scarcely dared confess to himself. He + determined to woo her. To Gwendoline there was that in Edwin's bearing, + the rich jewels that he wore, the vast fortune that rumour ascribed to + him, that appealed to something romantic and chivalrous in her nature. She + loved to hear him speak of stocks and bonds, corners and margins, and his + father's colossal business. It all seemed so noble and so far above the + sordid lives of the people about her. Edwin, too, loved to hear the girl + talk of her father's estates, of the diamond-hilted sword that the saladin + had given, or had lent, to her ancestor hundreds of years ago. Her + description of her father, the old earl, touched something romantic in + Edwin's generous heart. He was never tired of asking how old he was, was + he robust, did a shock, a sudden shock, affect him much? and so on. Then + had come the evening that Gwendoline loved to live over and over again in + her mind when Edwin had asked her in his straightforward, manly way, + whether—subject to certain written stipulations to be considered + later—she would be his wife: and she, putting her hand confidingly + in his hand, answered simply, that—subject to the consent of her + father and pending always the necessary legal formalities and inquiries—she + would. + </p> + <p> + It had all seemed like a dream: and now Edwin Einstein had come in person + to ask her hand from the earl, her father. Indeed, he was at this moment + in the outer hall testing the gold leaf in the picture-frames with his + pen-knife while waiting for his affianced to break the fateful news to + Lord Oxhead. + </p> + <p> + Gwendoline summoned her courage for a great effort. "Papa," she said, + "there is one other thing that it is fair to tell you. Edwin's father is + in business." + </p> + <p> + The earl started from his seat in blank amazement. "In business!" he + repeated, "the father of the suitor of the daughter of an Oxhead in + business! My daughter the step-daughter of the grandfather of my grandson! + Are you mad, girl? It is too much, too much!" + </p> + <p> + "But, father," pleaded the beautiful girl in anguish, "hear me. It is + Edwin's father—Sarcophagus Einstein, senior—not Edwin himself. + Edwin does nothing. He has never earned a penny. He is quite unable to + support himself. You have only to see him to believe it. Indeed, dear + father, he is just like us. He is here now, in this house, waiting to see + you. If it were not for his great wealth..." + </p> + <p> + "Girl," said the earl sternly, "I care not for the man's riches. How much + has he?" + </p> + <p> + "Fifteen million two hundred and fifty thousand dollars," answered + Gwendoline. Lord Oxhead leaned his head against the mantelpiece. His mind + was in a whirl. He was trying to calculate the yearly interest on fifteen + and a quarter million dollars at four and a half per cent reduced to + pounds, shillings, and pence. It was bootless. His brain, trained by long + years of high living and plain thinking, had become too subtle, too + refined an instrument for arithmetic... + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + At this moment the door opened and Edwin Einstein stood before the earl. + Gwendoline never forgot what happened. Through her life the picture of it + haunted her—her lover upright at the door, his fine frank gaze fixed + inquiringly on the diamond pin in her father's necktie, and he, her + father, raising from the mantelpiece a face of agonized amazement. + </p> + <p> + "You! You!" he gasped. For a moment he stood to his full height, swaying + and groping in the air, then fell prostrate his full length upon the + floor. The lovers rushed to his aid. Edwin tore open his neckcloth and + plucked aside his diamond pin to give him air. But it was too late. Earl + Oxhead had breathed his last. Life had fled. The earl was extinct. That is + to say, he was dead. + </p> + <p> + The reason of his death was never known. Had the sight of Edwin killed + him? It might have. The old family doctor, hurriedly summoned, declared + his utter ignorance. This, too, was likely. Edwin himself could explain + nothing. But it was observed that after the earl's death and his marriage + with Gwendoline he was a changed man; he dressed better, talked much + better English. + </p> + <p> + The wedding itself was quiet, almost sad. At Gwendoline's request there + was no wedding breakfast, no bridesmaids, and no reception, while Edwin, + respecting his bride's bereavement, insisted that there should be no best + man, no flowers, no presents, and no honeymoon. + </p> + <p> + Thus Lord Oxhead's secret died with him. It was probably too complicated + to be interesting anyway. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Boarding-House Geometry + </h2> + <h3> + DEFINITIONS AND AXIOMS + </h3> + <p> + All boarding-houses are the same boarding-house. + </p> + <p> + Boarders in the same boarding-house and on the same flat are equal to one + another. + </p> + <p> + A single room is that which has no parts and no magnitude. + </p> + <p> + The landlady of a boarding-house is a parallelogram—that is, an + oblong angular figure, which cannot be described, but which is equal to + anything. + </p> + <p> + A wrangle is the disinclination of two boarders to each other that meet + together but are not in the same line. + </p> + <p> + All the other rooms being taken, a single room is said to be a double + room. + </p> + <h3> + POSTULATES AND PROPOSITIONS + </h3> + <p> + A pie may be produced any number of times. + </p> + <p> + The landlady can be reduced to her lowest terms by a series of + propositions. + </p> + <p> + A bee line may be made from any boarding-house to any other + boarding-house. + </p> + <p> + The clothes of a boarding-house bed, though produced ever so far both + ways, will not meet. + </p> + <p> + Any two meals at a boarding-house are together less than two square meals. + </p> + <p> + If from the opposite ends of a boarding-house a line be drawn passing + through all the rooms in turn, then the stovepipe which warms the boarders + will lie within that line. + </p> + <p> + On the same bill and on the same side of it there should not be two + charges for the same thing. + </p> + <p> + If there be two boarders on the same flat, and the amount of side of the + one be equal to the amount of side of the other, each to each, and the + wrangle between one boarder and the landlady be equal to the wrangle + between the landlady and the other, then shall the weekly bills of the two + boarders be equal also, each to each. + </p> + <p> + For if not, let one bill be the greater. + </p> + <p> + Then the other bill is less than it might have been—which is absurd. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Awful Fate of Melpomenus Jones + </h2> + <p> + Some people—not you nor I, because we are so awfully self-possessed—but + some people, find great difficulty in saying good-bye when making a call + or spending the evening. As the moment draws near when the visitor feels + that he is fairly entitled to go away he rises and says abruptly, "Well, I + think I..." Then the people say, "Oh, must you go now? Surely it's early + yet!" and a pitiful struggle ensues. + </p> + <p> + I think the saddest case of this kind of thing that I ever knew was that + of my poor friend Melpomenus Jones, a curate—such a dear young man, + and only twenty-three! He simply couldn't get away from people. He was too + modest to tell a lie, and too religious to wish to appear rude. Now it + happened that he went to call on some friends of his on the very first + afternoon of his summer vacation. The next six weeks were entirely his own—absolutely + nothing to do. He chatted awhile, drank two cups of tea, then braced + himself for the effort and said suddenly: + </p> + <p> + "Well, I think I..." + </p> + <p> + But the lady of the house said, "Oh, no! Mr. Jones, can't you really stay + a little longer?" + </p> + <p> + Jones was always truthful. "Oh, yes," he said, "of course, I—er—can + stay." + </p> + <p> + "Then please don't go." + </p> + <p> + He stayed. He drank eleven cups of tea. Night was falling. He rose again. + </p> + <p> + "Well now," he said shyly, "I think I really..." + </p> + <p> + "You must go?" said the lady politely. "I thought perhaps you could have + stayed to dinner..." + </p> + <p> + "Oh well, so I could, you know," Jones said, "if..." + </p> + <p> + "Then please stay, I'm sure my husband will be delighted." + </p> + <p> + "All right," he said feebly, "I'll stay," and he sank back into his chair, + just full of tea, and miserable. + </p> + <p> + Papa came home. They had dinner. All through the meal Jones sat planning + to leave at eight-thirty. All the family wondered whether Mr. Jones was + stupid and sulky, or only stupid. + </p> + <p> + After dinner mamma undertook to "draw him out," and showed him + photographs. She showed him all the family museum, several gross of them—photos + of papa's uncle and his wife, and mamma's brother and his little boy, an + awfully interesting photo of papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform, + an awfully well-taken photo of papa's grandfather's partner's dog, and an + awfully wicked one of papa as the devil for a fancy-dress ball. At + eight-thirty Jones had examined seventy-one photographs. There were about + sixty-nine more that he hadn't. Jones rose. + </p> + <p> + "I must say good night now," he pleaded. + </p> + <p> + "Say good night!" they said, "why it's only half-past eight! Have you + anything to do?" + </p> + <p> + "Nothing," he admitted, and muttered something about staying six weeks, + and then laughed miserably. + </p> + <p> + Just then it turned out that the favourite child of the family, such a + dear little romp, had hidden Mr. Jones's hat; so papa said that he must + stay, and invited him to a pipe and a chat. Papa had the pipe and gave + Jones the chat, and still he stayed. Every moment he meant to take the + plunge, but couldn't. Then papa began to get very tired of Jones, and + fidgeted and finally said, with jocular irony, that Jones had better stay + all night, they could give him a shake-down. Jones mistook his meaning and + thanked him with tears in his eyes, and papa put Jones to bed in the spare + room and cursed him heartily. + </p> + <p> + After breakfast next day, papa went off to his work in the City, and left + Jones playing with the baby, broken-hearted. His nerve was utterly gone. + He was meaning to leave all day, but the thing had got on his mind and he + simply couldn't. When papa came home in the evening he was surprised and + chagrined to find Jones still there. He thought to jockey him out with a + jest, and said he thought he'd have to charge him for his board, he! he! + The unhappy young man stared wildly for a moment, then wrung papa's hand, + paid him a month's board in advance, and broke down and sobbed like a + child. + </p> + <p> + In the days that followed he was moody and unapproachable. He lived, of + course, entirely in the drawing-room, and the lack of air and exercise + began to tell sadly on his health. He passed his time in drinking tea and + looking at the photographs. He would stand for hours gazing at the + photographs of papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform—talking + to it, sometimes swearing bitterly at it. His mind was visibly failing. + </p> + <p> + At length the crash came. They carried him upstairs in a raging delirium + of fever. The illness that followed was terrible. He recognized no one, + not even papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform. At times he would + start up from his bed and shriek, "Well, I think I..." and then fall back + upon the pillow with a horrible laugh. Then, again, he would leap up and + cry, "Another cup of tea and more photographs! More photographs! Har! + Har!" + </p> + <p> + At length, after a month of agony, on the last day of his vacation, he + passed away. They say that when the last moment came, he sat up in bed + with a beautiful smile of confidence playing upon his face, and said, + "Well—the angels are calling me; I'm afraid I really must go now. + Good afternoon." + </p> + <p> + And the rushing of his spirit from its prison-house was as rapid as a + hunted cat passing over a garden fence. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Christmas Letter + </h2> + <p> + (In answer to a young lady who has sent an invitation to be present at a + children's party) + </p> + <p> + Madamoiselle, + </p> + <p> + Allow me very gratefully but firmly to refuse your kind invitation. You + doubtless mean well; but your ideas are unhappily mistaken. + </p> + <p> + Let us understand one another once and for all. I cannot at my mature age + participate in the sports of children with such abandon as I could wish. I + entertain, and have always entertained, the sincerest regard for such + games as Hunt-the-Slipper and Blind-Man's Buff. But I have now reached a + time of life, when, to have my eyes blindfolded and to have a powerful boy + of ten hit me in the back with a hobby-horse and ask me to guess who hit + me, provokes me to a fit of retaliation which could only culminate in + reckless criminality. Nor can I cover my shoulders with a drawing-room rug + and crawl round on my hands and knees under the pretence that I am a bear + without a sense of personal insufficiency, which is painful to me. + </p> + <p> + Neither can I look on with a complacent eye at the sad spectacle of your + young clerical friend, the Reverend Mr. Uttermost Farthing, abandoning + himself to such gambols and appearing in the role of life and soul of the + evening. Such a degradation of his holy calling grieves me, and I cannot + but suspect him of ulterior motives. + </p> + <p> + You inform me that your maiden aunt intends to help you to entertain the + party. I have not, as you know, the honour of your aunt's acquaintance, + yet I think I may with reason surmise that she will organize games—guessing + games—in which she will ask me to name a river in Asia beginning + with a Z; on my failure to do so she will put a hot plate down my neck as + a forfeit, and the children will clap their hands. These games, my dear + young friend, involve the use of a more adaptable intellect than mine, and + I cannot consent to be a party to them. + </p> + <p> + May I say in conclusion that I do not consider a five-cent pen-wiper from + the top branch of a Xmas tree any adequate compensation for the kind of + evening you propose. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I have the honour + To subscribe myself, + Your obedient servant. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + How to Make a Million Dollars + </h2> + <p> + I mix a good deal with the Millionaires. I like them. I like their faces. + I like the way they live. I like the things they eat. The more we mix + together the better I like the things we mix. + </p> + <p> + Especially I like the way they dress, their grey check trousers, their + white check waist-coats, their heavy gold chains, and the signet-rings + that they sign their cheques with. My! they look nice. Get six or seven of + them sitting together in the club and it's a treat to see them. And if + they get the least dust on them, men come and brush it off. Yes, and are + glad to. I'd like to take some of the dust off them myself. + </p> + <p> + Even more than what they eat I like their intellectual grasp. It is + wonderful. Just watch them read. They simply read all the time. Go into + the club at any hour and you'll see three or four of them at it. And the + things they can read! You'd think that a man who'd been driving hard in + the office from eleven o'clock until three, with only an hour and a half + for lunch, would be too fagged. Not a bit. These men can sit down after + office hours and read the Sketch and the Police Gazette and the Pink Un, + and understand the jokes just as well as I can. + </p> + <p> + What I love to do is to walk up and down among them and catch the little + scraps of conversation. The other day I heard one lean forward and say, + "Well, I offered him a million and a half and said I wouldn't give a cent + more, he could either take it or leave it—" I just longed to break + in and say, "What! what! a million and a half! Oh! say that again! Offer + it to me, to either take it or leave it. Do try me once: I know I can: or + here, make it a plain million and let's call it done." + </p> + <p> + Not that these men are careless over money. No, sir. Don't think it. Of + course they don't take much account of big money, a hundred thousand + dollars at a shot or anything of that sort. But little money. You've no + idea till you know them how anxious they get about a cent, or half a cent, + or less. + </p> + <p> + Why, two of them came into the club the other night just frantic with + delight: they said wheat had risen and they'd cleaned up four cents each + in less than half an hour. They bought a dinner for sixteen on the + strength of it. I don't understand it. I've often made twice as much as + that writing for the papers and never felt like boasting about it. + </p> + <p> + One night I heard one man say, "Well, let's call up New York and offer + them a quarter of a cent." Great heavens! Imagine paying the cost of + calling up New York, nearly five million people, late at night and + offering them a quarter of a cent! And yet—did New York get mad? No, + they took it. Of course it's high finance. I don't pretend to understand + it. I tried after that to call up Chicago and offer it a cent and a half, + and to call up Hamilton, Ontario, and offer it half a dollar, and the + operator only thought I was crazy. + </p> + <p> + All this shows, of course, that I've been studying how the millionaires do + it. I have. For years. I thought it might be helpful to young men just + beginning to work and anxious to stop. + </p> + <p> + You know, many a man realizes late in life that if when he was a boy he + had known what he knows now, instead of being what he is he might be what + he won't; but how few boys stop to think that if they knew what they don't + know instead of being what they will be, they wouldn't be? These are awful + thoughts. + </p> + <p> + At any rate, I've been gathering hints on how it is they do it. + </p> + <p> + One thing I'm sure about. If a young man wants to make a million dollars + he's got to be mighty careful about his diet and his living. This may seem + hard. But success is only achieved with pains. + </p> + <p> + There is no use in a young man who hopes to make a million dollars + thinking he's entitled to get up at 7.30, eat force and poached eggs, + drink cold water at lunch, and go to bed at 10 p.m. You can't do it. I've + seen too many millionaires for that. If you want to be a millionaire you + mustn't get up till ten in the morning. They never do. They daren't. It + would be as much as their business is worth if they were seen on the + street at half-past nine. + </p> + <p> + And the old idea of abstemiousness is all wrong. To be a millionaire you + need champagne, lots of it and all the time. That and Scotch whisky and + soda: you have to sit up nearly all night and drink buckets of it. This is + what clears the brain for business next day. I've seen some of these men + with their brains so clear in the morning, that their faces look + positively boiled. + </p> + <p> + To live like this requires, of course, resolution. But you can buy that by + the pint. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, my dear young man, if you want to get moved on from your + present status in business, change your life. When your landlady brings + your bacon and eggs for breakfast, throw them out of window to the dog and + tell her to bring you some chilled asparagus and a pint of Moselle. Then + telephone to your employer that you'll be down about eleven o'clock. You + will get moved on. Yes, very quickly. + </p> + <p> + Just how the millionaires make the money is a difficult question. But one + way is this. Strike the town with five cents in your pocket. They nearly + all do this; they've told me again and again (men with millions and + millions) that the first time they struck town they had only five cents. + That seems to have given them their start. Of course, it's not easy to do. + I've tried it several times. I nearly did it once. I borrowed five cents, + carried it away out of town, and then turned and came back at the town + with an awful rush. If I hadn't struck a beer saloon in the suburbs and + spent the five cents I might have been rich to-day. + </p> + <p> + Another good plan is to start something. Something on a huge scale: + something nobody ever thought of. For instance, one man I know told me + that once he was down in Mexico without a cent (he'd lost his five in + striking Central America) and he noticed that they had no power plants. So + he started some and made a mint of money. Another man that I know was once + stranded in New York, absolutely without a nickel. Well, it occurred to + him that what was needed were buildings ten stories higher than any that + had been put up. So he built two and sold them right away. Ever so many + millionaires begin in some such simple way as that. + </p> + <p> + There is, of course, a much easier way than any of these. I almost hate to + tell this, because I want to do it myself. + </p> + <p> + I learned of it just by chance one night at the club. There is one old man + there, extremely rich, with one of the best faces of the lot, just like a + hyena. I never used to know how he had got so rich. So one evening I asked + one of the millionaires how old Bloggs had made all his money. + </p> + <p> + "How he made it?" he answered with a sneer. "Why he made it by taking it + out of widows and orphans." + </p> + <p> + Widows and orphans! I thought, what an excellent idea. But who would have + suspected that they had it? + </p> + <p> + "And how," I asked pretty cautiously, "did he go at it to get it out of + them?" + </p> + <p> + "Why," the man answered, "he just ground them under his heels, that was + how." + </p> + <p> + Now isn't that simple? I've thought of that conversation often since and I + mean to try it. If I can get hold of them, I'll grind them quick enough. + But how to get them. Most of the widows I know look pretty solid for that + sort of thing, and as for orphans, it must take an awful lot of them. + Meantime I am waiting, and if I ever get a large bunch of orphans all + together, I'll stamp on them and see. + </p> + <p> + I find, too, on inquiry, that you can also grind it out of clergymen. They + say they grind nicely. But perhaps orphans are easier. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + How to Live to be 200 + </h2> + <p> + Twenty years ago I knew a man called Jiggins, who had the Health Habit. + </p> + <p> + He used to take a cold plunge every morning. He said it opened his pores. + After it he took a hot sponge. He said it closed the pores. He got so that + he could open and shut his pores at will. + </p> + <p> + Jiggins used to stand and breathe at an open window for half an hour + before dressing. He said it expanded his lungs. He might, of course, have + had it done in a shoe-store with a boot stretcher, but after all it cost + him nothing this way, and what is half an hour? + </p> + <p> + After he had got his undershirt on, Jiggins used to hitch himself up like + a dog in harness and do Sandow exercises. He did them forwards, backwards, + and hind-side up. + </p> + <p> + He could have got a job as a dog anywhere. He spent all his time at this + kind of thing. In his spare time at the office, he used to lie on his + stomach on the floor and see if he could lift himself up with his + knuckles. If he could, then he tried some other way until he found one + that he couldn't do. Then he would spend the rest of his lunch hour on his + stomach, perfectly happy. + </p> + <p> + In the evenings in his room he used to lift iron bars, cannon-balls, heave + dumb-bells, and haul himself up to the ceiling with his teeth. You could + hear the thumps half a mile. He liked it. + </p> + <p> + He spent half the night slinging himself around his room. He said it made + his brain clear. When he got his brain perfectly clear, he went to bed and + slept. As soon as he woke, he began clearing it again. + </p> + <p> + Jiggins is dead. He was, of course, a pioneer, but the fact that he + dumb-belled himself to death at an early age does not prevent a whole + generation of young men from following in his path. + </p> + <p> + They are ridden by the Health Mania. + </p> + <p> + They make themselves a nuisance. + </p> + <p> + They get up at impossible hours. They go out in silly little suits and run + Marathon heats before breakfast. They chase around barefoot to get the dew + on their feet. They hunt for ozone. They bother about pepsin. They won't + eat meat because it has too much nitrogen. They won't eat fruit because it + hasn't any. They prefer albumen and starch and nitrogen to huckleberry pie + and doughnuts. They won't drink water out of a tap. They won't eat + sardines out of a can. They won't use oysters out of a pail. They won't + drink milk out of a glass. They are afraid of alcohol in any shape. Yes, + sir, afraid. "Cowards." + </p> + <p> + And after all their fuss they presently incur some simple old-fashioned + illness and die like anybody else. + </p> + <p> + Now people of this sort have no chance to attain any great age. They are + on the wrong track. + </p> + <p> + Listen. Do you want to live to be really old, to enjoy a grand, green, + exuberant, boastful old age and to make yourself a nuisance to your whole + neighbourhood with your reminiscences? + </p> + <p> + Then cut out all this nonsense. Cut it out. Get up in the morning at a + sensible hour. The time to get up is when you have to, not before. If your + office opens at eleven, get up at ten-thirty. Take your chance on ozone. + There isn't any such thing anyway. Or, if there is, you can buy a Thermos + bottle full for five cents, and put it on a shelf in your cupboard. If + your work begins at seven in the morning, get up at ten minutes to, but + don't be liar enough to say that you like it. It isn't exhilarating, and + you know it. + </p> + <p> + Also, drop all that cold-bath business. You never did it when you were a + boy. Don't be a fool now. If you must take a bath (you don't really need + to), take it warm. The pleasure of getting out of a cold bed and creeping + into a hot bath beats a cold plunge to death. In any case, stop gassing + about your tub and your "shower," as if you were the only man who ever + washed. + </p> + <p> + So much for that point. + </p> + <p> + Next, take the question of germs and bacilli. Don't be scared of them. + That's all. That's the whole thing, and if you once get on to that you + never need to worry again. + </p> + <p> + If you see a bacilli, walk right up to it, and look it in the eye. If one + flies into your room, strike at it with your hat or with a towel. Hit it + as hard as you can between the neck and the thorax. It will soon get sick + of that. + </p> + <p> + But as a matter of fact, a bacilli is perfectly quiet and harmless if you + are not afraid of it. Speak to it. Call out to it to "lie down." It will + understand. I had a bacilli once, called Fido, that would come and lie at + my feet while I was working. I never knew a more affectionate companion, + and when it was run over by an automobile, I buried it in the garden with + genuine sorrow. + </p> + <p> + (I admit this is an exaggeration. I don't really remember its name; it may + have been Robert.) + </p> + <p> + Understand that it is only a fad of modern medicine to say that cholera + and typhoid and diphtheria are caused by bacilli and germs; nonsense. + Cholera is caused by a frightful pain in the stomach, and diphtheria is + caused by trying to cure a sore throat. + </p> + <p> + Now take the question of food. + </p> + <p> + Eat what you want. Eat lots of it. Yes, eat too much of it. Eat till you + can just stagger across the room with it and prop it up against a sofa + cushion. Eat everything that you like until you can't eat any more. The + only test is, can you pay for it? If you can't pay for it, don't eat it. + And listen—don't worry as to whether your food contains starch, or + albumen, or gluten, or nitrogen. If you are a damn fool enough to want + these things, go and buy them and eat all you want of them. Go to a + laundry and get a bag of starch, and eat your fill of it. Eat it, and take + a good long drink of glue after it, and a spoonful of Portland cement. + That will gluten you, good and solid. + </p> + <p> + If you like nitrogen, go and get a druggist to give you a canful of it at + the soda counter, and let you sip it with a straw. Only don't think that + you can mix all these things up with your food. There isn't any nitrogen + or phosphorus or albumen in ordinary things to eat. In any decent + household all that sort of stuff is washed out in the kitchen sink before + the food is put on the table. + </p> + <p> + And just one word about fresh air and exercise. Don't bother with either + of them. Get your room full of good air, then shut up the windows and keep + it. It will keep for years. Anyway, don't keep using your lungs all the + time. Let them rest. As for exercise, if you have to take it, take it and + put up with it. But as long as you have the price of a hack and can hire + other people to play baseball for you and run races and do gymnastics when + you sit in the shade and smoke and watch them—great heavens, what + more do you want? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + How to Avoid Getting Married + </h2> + <p> + Some years ago, when I was the Editor of a Correspondence Column, I used + to receive heart-broken letters from young men asking for advice and + sympathy. They found themselves the object of marked attentions from girls + which they scarcely knew how to deal with. They did not wish to give pain + or to seem indifferent to a love which they felt was as ardent as it was + disinterested, and yet they felt that they could not bestow their hands + where their hearts had not spoken. They wrote to me fully and frankly, and + as one soul might write to another for relief. I accepted their + confidences as under the pledge of a secrecy, never divulging their + disclosures beyond the circulation of my newspapers, or giving any hint of + their identity other than printing their names and addresses and their + letters in full. But I may perhaps without dishonour reproduce one of + these letters, and my answer to it, inasmuch as the date is now months + ago, and the softening hand of Time has woven its roses—how shall I + put it?—the mellow haze of reminiscences has—what I mean is + that the young man has gone back to work and is all right again. + </p> + <p> + Here then is a letter from a young man whose name I must not reveal, but + whom I will designate as D. F., and whose address I must not divulge, but + will simply indicate as Q. Street, West. + </p> + <h3> + "DEAR MR. LEACOCK, + </h3> + <p> + "For some time past I have been the recipient of very marked attentions + from a young lady. She has been calling at the house almost every evening, + and has taken me out in her motor, and invited me to concerts and the + theatre. On these latter occasions I have insisted on her taking my father + with me, and have tried as far as possible to prevent her saying anything + to me which would be unfit for father to hear. But my position has become + a very difficult one. I do not think it right to accept her presents when + I cannot feel that my heart is hers. Yesterday she sent to my house a + beautiful bouquet of American Beauty roses addressed to me, and a + magnificent bunch of Timothy Hay for father. I do not know what to say. + Would it be right for father to keep all this valuable hay? I have + confided fully in father, and we have discussed the question of presents. + He thinks that there are some that we can keep with propriety, and others + that a sense of delicacy forbids us to retain. He himself is going to sort + out the presents into the two classes. He thinks that as far as he can + see, the Hay is in class B. Meantime I write to you, as I understand that + Miss Laura Jean Libby and Miss Beatrix Fairfax are on their vacation, and + in any case a friend of mine who follows their writings closely tells me + that they are always full. + </p> + <p> + "I enclose a dollar, because I do not think it right to ask you to give + all your valuable time and your best thought without giving you back what + it is worth." + </p> + <p> + On receipt of this I wrote back at once a private and confidential letter + which I printed in the following edition of the paper. + </p> + <h3> + "MY DEAR, DEAR BOY, + </h3> + <p> + "Your letter has touched me. As soon as I opened it and saw the green and + blue tint of the dollar bill which you had so daintily and prettily folded + within the pages of your sweet letter, I knew that the note was from + someone that I could learn to love, if our correspondence were to continue + as it had begun. I took the dollar from your letter and kissed and fondled + it a dozen times. Dear unknown boy! I shall always keep that dollar! No + matter how much I may need it, or how many necessaries, yes, absolute + necessities, of life I may be wanting, I shall always keep THAT dollar. Do + you understand, dear? I shall keep it. I shall not spend it. As far as the + USE of it goes, it will be just as if you had not sent it. Even if you + were to send me another dollar, I should still keep the first one, so that + no matter how many you sent, the recollection of one first friendship + would not be contaminated with mercenary considerations. When I say + dollar, darling, of course an express order, or a postal note, or even + stamps would be all the same. But in that case do not address me in care + of this office, as I should not like to think of your pretty little + letters lying round where others might handle them. + </p> + <p> + "But now I must stop chatting about myself, for I know that you cannot be + interested in a simple old fogey such as I am. Let me talk to you about + your letter and about the difficult question it raises for all + marriageable young men. + </p> + <p> + "In the first place, let me tell you how glad I am that you confide in + your father. Whatever happens, go at once to your father, put your arms + about his neck, and have a good cry together. And you are right, too, + about presents. It needs a wiser head than my poor perplexed boy to deal + with them. Take them to your father to be sorted, or, if you feel that you + must not overtax his love, address them to me in your own pretty hand. + </p> + <p> + "And now let us talk, dear, as one heart to another. Remember always that + if a girl is to have your heart she must be worthy of you. When you look + at your own bright innocent face in the mirror, resolve that you will give + your hand to no girl who is not just as innocent as you are and no + brighter than yourself. So that you must first find out how innocent she + is. Ask her quietly and frankly—remember, dear, that the days of + false modesty are passing away—whether she has ever been in jail. If + she has not (and if YOU have not), then you know that you are dealing with + a dear confiding girl who will make you a life mate. Then you must know, + too, that her mind is worthy of your own. So many men to-day are led + astray by the merely superficial graces and attractions of girls who in + reality possess no mental equipment at all. Many a man is bitterly + disillusioned after marriage when he realises that his wife cannot solve a + quadratic equation, and that he is compelled to spend all his days with a + woman who does not know that X squared plus 2XY plus Y squared is the same + thing, or, I think nearly the same thing, as X plus Y squared. + </p> + <p> + "Nor should the simple domestic virtues be neglected. If a girl desires to + woo you, before allowing her to press her suit, ask her if she knows how + to press yours. If she can, let her woo; if not, tell her to whoa. But I + see I have written quite as much as I need for this column. Won't you + write again, just as before, dear boy? + </p> + <h3> + "STEPHEN LEACOCK." + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + How to be a Doctor + </h2> + <p> + Certainly the progress of science is a wonderful thing. One can't help + feeling proud of it. I must admit that I do. Whenever I get talking to + anyone—that is, to anyone who knows even less about it than I do—about + the marvellous development of electricity, for instance, I feel as if I + had been personally responsible for it. As for the linotype and the + aeroplane and the vacuum house-cleaner, well, I am not sure that I didn't + invent them myself. I believe that all generous-hearted men feel just the + same way about it. + </p> + <p> + However, that is not the point I am intending to discuss. What I want to + speak about is the progress of medicine. There, if you like, is something + wonderful. Any lover of humanity (or of either sex of it) who looks back + on the achievements of medical science must feel his heart glow and his + right ventricle expand with the pericardiac stimulus of a permissible + pride. + </p> + <p> + Just think of it. A hundred years ago there were no bacilli, no ptomaine + poisoning, no diphtheria, and no appendicitis. Rabies was but little + known, and only imperfectly developed. All of these we owe to medical + science. Even such things as psoriasis and parotitis and trypanosomiasis, + which are now household names, were known only to the few, and were quite + beyond the reach of the great mass of the people. + </p> + <p> + Or consider the advance of the science on its practical side. A hundred + years ago it used to be supposed that fever could be cured by the letting + of blood; now we know positively that it cannot. Even seventy years ago it + was thought that fever was curable by the administration of sedative + drugs; now we know that it isn't. For the matter of that, as recently as + thirty years ago, doctors thought that they could heal a fever by means of + low diet and the application of ice; now they are absolutely certain that + they cannot. This instance shows the steady progress made in the treatment + of fever. But there has been the same cheering advance all along the line. + Take rheumatism. A few generations ago people with rheumatism used to have + to carry round potatoes in their pockets as a means of cure. Now the + doctors allow them to carry absolutely anything they like. They may go + round with their pockets full of water-melons if they wish to. It makes no + difference. Or take the treatment of epilepsy. It used to be supposed that + the first thing to do in sudden attacks of this kind was to unfasten the + patient's collar and let him breathe; at present, on the contrary, many + doctors consider it better to button up the patient's collar and let him + choke. + </p> + <p> + In only one respect has there been a decided lack of progress in the + domain of medicine, that is in the time it takes to become a qualified + practitioner. In the good old days a man was turned out thoroughly + equipped after putting in two winter sessions at a college and spending + his summers in running logs for a sawmill. Some of the students were + turned out even sooner. Nowadays it takes anywhere from five to eight + years to become a doctor. Of course, one is willing to grant that our + young men are growing stupider and lazier every year. This fact will be + corroborated at once by any man over fifty years of age. But even when + this is said it seems odd that a man should study eight years now to learn + what he used to acquire in eight months. + </p> + <p> + However, let that go. The point I want to develop is that the modern + doctor's business is an extremely simple one, which could be acquired in + about two weeks. This is the way it is done. + </p> + <p> + The patient enters the consulting-room. "Doctor," he says, "I have a bad + pain." "Where is it?" "Here." "Stand up," says the doctor, "and put your + arms up above your head." Then the doctor goes behind the patient and + strikes him a powerful blow in the back. "Do you feel that," he says. "I + do," says the patient. Then the doctor turns suddenly and lets him have a + left hook under the heart. "Can you feel that," he says viciously, as the + patient falls over on the sofa in a heap. "Get up," says the doctor, and + counts ten. The patient rises. The doctor looks him over very carefully + without speaking, and then suddenly fetches him a blow in the stomach that + doubles him up speechless. The doctor walks over to the window and reads + the morning paper for a while. Presently he turns and begins to mutter + more to himself than the patient. "Hum!" he says, "there's a slight + anaesthesia of the tympanum." "Is that so?" says the patient, in an agony + of fear. "What can I do about it, doctor?" "Well," says the doctor, "I + want you to keep very quiet; you'll have to go to bed and stay there and + keep quiet." In reality, of course, the doctor hasn't the least idea what + is wrong with the man; but he DOES know that if he will go to bed and keep + quiet, awfully quiet, he'll either get quietly well again or else die a + quiet death. Meantime, if the doctor calls every morning and thumps and + beats him, he can keep the patient submissive and perhaps force him to + confess what is wrong with him. + </p> + <p> + "What about diet, doctor?" says the patient, completely cowed. + </p> + <p> + The answer to this question varies very much. It depends on how the doctor + is feeling and whether it is long since he had a meal himself. If it is + late in the morning and the doctor is ravenously hungry, he says: "Oh, eat + plenty, don't be afraid of it; eat meat, vegetables, starch, glue, cement, + anything you like." But if the doctor has just had lunch and if his + breathing is short-circuited with huckleberry-pie, he says very firmly: + "No, I don't want you to eat anything at all: absolutely not a bite; it + won't hurt you, a little self-denial in the matter of eating is the best + thing in the world." + </p> + <p> + "And what about drinking?" Again the doctor's answer varies. He may say: + "Oh, yes, you might drink a glass of lager now and then, or, if you prefer + it, a gin and soda or a whisky and Apollinaris, and I think before going + to bed I'd take a hot Scotch with a couple of lumps of white sugar and bit + of lemon-peel in it and a good grating of nutmeg on the top." The doctor + says this with real feeling, and his eye glistens with the pure love of + his profession. But if, on the other hand, the doctor has spent the night + before at a little gathering of medical friends, he is very apt to forbid + the patient to touch alcohol in any shape, and to dismiss the subject with + great severity. + </p> + <p> + Of course, this treatment in and of itself would appear too transparent, + and would fail to inspire the patient with a proper confidence. But + nowadays this element is supplied by the work of the analytical + laboratory. Whatever is wrong with the patient, the doctor insists on + snipping off parts and pieces and extracts of him and sending them + mysteriously away to be analysed. He cuts off a lock of the patient's + hair, marks it, "Mr. Smith's Hair, October, 1910." Then he clips off the + lower part of the ear, and wraps it in paper, and labels it, "Part of Mr. + Smith's Ear, October, 1910." Then he looks the patient up and down, with + the scissors in his hand, and if he sees any likely part of him he clips + it off and wraps it up. Now this, oddly enough, is the very thing that + fills the patient up with that sense of personal importance which is worth + paying for. "Yes," says the bandaged patient, later in the day to a group + of friends much impressed, "the doctor thinks there may be a slight + anaesthesia of the prognosis, but he's sent my ear to New York and my + appendix to Baltimore and a lock of my hair to the editors of all the + medical journals, and meantime I am to keep very quiet and not exert + myself beyond drinking a hot Scotch with lemon and nutmeg every + half-hour." With that he sinks back faintly on his cushions, luxuriously + happy. + </p> + <p> + And yet, isn't it funny? + </p> + <p> + You and I and the rest of us—even if we know all this—as soon + as we have a pain within us, rush for a doctor as fast as a hack can take + us. Yes, personally, I even prefer an ambulance with a bell on it. It's + more soothing. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The New Food + </h2> + <p> + I see from the current columns of the daily press that "Professor Plumb, + of the University of Chicago, has just invented a highly concentrated form + of food. All the essential nutritive elements are put together in the form + of pellets, each of which contains from one to two hundred times as much + nourishment as an ounce of an ordinary article of diet. These pellets, + diluted with water, will form all that is necessary to support life. The + professor looks forward confidently to revolutionizing the present food + system." + </p> + <p> + Now this kind of thing may be all very well in its way, but it is going to + have its drawbacks as well. In the bright future anticipated by Professor + Plumb, we can easily imagine such incidents as the following: + </p> + <p> + The smiling family were gathered round the hospitable board. The table was + plenteously laid with a soup-plate in front of each beaming child, a + bucket of hot water before the radiant mother, and at the head of the + board the Christmas dinner of the happy home, warmly covered by a thimble + and resting on a poker chip. The expectant whispers of the little ones + were hushed as the father, rising from his chair, lifted the thimble and + disclosed a small pill of concentrated nourishment on the chip before him. + Christmas turkey, cranberry sauce, plum pudding, mince pie—it was + all there, all jammed into that little pill and only waiting to expand. + Then the father with deep reverence, and a devout eye alternating between + the pill and heaven, lifted his voice in a benediction. + </p> + <p> + At this moment there was an agonized cry from the mother. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Henry, quick! Baby has snatched the pill!" It was too true. Dear + little Gustavus Adolphus, the golden-haired baby boy, had grabbed the + whole Christmas dinner off the poker chip and bolted it. Three hundred and + fifty pounds of concentrated nourishment passed down the oesophagus of the + unthinking child. + </p> + <p> + "Clap him on the back!" cried the distracted mother. "Give him water!" + </p> + <p> + The idea was fatal. The water striking the pill caused it to expand. There + was a dull rumbling sound and then, with an awful bang, Gustavus Adolphus + exploded into fragments! + </p> + <p> + And when they gathered the little corpse together, the baby lips were + parted in a lingering smile that could only be worn by a child who had + eaten thirteen Christmas dinners. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A New Pathology + </h2> + <p> + It has long been vaguely understood that the condition of a man's clothes + has a certain effect upon the health of both body and mind. The well-known + proverb, "Clothes make the man" has its origin in a general recognition of + the powerful influence of the habiliments in their reaction upon the + wearer. The same truth may be observed in the facts of everyday life. On + the one hand we remark the bold carriage and mental vigour of a man + attired in a new suit of clothes; on the other hand we note the melancholy + features of him who is conscious of a posterior patch, or the haunted face + of one suffering from internal loss of buttons. But while common + observation thus gives us a certain familiarity with a few leading facts + regarding the ailments and influence of clothes, no attempt has as yet + been made to reduce our knowledge to a systematic form. At the same time + the writer feels that a valuable addition might be made to the science of + medicine in this direction. The numerous diseases which are caused by this + fatal influence should receive a scientific analysis, and their treatment + be included among the principles of the healing art. The diseases of the + clothes may roughly be divided into medical cases and surgical cases, + while these again fall into classes according to the particular garment + through which the sufferer is attacked. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MEDICAL CASES +</pre> + <p> + Probably no article of apparel is so liable to a diseased condition as the + trousers. It may be well, therefore, to treat first those maladies to + which they are subject. + </p> + <p> + I. Contractio Pantalunae, or Shortening of the Legs of the Trousers, an + extremely painful malady most frequently found in the growing youth. The + first symptom is the appearance of a yawning space (lacuna) above the + boots, accompanied by an acute sense of humiliation and a morbid + anticipation of mockery. The application of treacle to the boots, although + commonly recommended, may rightly be condemned as too drastic a remedy. + The use of boots reaching to the knee, to be removed only at night, will + afford immediate relief. In connection with Contractio is often found— + </p> + <p> + II. Inflatio Genu, or Bagging of the Knees of the Trousers, a disease + whose symptoms are similar to those above. The patient shows an aversion + to the standing posture, and, in acute cases, if the patient be compelled + to stand, the head is bent and the eye fixed with painful rigidity upon + the projecting blade formed at the knee of the trousers. + </p> + <p> + In both of the above diseases anything that can be done to free the mind + of the patient from a morbid sense of his infirmity will do much to + improve the general tone of the system. + </p> + <p> + III. Oases, or Patches, are liable to break out anywhere on the trousers, + and range in degree of gravity from those of a trifling nature to those of + a fatal character. The most distressing cases are those where the patch + assumes a different colour from that of the trousers (dissimilitas + coloris). In this instance the mind of the patient is found to be in a + sadly aberrated condition. A speedy improvement may, however, be effected + by cheerful society, books, flowers, and, above all, by a complete change. + </p> + <p> + IV. The overcoat is attacked by no serious disorders, except— + </p> + <p> + Phosphorescentia, or Glistening, a malady which indeed may often be + observed to affect the whole system. It is caused by decay of tissue from + old age and is generally aggravated by repeated brushing. A peculiar + feature of the complaint is the lack of veracity on the part of the + patient in reference to the cause of his uneasiness. Another invariable + symptom is his aversion to outdoor exercise; under various pretexts, which + it is the duty of his medical adviser firmly to combat, he will avoid even + a gentle walk in the streets. + </p> + <p> + V. Of the waistcoat science recognizes but one disease— + </p> + <p> + Porriggia, an affliction caused by repeated spilling of porridge. It is + generally harmless, chiefly owing to the mental indifference of the + patient. It can be successfully treated by repeated fomentations of + benzine. + </p> + <p> + VI. Mortificatio Tilis, or Greenness of the Hat, is a disease often found + in connection with Phosphorescentia (mentioned above), and characterized + by the same aversion to outdoor life. + </p> + <p> + VII. Sterilitas, or Loss of Fur, is another disease of the hat, especially + prevalent in winter. It is not accurately known whether this is caused by + a falling out of the fur or by a cessation of growth. In all diseases of + the hat the mind of the patient is greatly depressed and his countenance + stamped with the deepest gloom. He is particularly sensitive in regard to + questions as to the previous history of the hat. + </p> + <p> + Want of space precludes the mention of minor diseases, such as— + </p> + <p> + VIII. Odditus Soccorum, or oddness of the socks, a thing in itself + trifling, but of an alarming nature if met in combination with Contractio + Pantalunae. Cases are found where the patient, possibly on the public + platform or at a social gathering, is seized with a consciousness of the + malady so suddenly as to render medical assistance futile. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SURGICAL CASES +</pre> + <p> + It is impossible to mention more than a few of the most typical cases of + diseases of this sort. + </p> + <p> + I. Explosio, or Loss of Buttons, is the commonest malady demanding + surgical treatment. It consists of a succession of minor fractures, + possibly internal, which at first excite no alarm. A vague sense of + uneasiness is presently felt, which often leads the patient to seek relief + in the string habit—a habit which, if unduly indulged in, may assume + the proportions of a ruling passion. The use of sealing-wax, while + admirable as a temporary remedy for Explosio, should never be allowed to + gain a permanent hold upon the system. There is no doubt that a persistent + indulgence in the string habit, or the constant use of sealing-wax, will + result in— + </p> + <p> + II. Fractura Suspendorum, or Snapping of the Braces, which amounts to a + general collapse of the system. The patient is usually seized with a + severe attack of explosio, followed by a sudden sinking feeling and sense + of loss. A sound constitution may rally from the shock, but a system + undermined by the string habit invariably succumbs. + </p> + <p> + III. Sectura Pantalunae, or Ripping of the Trousers, is generally caused + by sitting upon warm beeswax or leaning against a hook. In the case of the + very young it is not unfrequently accompanied by a distressing suppuration + of the shirt. This, however, is not remarked in adults. The malady is + rather mental than bodily, the mind of the patient being racked by a keen + sense of indignity and a feeling of unworthiness. The only treatment is + immediate isolation, with a careful stitching of the affected part. + </p> + <p> + In conclusion, it may be stated that at the first symptom of disease the + patient should not hesitate to put himself in the hands of a professional + tailor. In so brief a compass as the present article the discussion has of + necessity been rather suggestive than exhaustive. Much yet remains to be + done, and the subject opens wide to the inquiring eye. The writer will, + however, feel amply satisfied if this brief outline may help to direct the + attention of medical men to what is yet an unexplored field. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Poet Answered + </h2> + <h3> + Dear sir: + </h3> + <p> + In answer to your repeated questions and requests which have appeared for + some years past in the columns of the rural press, I beg to submit the + following solutions of your chief difficulties:— + </p> + <p> + Topic I.—You frequently ask, where are the friends of your + childhood, and urge that they shall be brought back to you. As far as I am + able to learn, those of your friends who are not in jail are still right + there in your native village. You point out that they were wont to share + your gambols. If so, you are certainly entitled to have theirs now. + </p> + <p> + Topic II.—You have taken occasion to say: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Give me not silk, nor rich attire, + Nor gold, nor jewels rare." +</pre> + <p> + But, my dear fellow, this is preposterous. Why, these are the very things + I had bought for you. If you won't take any of these, I shall have to give + you factory cotton and cordwood. + </p> + <p> + Topic III.—You also ask, "How fares my love across the sea?" + Intermediate, I presume. She would hardly travel steerage. + </p> + <p> + Topic IV.—"Why was I born? Why should I breathe?" Here I quite agree + with you. I don't think you ought to breathe. + </p> + <p> + Topic V.—You demand that I shall show you the man whose soul is dead + and then mark him. I am awfully sorry; the man was around here all day + yesterday, and if I had only known I could easily have marked him so that + we could pick him out again. + </p> + <p> + Topic VI.—I notice that you frequently say, "Oh, for the sky of your + native land." Oh, for it, by all means, if you wish. But remember that you + already owe for a great deal. + </p> + <p> + Topic VII.—On more than one occasion you wish to be informed, "What + boots it, that you idly dream?" Nothing boots it at present—a fact, + sir, which ought to afford you the highest gratification. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Force of Statistics + </h2> + <p> + They were sitting on a seat of the car, immediately in front of me. I was + consequently able to hear all that they were saying. They were evidently + strangers who had dropped into a conversation. They both had the air of + men who considered themselves profoundly interesting as minds. It was + plain that each laboured under the impression that he was a ripe thinker. + </p> + <p> + One had just been reading a book which lay in his lap. + </p> + <p> + "I've been reading some very interesting statistics," he was saying to the + other thinker. + </p> + <p> + "Ah, statistics" said the other; "wonderful things, sir, statistics; very + fond of them myself." + </p> + <p> + "I find, for instance," the first man went on, "that a drop of water is + filled with little...with little...I forget just what you call + them...little—er—things, every cubic inch containing—er—containing...let + me see..." + </p> + <p> + "Say a million," said the other thinker, encouragingly. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, a million, or possibly a billion...but at any rate, ever so many of + them." + </p> + <p> + "Is it possible?" said the other. "But really, you know there are + wonderful things in the world. Now, coal...take coal..." + </p> + <p> + "Very, good," said his friend, "let us take coal," settling back in his + seat with the air of an intellect about to feed itself. + </p> + <p> + "Do you know that every ton of coal burnt in an engine will drag a train + of cars as long as...I forget the exact length, but say a train of cars of + such and such a length, and weighing, say so much...from...from...hum! for + the moment the exact distance escapes me...drag it from..." + </p> + <p> + "From here to the moon," suggested the other. + </p> + <p> + "Ah, very likely; yes, from here to the moon. Wonderful, isn't it?" + </p> + <p> + "But the most stupendous calculation of all, sir, is in regard to the + distance from the earth to the sun. Positively, sir, a cannon-ball—er—fired + at the sun..." + </p> + <p> + "Fired at the sun," nodded the other, approvingly, as if he had often seen + it done. + </p> + <p> + "And travelling at the rate of...of..." + </p> + <p> + "Of three cents a mile," hinted the listener. + </p> + <p> + "No, no, you misunderstand me,—but travelling at a fearful rate, + simply fearful, sir, would take a hundred million—no, a hundred + billion—in short would take a scandalously long time in getting + there—" + </p> + <p> + At this point I could stand no more. I interrupted—"Provided it were + fired from Philadelphia," I said, and passed into the smoking-car. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Men Who have Shaved Me + </h2> + <p> + A barber is by nature and inclination a sport. He can tell you at what + exact hour the ball game of the day is to begin, can foretell its issue + without losing a stroke of the razor, and can explain the points of + inferiority of all the players, as compared with better men that he has + personally seen elsewhere, with the nicety of a professional. He can do + all this, and then stuff the customer's mouth with a soap-brush, and leave + him while he goes to the other end of the shop to make a side bet with one + of the other barbers on the outcome of the Autumn Handicap. In the + barber-shops they knew the result of the Jeffries-Johnson prize-fight long + before it happened. It is on information of this kind that they make their + living. The performance of shaving is only incidental to it. Their real + vocation in life is imparting information. To the barber the outside world + is made up of customers, who are to be thrown into chairs, strapped, + manacled, gagged with soap, and then given such necessary information on + the athletic events of the moment as will carry them through the business + hours of the day without open disgrace. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the barber has properly filled up the customer with information + of this sort, he rapidly removes his whiskers as a sign that the man is + now fit to talk to, and lets him out of the chair. + </p> + <p> + The public has grown to understand the situation. Every reasonable + business man is willing to sit and wait half an hour for a shave which he + could give himself in three minutes, because he knows that if he goes down + town without understanding exactly why Chicago lost two games straight he + will appear an ignoramus. + </p> + <p> + At times, of course, the barber prefers to test his customer with a + question or two. He gets him pinned in the chair, with his head well back, + covers the customer's face with soap, and then planting his knee on his + chest and holding his hand firmly across the customer's mouth, to prevent + all utterance and to force him to swallow the soap, he asks: "Well, what + did you think of the Detroit-St. Louis game yesterday?" This is not really + meant for a question at all. It is only equivalent to saying: "Now, you + poor fool, I'll bet you don't know anything about the great events of your + country at all." There is a gurgle in the customer's throat as if he were + trying to answer, and his eyes are seen to move sideways, but the barber + merely thrusts the soap-brush into each eye, and if any motion still + persists, he breathes gin and peppermint over the face, till all sign of + life is extinct. Then he talks the game over in detail with the barber at + the next chair, each leaning across an inanimate thing extended under + steaming towels that was once a man. + </p> + <p> + To know all these things barbers have to be highly educated. It is true + that some of the greatest barbers that have ever lived have begun as + uneducated, illiterate men, and by sheer energy and indomitable industry + have forced their way to the front. But these are exceptions. To succeed + nowadays it is practically necessary to be a college graduate. As the + courses at Harvard and Yale have been found too superficial, there are now + established regular Barbers' Colleges, where a bright young man can learn + as much in three weeks as he would be likely to know after three years at + Harvard. The courses at these colleges cover such things as: (1) + Physiology, including Hair and its Destruction, The Origin and Growth of + Whiskers, Soap in its Relation to Eyesight; (2) Chemistry, including + lectures on Florida Water; and How to Make it out of Sardine Oil; (3) + Practical Anatomy, including The Scalp and How to Lift it, The Ears and + How to Remove them, and, as the Major Course for advanced students, The + Veins of the Face and how to open and close them at will by the use of + alum. + </p> + <p> + The education of the customer is, as I have said, the chief part of the + barber's vocation. But it must be remembered that the incidental function + of removing his whiskers in order to mark him as a well-informed man is + also of importance, and demands long practice and great natural aptitude. + In the barbers' shops of modern cities shaving has been brought to a high + degree of perfection. A good barber is not content to remove the whiskers + of his client directly and immediately. He prefers to cook him first. He + does this by immersing the head in hot water and covering the victim's + face with steaming towels until he has him boiled to a nice pink. From + time to time the barber removes the towels and looks at the face to see if + it is yet boiled pink enough for his satisfaction. If it is not, he + replaces the towels again and jams them down firmly with his hand until + the cooking is finished. The final result, however, amply justifies this + trouble, and the well-boiled customer only needs the addition of a few + vegetables on the side to present an extremely appetizing appearance. + </p> + <p> + During the process of the shave, it is customary for the barber to apply + the particular kind of mental torture known as the third degree. This is + done by terrorizing the patient as to the very evident and proximate loss + of all his hair and whiskers, which the barber is enabled by his + experience to foretell. "Your hair," he says, very sadly and + sympathetically, "is all falling out. Better let me give you a shampoo?" + "No." "Let me singe your hair to close up the follicles?" "No." "Let me + plug up the ends of your hair with sealing-wax, it's the only thing that + will save it for you?" "No." "Let me rub an egg on your scalp?" "No." "Let + me squirt a lemon on your eyebrows?" "No." + </p> + <p> + The barber sees that he is dealing with a man of determination, and he + warms to his task. He bends low and whispers into the prostrate ear: + "You've got a good many grey hairs coming in; better let me give you an + application of Hairocene, only cost you half a dollar?" "No." "Your face," + he whispers again, with a soft, caressing voice, "is all covered with + wrinkles; better let me rub some of this Rejuvenator into the face." + </p> + <p> + This process is continued until one of two things happens. Either the + customer is obdurate, and staggers to his feet at last and gropes his way + out of the shop with the knowledge that he is a wrinkled, prematurely + senile man, whose wicked life is stamped upon his face, and whose + unstopped hair-ends and failing follicles menace him with the certainty of + complete baldness within twenty-four hours—or else, as in nearly all + instances, he succumbs. In the latter case, immediately on his saying + "yes" there is a shout of exultation from the barber, a roar of steaming + water, and within a moment two barbers have grabbed him by the feet and + thrown him under the tap, and, in spite of his struggles, are giving him + the Hydro-magnetic treatment. When he emerges from their hands, he steps + out of the shop looking as if he had been varnished. + </p> + <p> + But even the application of the Hydro-magnetic and the Rejuvenator do not + by any means exhaust the resources of the up-to-date barber. He prefers to + perform on the customer a whole variety of subsidiary services not + directly connected with shaving, but carried on during the process of the + shave. + </p> + <p> + In a good, up-to-date shop, while one man is shaving the customer, others + black his boots; brush his clothes, darn his socks, point his nails, + enamel his teeth, polish his eyes, and alter the shape of any of his + joints which they think unsightly. During this operation they often stand + seven or eight deep round a customer, fighting for a chance to get at him. + </p> + <p> + All of these remarks apply to barber-shops in the city, and not to country + places. In the country there is only one barber and one customer at a + time. The thing assumes the aspect of a straight-out, rough-and-tumble, + catch-as-catch-can fight, with a few spectators sitting round the shop to + see fair play. In the city they can shave a man without removing any of + his clothes. But in the country, where the customer insists on getting the + full value for his money, they remove the collar and necktie, the coat and + the waistcoat, and, for a really good shave and hair-cut, the customer is + stripped to the waist. The barber can then take a rush at him from the + other side of the room, and drive the clippers up the full length of the + spine, so as to come at the heavier hair on the back of the head with the + impact of a lawn-mower driven into long grass. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Getting the Thread of It + </h2> + <p> + Have you ever had a man try to explain to you what happened in a book as + far as he has read? It is a most instructive thing. Sinclair, the man who + shares my rooms with me, made such an attempt the other night. I had come + in cold and tired from a walk and found him full of excitement, with a + bulky magazine in one hand and a paper-cutter gripped in the other. + </p> + <p> + "Say, here's a grand story," he burst out as soon as I came in; "it's + great! most fascinating thing I ever read. Wait till I read you some of + it. I'll just tell you what has happened up to where I am—you'll + easily catch the thread of it—and then we'll finish it together." + </p> + <p> + I wasn't feeling in a very responsive mood, but I saw no way to stop him, + so I merely said, "All right, throw me your thread, I'll catch it." + </p> + <p> + "Well," Sinclair began with great animation, "this count gets this + letter..." + </p> + <p> + "Hold on," I interrupted, "what count gets what letter?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, the count it's about, you know. He gets this letter from this + Porphirio." + </p> + <p> + "From which Porphirio?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, Porphirio sent the letter, don't you see, he sent it," Sinclair + exclaimed a little impatiently—"sent it through Demonio and told him + to watch for him with him, and kill him when he got him." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, see here!" I broke in, "who is to meet who, and who is to get + stabbed?" + </p> + <p> + "They're going to stab Demonio." + </p> + <p> + "And who brought the letter?" + </p> + <p> + "Demonio." + </p> + <p> + "Well, now, Demonio must be a clam! What did he bring it for?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, but he don't know what's in it, that's just the slick part of it," + and Sinclair began to snigger to himself at the thought of it. "You see, + this Carlo Carlotti the Condottiere..." + </p> + <p> + "Stop right there," I said. "What's a Condottiere?" + </p> + <p> + "It's a sort of brigand. He, you understand, was in league with this Fra + Fraliccolo..." + </p> + <p> + A suspicion flashed across my mind. "Look here," I said firmly, "if the + scene of this story is laid in the Highlands, I refuse to listen to it. + Call it off." + </p> + <p> + "No, no," Sinclair answered quickly, "that's all right. It's laid in + Italy...time of Pius the something. He comes in—say, but he's great! + so darned crafty. It's him, you know, that persuades this Franciscan..." + </p> + <p> + "Pause," I said, "what Franciscan?" + </p> + <p> + "Fra Fraliccolo, of course," Sinclair said snappishly. "You see, Pio tries + to..." + </p> + <p> + "Whoa!" I said, "who is Pio?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, hang it all, Pio is Italian, it's short for Pius. He tries to get Fra + Fraliccolo and Carlo Carlotti the Condottiere to steal the document + from...let me see; what was he called?...Oh, yes...from the Dog of Venice, + so that...or...no, hang it, you put me out, that's all wrong. It's the + other way round. Pio wasn't clever at all; he's a regular darned fool. + It's the Dog that's crafty. By Jove, he's fine," Sinclair went on; warming + up to enthusiasm again, "he just does anything he wants. He makes this + Demonio (Demonio is one of those hirelings, you know, he's the tool of the + Dog)...makes him steal the document off Porphirio, and..." + </p> + <p> + "But how does he get him to do that?" I asked. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, the Dog has Demonio pretty well under his thumb, so he makes Demonio + scheme round till he gets old Pio—er—gets him under his thumb, + and then, of course, Pio thinks that Porphirio—I mean he thinks that + he has Porphirio—er—has him under his thumb." + </p> + <p> + "Half a minute, Sinclair," I said, "who did you say was under the Dog's + thumb?" + </p> + <p> + "Demonio." + </p> + <p> + "Thanks. I was mixed in the thumbs. Go on." + </p> + <p> + "Well, just when things are like this..." + </p> + <p> + "Like what?" + </p> + <p> + "Like I said." + </p> + <p> + "All right." + </p> + <p> + "Who should turn up and thwart the whole scheme, but this Signorina Tarara + in her domino..." + </p> + <p> + "Hully Gee!" I said, "you make my head ache. What the deuce does she come + in her domino for?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, to thwart it." + </p> + <p> + "To thwart what?" + </p> + <p> + "Thwart the whole darned thing," Sinclair exclaimed emphatically. + </p> + <p> + "But can't she thwart it without her domino?" + </p> + <p> + "I should think not! You see, if it hadn't been for the domino, the Dog + would have spotted her quick as a wink. Only when he sees her in the + domino with this rose in her hair, he thinks she must be Lucia dell' + Esterolla." + </p> + <p> + "Say, he fools himself, doesn't he? Who's this last girl?" + </p> + <p> + "Lucia? Oh, she's great!" Sinclair said. "She's one of those Southern + natures, you know, full of—er—full of..." + </p> + <p> + "Full of fun," I suggested. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, hang it all, don't make fun of it! Well, anyhow, she's sister, you + understand, to the Contessa Carantarata, and that's why Fra Fraliccolo, + or...hold on, that's not it, no, no, she's not sister to anybody. She's + cousin, that's it; or, anyway, she thinks she is cousin to Fra Fraliccolo + himself, and that's why Pio tries to stab Fra Fraliccolo." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes," I assented, "naturally he would." + </p> + <p> + "Ah," Sinclair said hopefully, getting his paper-cutter ready to cut the + next pages, "you begin to get the thread now, don't you?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, fine!" I said. "The people in it are the Dog and Pio, and Carlo + Carlotti the Condottiere, and those others that we spoke of." + </p> + <p> + "That's right," Sinclair said. "Of course, there are more still that I can + tell you about if..." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, never mind," I said, "I'll work along with those, they're a pretty + representative crowd. Then Porphirio is under Pio's thumb, and Pio is + under Demonio's thumb, and the Dog is crafty, and Lucia is full of + something all the time. Oh, I've got a mighty clear idea of it," I + concluded bitterly. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you've got it," Sinclair said, "I knew you'd like it. Now we'll go + on. I'll just finish to the bottom of my page and then I'll go on aloud." + </p> + <p> + He ran his eyes rapidly over the lines till he came to the bottom of the + page, then he cut the leaves and turned over. I saw his eye rest on the + half-dozen lines that confronted him on the next page with an expression + of utter consternation. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I will be cursed!" he said at length. + </p> + <p> + "What's the matter?" I said gently, with a great joy at my heart. + </p> + <p> + "This infernal thing's a serial," he gasped, as he pointed at the words, + "To be continued," "and that's all there is in this number." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Telling His Faults + </h2> + <p> + "Oh, do, Mr. Sapling," said the beautiful girl at the summer hotel, "do + let me read the palm of your hand! I can tell you all your faults." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling gave an inarticulate gurgle and a roseate flush swept over his + countenance as he surrendered his palm to the grasp of the fair + enchantress. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you're just full of faults, just full of them, Mr. Sapling!" she + cried. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling looked it. + </p> + <p> + "To begin with," said the beautiful girl, slowly and reflectingly, "you + are dreadfully cynical: you hardly believe in anything at all, and you've + utterly no faith in us poor women." + </p> + <p> + The feeble smile that had hitherto kindled the features of Mr. Sapling + into a ray of chastened imbecility, was distorted in an effort at + cynicism. + </p> + <p> + "Then your next fault is that you are too determined; much too determined. + When once you have set your will on any object, you crush every obstacle + under your feet." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling looked meekly down at his tennis shoes, but began to feel + calmer, more lifted up. Perhaps he had been all these things without + knowing it. + </p> + <p> + "Then you are cold and sarcastic." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling attempted to look cold and sarcastic. He succeeded in a rude + leer. + </p> + <p> + "And you're horribly world-weary, you care for nothing. You have drained + philosophy to the dregs, and scoff at everything." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling's inner feeling was that from now on he would simply scoff and + scoff and scoff. + </p> + <p> + "Your only redeeming quality is that you are generous. You have tried to + kill even this, but cannot. Yes," concluded the beautiful girl, "those are + your faults, generous still, but cold, cynical, and relentless. Good + night, Mr. Sapling." + </p> + <p> + And resisting all entreaties the beautiful girl passed from the verandah + of the hotel and vanished. + </p> + <p> + And when later in the evening the brother of the beautiful girl borrowed + Mr. Sapling's tennis racket, and his bicycle for a fortnight, and the + father of the beautiful girl got Sapling to endorse his note for a couple + of hundreds, and her uncle Zephas borrowed his bedroom candle and used his + razor to cut up a plug of tobacco, Mr. Sapling felt proud to be acquainted + with the family. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Winter Pastimes + </h2> + <p> + It is in the depth of winter, when the intense cold renders it desirable + to stay at home, that the really Pleasant Family is wont to serve + invitations upon a few friends to spend a Quiet Evening. + </p> + <p> + It is at these gatherings that that gay thing, the indoor winter game, + becomes rampant. It is there that the old euchre deck and the staring + domino become fair and beautiful things; that the rattle of the Loto + counter rejoices the heart, that the old riddle feels the sap stirring in + its limbs again, and the amusing spilikin completes the mental ruin of the + jaded guest. Then does the Jolly Maiden Aunt propound the query: What is + the difference between an elephant and a silk hat? Or declare that her + first is a vowel, her second a preposition, and her third an archipelago. + It is to crown such a quiet evening, and to give the finishing stroke to + those of the visitors who have not escaped early, with a fierce purpose of + getting at the saloons before they have time to close, that the indoor + game or family reservoir of fun is dragged from its long sleep. It is + spread out upon the table. Its paper of directions is unfolded. Its cards, + its counters, its pointers and its markers are distributed around the + table, and the visitor forces a look of reckless pleasure upon his face. + Then the "few simple directions" are read aloud by the Jolly Aunt, + instructing each player to challenge the player holding the golden letter + corresponding to the digit next in order, to name a dead author beginning + with X, failing which the player must declare himself in fault, and pay + the forfeit of handing over to the Jolly Aunt his gold watch and all his + money, or having a hot plate put down his neck. + </p> + <p> + With a view to bringing some relief to the guests at entertainments of + this kind, I have endeavoured to construct one or two little winter + pastimes of a novel character. They are quite inexpensive, and as they + need no background of higher arithmetic or ancient history, they are + within reach of the humblest intellect. Here is one of them. It is called + Indoor Football, or Football without a Ball. + </p> + <p> + In this game any number of players, from fifteen to thirty, seat + themselves in a heap on any one player, usually the player next to the + dealer. They then challenge him to get up, while one player stands with a + stop-watch in his hand and counts forty seconds. Should the first player + fail to rise before forty seconds are counted, the player with the watch + declares him suffocated. This is called a "Down" and counts one. The + player who was the Down is then leant against the wall; his wind is + supposed to be squeezed out. The player called the referee then blows a + whistle and the players select another player and score a down off him. + While the player is supposed to be down, all the rest must remain seated + as before, and not rise from him until the referee by counting forty and + blowing his whistle announces that in his opinion the other player is + stifled. He is then leant against the wall beside the first player. When + the whistle again blows the player nearest the referee strikes him behind + the right ear. This is a "Touch," and counts two. + </p> + <p> + It is impossible, of course, to give all the rules in detail. I might add, + however, that while it counts TWO to strike the referee, to kick him + counts THREE. To break his arm or leg counts FOUR, and to kill him + outright is called GRAND SLAM and counts one game. + </p> + <p> + Here is another little thing that I have worked out, which is superior to + parlour games in that it combines their intense excitement with sound + out-of-door exercise. + </p> + <p> + It is easily comprehended, and can be played by any number of players, old + and young. It requires no other apparatus than a trolley car of the + ordinary type, a mile or two of track, and a few thousand volts of + electricity. It is called: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Suburban Trolley Car + A Holiday Game for Old and Young. +</pre> + <p> + The chief part in the game is taken by two players who station themselves + one at each end of the car, and who adopt some distinctive costumes to + indicate that they are "it." The other players occupy the body of the car, + or take up their position at intervals along the track. + </p> + <p> + The object of each player should be to enter the car as stealthily as + possible in such a way as to escape the notice of the players in + distinctive dress. Should he fail to do this he must pay the philopena or + forfeit. Of these there are two: philopena No. 1, the payment of five + cents, and philopena No. 2, being thrown off the car by the neck. Each + player may elect which philopena he will pay. Any player who escapes + paying the philopena scores one. + </p> + <p> + The players who are in the car may elect to adopt a standing attitude, or + to seat themselves, but no player may seat himself in the lap of another + without the second player's consent. The object of those who elect to + remain standing is to place their feet upon the toes of those who sit; + when they do this they score. The object of those who elect to sit is to + elude the feet of the standing players. Much merriment is thus occasioned. + </p> + <p> + The player in distinctive costume at the front of the car controls a + crank, by means of which he is enabled to bring the car to a sudden stop, + or to cause it to plunge violently forward. His aim in so doing is to + cause all the standing players to fall over backward. Every time he does + this he scores. For this purpose he is generally in collusion with the + other player in distinctive costume, whose business it is to let him know + by a series of bells and signals when the players are not looking, and can + be easily thrown down. A sharp fall of this sort gives rise to no end of + banter and good-natured drollery, directed against the two players who are + "it." + </p> + <p> + Should a player who is thus thrown backward save himself from falling by + sitting down in the lap of a female player, he scores one. Any player who + scores in this manner is entitled to remain seated while he may count six, + after which he must remove himself or pay philopena No. 2. + </p> + <p> + Should the player who controls the crank perceive a player upon the street + desirous of joining in the game by entering the car, his object should be: + primo, to run over him and kill him; secundo, to kill him by any other + means in his power; tertio, to let him into the car, but to exact the + usual philopena. + </p> + <p> + Should a player, in thus attempting to get on the car from without, become + entangled in the machinery, the player controlling the crank shouts + "huff!" and the car is supposed to pass over him. All within the car score + one. + </p> + <p> + A fine spice of the ludicrous may be added to the game by each player + pretending that he has a destination or stopping-place, where he would + wish to alight. It now becomes the aim of the two players who are "it" to + carry him past his point. A player who is thus carried beyond his + imaginary stopping-place must feign a violent passion, and imitate angry + gesticulations. He may, in addition, feign a great age or a painful + infirmity, which will be found to occasion the most convulsive fun for the + other players in the game. + </p> + <p> + These are the main outlines of this most amusing pastime. Many other + agreeable features may, of course, be readily introduced by persons of + humour and imagination. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Number Fifty-Six + </h2> + <p> + What I narrate was told me one winter's evening by my friend Ah-Yen in the + little room behind his laundry. Ah-Yen is a quiet little celestial with a + grave and thoughtful face, and that melancholy contemplative disposition + so often noticed in his countrymen. Between myself and Ah-Yen there exists + a friendship of some years' standing, and we spend many a long evening in + the dimly lighted room behind his shop, smoking a dreamy pipe together and + plunged in silent meditation. I am chiefly attracted to my friend by the + highly imaginative cast of his mind, which is, I believe, a trait of the + Eastern character and which enables him to forget to a great extent the + sordid cares of his calling in an inner life of his own creation. Of the + keen, analytical side of his mind, I was in entire ignorance until the + evening of which I write. + </p> + <p> + The room where we sat was small and dingy, with but little furniture + except our chairs and the little table at which we filled and arranged our + pipes, and was lighted only by a tallow candle. There were a few pictures + on the walls, for the most part rude prints cut from the columns of the + daily press and pasted up to hide the bareness of the room. Only one + picture was in any way noticeable, a portrait admirably executed in pen + and ink. The face was that of a young man, a very beautiful face, but one + of infinite sadness. I had long been aware, although I know not how, that + Ah-Yen had met with a great sorrow, and had in some way connected the fact + with this portrait. I had always refrained, however, from asking him about + it, and it was not until the evening in question that I knew its history. + </p> + <p> + We had been smoking in silence for some time when Ah-Yen spoke. My friend + is a man of culture and wide reading, and his English is consequently + perfect in its construction; his speech is, of course, marked by the + lingering liquid accent of his country which I will not attempt to + reproduce. + </p> + <p> + "I see," he said, "that you have been examining the portrait of my unhappy + friend, Fifty-Six. I have never yet told you of my bereavement, but as + to-night is the anniversary of his death, I would fain speak of him for a + while." + </p> + <p> + Ah-Yen paused; I lighted my pipe afresh, and nodded to him to show that I + was listening. + </p> + <p> + "I do not know," he went on, "at what precise time Fifty-Six came into my + life. I could indeed find it out by examining my books, but I have never + troubled to do so. Naturally I took no more interest in him at first than + in any other of my customers—less, perhaps, since he never in the + course of our connection brought his clothes to me himself but always sent + them by a boy. When I presently perceived that he was becoming one of my + regular customers, I allotted to him his number, Fifty-Six, and began to + speculate as to who and what he was. Before long I had reached several + conclusions in regard to my unknown client. The quality of his linen + showed me that, if not rich, he was at any rate fairly well off. I could + see that he was a young man of regular Christian life, who went out into + society to a certain extent; this I could tell from his sending the same + number of articles to the laundry, from his washing always coming on + Saturday night, and from the fact that he wore a dress shirt about once a + week. In disposition he was a modest, unassuming fellow, for his collars + were only two inches high." + </p> + <p> + I stared at Ah-Yen in some amazement, the recent publications of a + favourite novelist had rendered me familiar with this process of + analytical reasoning, but I was prepared for no such revelations from my + Eastern friend. + </p> + <p> + "When I first knew him," Ah-Yen went on, "Fifty-Six was a student at the + university. This, of course, I did not know for some time. I inferred it, + however, in the course of time, from his absence from town during the four + summer months, and from the fact that during the time of the university + examinations the cuffs of his shirts came to me covered with dates, + formulas, and propositions in geometry. I followed him with no little + interest through his university career. During the four years which it + lasted, I washed for him every week; my regular connection with him and + the insight which my observation gave me into the lovable character of the + man, deepened my first esteem into a profound affection and I became most + anxious for his success. I helped him at each succeeding examination, as + far as lay in my power, by starching his shirts half-way to the elbow, so + as to leave him as much room as possible for annotations. My anxiety + during the strain of his final examination I will not attempt to describe. + That Fifty-Six was undergoing the great crisis of his academic career, I + could infer from the state of his handkerchiefs which, in apparent + unconsciousness, he used as pen-wipers during the final test. His conduct + throughout the examination bore witness to the moral development which had + taken place in his character during his career as an undergraduate; for + the notes upon his cuffs which had been so copious at his earlier + examinations were limited now to a few hints, and these upon topics so + intricate as to defy an ordinary memory. It was with a thrill of joy that + I at last received in his laundry bundle one Saturday early in June, a + ruffled dress shirt, the bosom of which was thickly spattered with the + spillings of the wine-cup, and realized that Fifty-Six had banqueted as a + Bachelor of Arts. + </p> + <p> + "In the following winter the habit of wiping his pen upon his + handkerchief, which I had remarked during his final examination, became + chronic with him, and I knew that he had entered upon the study of law. He + worked hard during that year, and dress shirts almost disappeared from his + weekly bundle. It was in the following winter, the second year of his + legal studies, that the tragedy of his life began. I became aware that a + change had come over his laundry; from one, or at most two a week, his + dress shirts rose to four, and silk handkerchiefs began to replace his + linen ones. It dawned upon me that Fifty-Six was abandoning the rigorous + tenor of his student life and was going into society. I presently + perceived something more; Fifty-Six was in love. It was soon impossible to + doubt it. He was wearing seven shirts a week; linen handkerchiefs + disappeared from his laundry; his collars rose from two inches to two and + a quarter, and finally to two and a half. I have in my possession one of + his laundry lists of that period; a glance at it will show the scrupulous + care which he bestowed upon his person. Well do I remember the dawning + hopes of those days, alternating with the gloomiest despair. Each Saturday + I opened his bundle with a trembling eagerness to catch the first signs of + a return of his love. I helped my friend in every way that I could. His + shirts and collars were masterpieces of my art, though my hand often shook + with agitation as I applied the starch. She was a brave noble girl, that I + knew; her influence was elevating the whole nature of Fifty-Six; until now + he had had in his possession a certain number of detached cuffs and false + shirt-fronts. These he discarded now,—at first the false + shirt-fronts, scorning the very idea of fraud, and after a time, in his + enthusiasm, abandoning even the cuffs. I cannot look back upon those + bright happy days of courtship without a sigh. + </p> + <p> + "The happiness of Fifty-Six seemed to enter into and fill my whole life. I + lived but from Saturday to Saturday. The appearance of false shirt-fronts + would cast me to the lowest depths of despair; their absence raised me to + a pinnacle of hope. It was not till winter softened into spring that + Fifty-Six nerved himself to learn his fate. One Saturday he sent me a new + white waistcoat, a garment which had hitherto been shunned by his modest + nature, to prepare for his use. I bestowed upon it all the resources of my + art; I read his purpose in it. On the Saturday following it was returned + to me and, with tears of joy, I marked where a warm little hand had rested + fondly on the right shoulder, and knew that Fifty-Six was the accepted + lover of his sweetheart." + </p> + <p> + Ah-Yen paused and sat for some time silent; his pipe had sputtered out and + lay cold in the hollow of his hand; his eye was fixed upon the wall where + the light and shadows shifted in the dull flickering of the candle. At + last he spoke again: + </p> + <p> + "I will not dwell upon the happy days that ensued—days of gaudy + summer neckties and white waistcoats, of spotless shirts and lofty collars + worn but a single day by the fastidious lover. Our happiness seemed + complete and I asked no more from fate. Alas! it was not destined to + continue! When the bright days of summer were fading into autumn, I was + grieved to notice an occasional quarrel—only four shirts instead of + seven, or the reappearance of the abandoned cuffs and shirt-fronts. + Reconciliations followed, with tears of penitence upon the shoulder of the + white waistcoat, and the seven shirts came back. But the quarrels grew + more frequent and there came at times stormy scenes of passionate emotion + that left a track of broken buttons down the waistcoat. The shirts went + slowly down to three, then fell to two, and the collars of my unhappy + friend subsided to an inch and three-quarters. In vain I lavished my + utmost care upon Fifty-Six. It seemed to my tortured mind that the gloss + upon his shirts and collars would have melted a heart of stone. Alas! my + every effort at reconciliation seemed to fail. An awful month passed; the + false fronts and detached cuffs were all back again; the unhappy lover + seemed to glory in their perfidy. At last, one gloomy evening, I found on + opening his bundle that he had bought a stock of celluloids, and my heart + told me that she had abandoned him for ever. Of what my poor friend + suffered at this time, I can give you no idea; suffice it to say that he + passed from celluloid to a blue flannel shirt and from blue to grey. The + sight of a red cotton handkerchief in his wash at length warned me that + his disappointed love had unhinged his mind, and I feared the worst. Then + came an agonizing interval of three weeks during which he sent me nothing, + and after that came the last parcel that I ever received from him an + enormous bundle that seemed to contain all his effects. In this, to my + horror, I discovered one shirt the breast of which was stained a deep + crimson with his blood, and pierced by a ragged hole that showed where a + bullet had singed through into his heart. + </p> + <p> + "A fortnight before, I remembered having heard the street boys crying the + news of an appalling suicide, and I know now that it must have been he. + After the first shock of my grief had passed, I sought to keep him in my + memory by drawing the portrait which hangs beside you. I have some skill + in the art, and I feel assured that I have caught the expression of his + face. The picture is, of course, an ideal one, for, as you know, I never + saw Fifty-Six." + </p> + <p> + The bell on the door of the outer shop tinkled at the entrance of a + customer. Ah-Yen rose with that air of quiet resignation that habitually + marked his demeanour, and remained for some time in the shop. When he + returned he seemed in no mood to continue speaking of his lost friend. I + left him soon after and walked sorrowfully home to my lodgings. On my way + I mused much upon my little Eastern friend and the sympathetic grasp of + his imagination. But a burden lay heavy on my heart—something I + would fain have told him but which I could not bear to mention. I could + not find it in my heart to shatter the airy castle of his fancy. For my + life has been secluded and lonely and I have known no love like that of my + ideal friend. Yet I have a haunting recollection of a certain huge bundle + of washing that I sent to him about a year ago. I had been absent from + town for three weeks and my laundry was much larger than usual in + consequence. And if I mistake not there was in the bundle a tattered shirt + that had been grievously stained by the breaking of a bottle of red ink in + my portmanteau, and burnt in one place where an ash fell from my cigar as + I made up the bundle. Of all this I cannot feel absolutely certain, yet I + know at least that until a year ago, when I transferred my custom to a + more modern establishment, my laundry number with Ah-Yen was Fifty-Six. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Aristocratic Education + </h2> + <p> + House of Lords, Jan. 25, 1920.—The House of Lords commenced to-day + in Committee the consideration of Clause No. 52,000 of the Education Bill, + dealing with the teaching of Geometry in the schools. + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government in presenting the clause urged upon their + Lordships the need of conciliation. The Bill, he said, had now been before + their Lordships for sixteen years. The Government had made every + concession. They had accepted all the amendments of their Lordships on the + opposite side in regard to the original provisions of the Bill. They had + consented also to insert in the Bill a detailed programme of studies of + which the present clause, enunciating the fifth proposition of Euclid, was + a part. He would therefore ask their Lordships to accept the clause + drafted as follows: + </p> + <p> + "The angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are equal, and if the + equal sides of the triangle are produced, the exterior angles will also be + equal." + </p> + <p> + He would hasten to add that the Government had no intention of producing + the sides. Contingencies might arise to render such a course necessary, + but in that case their Lordships would receive an early intimation of the + fact. + </p> + <p> + The Archbishop of Canterbury spoke against the clause. He considered it, + in its present form, too secular. He should wish to amend the clause so as + to make it read: + </p> + <p> + "The angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are, in every Christian + community, equal, and if the sides be produced by a member of a Christian + congregation, the exterior angles will be equal." + </p> + <p> + He was aware, he continued, that the angles at the base of an isosceles + triangle are extremely equal, but he must remind the Government that the + Church had been aware of this for several years past. He was willing also + to admit that the opposite sides and ends of a parallelogram are equal, + but he thought that such admission should be coupled with a distinct + recognition of the existence of a Supreme Being. + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government accepted His Grace's amendment with pleasure. + He considered it the brightest amendment His Grace had made that week. The + Government, he said, was aware of the intimate relation in which His Grace + stood to the bottom end of a parallelogram and was prepared to respect it. + </p> + <p> + Lord Halifax rose to offer a further amendment. He thought the present + case was one in which the "four-fifths" clause ought to apply: he should + wish it stated that the angles are equal for two days every week, except + in the case of schools where four-fifths of the parents are + conscientiously opposed to the use of the isosceles triangle. + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government thought the amendment a singularly pleasing + one. He accepted it and would like it understood that the words isosceles + triangle were not meant in any offensive sense. + </p> + <p> + Lord Rosebery spoke at some length. He considered the clause unfair to + Scotland, where the high state of morality rendered education unnecessary. + Unless an amendment in this sense was accepted, it might be necessary to + reconsider the Act of Union of 1707. + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government said that Lord Rosebery's amendment was the + best he had heard yet. The Government accepted it at once. They were + willing to make every concession. They would, if need be, reconsider the + Norman Conquest. + </p> + <p> + The Duke of Devonshire took exception to the part of the clause relating + to the production of the sides. He did not think the country was prepared + for it. It was unfair to the producer. He would like the clause altered to + read, "if the sides be produced in the home market." + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government accepted with pleasure His Grace's amendment. + He considered it quite sensible. He would now, as it was near the hour of + rising, present the clause in its revised form. He hoped, however, that + their Lordships would find time to think out some further amendments for + the evening sitting. + </p> + <p> + The clause was then read. + </p> + <p> + His Grace of Canterbury then moved that the House, in all humility, + adjourn for dinner. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Conjurer's Revenge + </h2> + <p> + "Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the conjurer, "having shown you that the + cloth is absolutely empty, I will proceed to take from it a bowl of + goldfish. Presto!" + </p> + <p> + All around the hall people were saying, "Oh, how wonderful! How does he do + it?" + </p> + <p> + But the Quick Man on the front seat said in a big whisper to the people + near him, "He-had-it-up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + Then the people nodded brightly at the Quick Man and said, "Oh, of + course"; and everybody whispered round the hall, + "He-had-it-up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + "My next trick," said the conjurer, "is the famous Hindostanee rings. You + will notice that the rings are apparently separate; at a blow they all + join (clang, clang, clang)—Presto!" + </p> + <p> + There was a general buzz of stupefaction till the Quick Man was heard to + whisper, "He-must-have-had-another-lot- up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + Again everybody nodded and whispered, "The-rings-were- up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + The brow of the conjurer was clouded with a gathering frown. + </p> + <p> + "I will now," he continued, "show you a most amusing trick by which I am + enabled to take any number of eggs from a hat. Will some gentleman kindly + lend me his hat? Ah, thank you—Presto!" + </p> + <p> + He extracted seventeen eggs, and for thirty-five seconds the audience + began to think that he was wonderful. Then the Quick Man whispered along + the front bench, "He-has-a- hen-up-his-sleeve," and all the people + whispered it on. "He-has-a-lot-of-hens-up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + The egg trick was ruined. + </p> + <p> + It went on like that all through. It transpired from the whispers of the + Quick Man that the conjurer must have concealed up his sleeve, in addition + to the rings, hens, and fish, several packs of cards, a loaf of bread, a + doll's cradle, a live guinea-pig, a fifty-cent piece, and a rocking-chair. + </p> + <p> + The reputation of the conjurer was rapidly sinking below zero. At the + close of the evening he rallied for a final effort. + </p> + <p> + "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I will present to you, in conclusion, + the famous Japanese trick recently invented by the natives of Tipperary. + Will you, sir," he continued turning toward the Quick Man, "will you + kindly hand me your gold watch?" + </p> + <p> + It was passed to him. + </p> + <p> + "Have I your permission to put it into this mortar and pound it to + pieces?" he asked savagely. + </p> + <p> + The Quick Man nodded and smiled. + </p> + <p> + The conjurer threw the watch into the mortar and grasped a sledge hammer + from the table. There was a sound of violent smashing, + "He's-slipped-it-up-his-sleeve," whispered the Quick Man. + </p> + <p> + "Now, sir," continued the conjurer, "will you allow me to take your + handkerchief and punch holes in it? Thank you. You see, ladies and + gentlemen, there is no deception; the holes are visible to the eye." + </p> + <p> + The face of the Quick Man beamed. This time the real mystery of the thing + fascinated him. + </p> + <p> + "And now, sir, will you kindly pass me your silk hat and allow me to dance + on it? Thank you." + </p> + <p> + The conjurer made a few rapid passes with his feet and exhibited the hat + crushed beyond recognition. + </p> + <p> + "And will you now, sir, take off your celluloid collar and permit me to + burn it in the candle? Thank you, sir. And will you allow me to smash your + spectacles for you with my hammer? Thank you." + </p> + <p> + By this time the features of the Quick Man were assuming a puzzled + expression. "This thing beats me," he whispered, "I don't see through it a + bit." + </p> + <p> + There was a great hush upon the audience. Then the conjurer drew himself + up to his full height and, with a withering look at the Quick Man, he + concluded: + </p> + <p> + "Ladies and gentlemen, you will observe that I have, with this gentleman's + permission, broken his watch, burnt his collar, smashed his spectacles, + and danced on his hat. If he will give me the further permission to paint + green stripes on his overcoat, or to tie his suspenders in a knot, I shall + be delighted to entertain you. If not, the performance is at an end." + </p> + <p> + And amid a glorious burst of music from the orchestra the curtain fell, + and the audience dispersed, convinced that there are some tricks, at any + rate, that are not done up the conjurer's sleeve. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Hints to Travellers + </h2> + <p> + The following hints and observations have occurred to me during a recent + trip across the continent: they are written in no spirit of complaint + against existing railroad methods, but merely in the hope that they may + prove useful to those who travel, like myself, in a spirit of meek, + observant ignorance. + </p> + <p> + 1. Sleeping in a Pullman car presents some difficulties to the novice. + Care should be taken to allay all sense of danger. The frequent whistling + of the engine during the night is apt to be a source of alarm. Find out, + therefore, before travelling, the meaning of the various whistles. One + means "station," two, "railroad crossing," and so on. Five whistles, short + and rapid, mean sudden danger. When you hear whistles in the night, sit up + smartly in your bunk and count them. Should they reach five, draw on your + trousers over your pyjamas and leave the train instantly. As a further + precaution against accident, sleep with the feet towards the engine if you + prefer to have the feet crushed, or with the head towards the engine, if + you think it best to have the head crushed. In making this decision try to + be as unselfish as possible. If indifferent, sleep crosswise with the head + hanging over into the aisle. + </p> + <p> + 2. I have devoted some thought to the proper method of changing trains. + The system which I have observed to be the most popular with travellers of + my own class, is something as follows: Suppose that you have been told on + leaving New York that you are to change at Kansas City. The evening before + approaching Kansas City, stop the conductor in the aisle of the car (you + can do this best by putting out your foot and tripping him), and say + politely, "Do I change at Kansas City?" He says "Yes." Very good. Don't + believe him. On going into the dining-car for supper, take a negro aside + and put it to him as a personal matter between a white man and a black, + whether he thinks you ought to change at Kansas City. Don't be satisfied + with this. In the course of the evening pass through the entire train from + time to time, and say to people casually, "Oh, can you tell me if I change + at Kansas City?" Ask the conductor about it a few more times in the + evening: a repetition of the question will ensure pleasant relations with + him. Before falling asleep watch for his passage and ask him through the + curtains of your berth, "Oh, by the way, did you say I changed at Kansas + City?" If he refuses to stop, hook him by the neck with your + walking-stick, and draw him gently to your bedside. In the morning when + the train stops and a man calls, "Kansas City! All change!" approach the + conductor again and say, "Is this Kansas City?" Don't be discouraged at + his answer. Pick yourself up and go to the other end of the car and say to + the brakesman, "Do you know, sir, if this is Kansas City?" Don't be too + easily convinced. Remember that both brakesman and conductor may be in + collusion to deceive you. Look around, therefore, for the name of the + station on the signboard. Having found it, alight and ask the first man + you see if this is Kansas City. He will answer, "Why, where in blank are + your blank eyes? Can't you see it there, plain as blank?" When you hear + language of this sort, ask no more. You are now in Kansas and this is + Kansas City. + </p> + <p> + 3. I have observed that it is now the practice of the conductors to stick + bits of paper in the hats of the passengers. They do this, I believe, to + mark which ones they like best. The device is pretty, and adds much to the + scenic appearance of the car. But I notice with pain that the system is + fraught with much trouble for the conductors. The task of crushing two or + three passengers together, in order to reach over them and stick a ticket + into the chinks of a silk skull cap is embarrassing for a conductor of + refined feelings. It would be simpler if the conductor should carry a + small hammer and a packet of shingle nails and nail the paid-up passenger + to the back of the seat. Or better still, let the conductor carry a small + pot of paint and a brush, and mark the passengers in such a way that he + cannot easily mistake them. In the case of bald-headed passengers, the + hats might be politely removed and red crosses painted on the craniums. + This will indicate that they are bald. Through passengers might be + distinguished by a complete coat of paint. In the hands of a man of taste, + much might be effected by a little grouping of painted passengers and the + leisure time of the conductor agreeably occupied. + </p> + <p> + 4. I have observed in travelling in the West that the irregularity of + railroad accidents is a fruitful cause of complaint. The frequent + disappointment of the holders of accident policy tickets on western roads + is leading to widespread protest. Certainly the conditions of travel in + the West are altering rapidly and accidents can no longer be relied upon. + This is deeply to be regretted, in so much as, apart from accidents, the + tickets may be said to be practically valueless. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Manual of Education + </h2> + <p> + The few selections below are offered as a specimen page of a little book + which I have in course of preparation. + </p> + <p> + Every man has somewhere in the back of his head the wreck of a thing which + he calls his education. My book is intended to embody in concise form + these remnants of early instruction. + </p> + <p> + Educations are divided into splendid educations, thorough classical + educations, and average educations. All very old men have splendid + educations; all men who apparently know nothing else have thorough + classical educations; nobody has an average education. + </p> + <p> + An education, when it is all written out on foolscap, covers nearly ten + sheets. It takes about six years of severe college training to acquire it. + Even then a man often finds that he somehow hasn't got his education just + where he can put his thumb on it. When my little book of eight or ten + pages has appeared, everybody may carry his education in his hip pocket. + </p> + <p> + Those who have not had the advantage of an early training will be enabled, + by a few hours of conscientious application, to put themselves on an equal + footing with the most scholarly. + </p> + <p> + The selections are chosen entirely at random. + </p> + <h3> + I.—REMAINS OF ASTRONOMY + </h3> + <p> + Astronomy teaches the correct use of the sun and the planets. These may be + put on a frame of little sticks and turned round. This causes the tides. + Those at the ends of the sticks are enormously far away. From time to time + a diligent searching of the sticks reveals new planets. The orbit of a + planet is the distance the stick goes round in going round. Astronomy is + intensely interesting; it should be done at night, in a high tower in + Spitzbergen. This is to avoid the astronomy being interrupted. A really + good astronomer can tell when a comet is coming too near him by the + warning buzz of the revolving sticks. + </p> + <h3> + II.—REMAINS OF HISTORY + </h3> + <p> + Aztecs: A fabulous race, half man, half horse, half mound-builder. They + flourished at about the same time as the early Calithumpians. They have + left some awfully stupendous monuments of themselves somewhere. + </p> + <p> + Life of Caesar: A famous Roman general, the last who ever landed in + Britain without being stopped at the custom house. On returning to his + Sabine farm (to fetch something), he was stabbed by Brutus, and died with + the words "Veni, vidi, tekel, upharsim" in his throat. The jury returned a + verdict of strangulation. + </p> + <p> + Life of Voltaire: A Frenchman; very bitter. + </p> + <p> + Life of Schopenhauer: A German; very deep; but it was not really + noticeable when he sat down. + </p> + <p> + Life of Dante: An Italian; the first to introduce the banana and the class + of street organ known as "Dante's Inferno." + </p> + <p> + Peter the Great, Alfred the Great, Frederick the Great, John the Great, + Tom the Great, Jim the Great, Jo the Great, etc., etc. + </p> + <p> + It is impossible for a busy man to keep these apart. They sought a living + as kings and apostles and pugilists and so on. + </p> + <h3> + III.—REMAINS OF BOTANY. + </h3> + <p> + Botany is the art of plants. Plants are divided into trees, flowers, and + vegetables. The true botanist knows a tree as soon as he sees it. He + learns to distinguish it from a vegetable by merely putting his ear to it. + </p> + <h3> + IV.—REMAINS OF NATURAL SCIENCE. + </h3> + <p> + Natural Science treats of motion and force. Many of its teachings remain + as part of an educated man's permanent equipment in life. Such are: + </p> + <p> + (a) The harder you shove a bicycle the faster it will go. This is because + of natural science. + </p> + <p> + (b) If you fall from a high tower, you fall quicker and quicker and + quicker; a judicious selection of a tower will ensure any rate of speed. + </p> + <p> + (c) If you put your thumb in between two cogs it will go on and on, until + the wheels are arrested, by your suspenders. This is machinery. + </p> + <p> + (d) Electricity is of two kinds, positive and negative. The difference is, + I presume, that one kind comes a little more expensive, but is more + durable; the other is a cheaper thing, but the moths get into it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Hoodoo McFiggin's Christmas + </h2> + <p> + This Santa Claus business is played out. It's a sneaking, underhand + method, and the sooner it's exposed the better. + </p> + <p> + For a parent to get up under cover of the darkness of night and palm off a + ten-cent necktie on a boy who had been expecting a ten-dollar watch, and + then say that an angel sent it to him, is low, undeniably low. + </p> + <p> + I had a good opportunity of observing how the thing worked this Christmas, + in the case of young Hoodoo McFiggin, the son and heir of the McFiggins, + at whose house I board. + </p> + <p> + Hoodoo McFiggin is a good boy—a religious boy. He had been given to + understand that Santa Claus would bring nothing to his father and mother + because grown-up people don't get presents from the angels. So he saved up + all his pocket-money and bought a box of cigars for his father and a + seventy-five-cent diamond brooch for his mother. His own fortunes he left + in the hands of the angels. But he prayed. He prayed every night for weeks + that Santa Claus would bring him a pair of skates and a puppy-dog and an + air-gun and a bicycle and a Noah's ark and a sleigh and a drum—altogether + about a hundred and fifty dollars' worth of stuff. + </p> + <p> + I went into Hoodoo's room quite early Christmas morning. I had an idea + that the scene would be interesting. I woke him up and he sat up in bed, + his eyes glistening with radiant expectation, and began hauling things out + of his stocking. + </p> + <p> + The first parcel was bulky; it was done up quite loosely and had an odd + look generally. + </p> + <p> + "Ha! ha!" Hoodoo cried gleefully, as he began undoing it. "I'll bet it's + the puppy-dog, all wrapped up in paper!" + </p> + <p> + And was it the puppy-dog? No, by no means. It was a pair of nice, strong, + number-four boots, laces and all, labelled, "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus," + and underneath Santa Claus had written, "95 net." + </p> + <p> + The boy's jaw fell with delight. "It's boots," he said, and plunged in his + hand again. + </p> + <p> + He began hauling away at another parcel with renewed hope on his face. + </p> + <p> + This time the thing seemed like a little round box. Hoodoo tore the paper + off it with a feverish hand. He shook it; something rattled inside. + </p> + <p> + "It's a watch and chain! It's a watch and chain!" he shouted. Then he + pulled the lid off. + </p> + <p> + And was it a watch and chain? No. It was a box of nice, brand-new + celluloid collars, a dozen of them all alike and all his own size. + </p> + <p> + The boy was so pleased that you could see his face crack up with pleasure. + </p> + <p> + He waited a few minutes until his intense joy subsided. Then he tried + again. + </p> + <p> + This time the packet was long and hard. It resisted the touch and had a + sort of funnel shape. + </p> + <p> + "It's a toy pistol!" said the boy, trembling with excitement. "Gee! I hope + there are lots of caps with it! I'll fire some off now and wake up + father." + </p> + <p> + No, my poor child, you will not wake your father with that. It is a useful + thing, but it needs not caps and it fires no bullets, and you cannot wake + a sleeping man with a tooth-brush. Yes, it was a tooth-brush—a + regular beauty, pure bone all through, and ticketed with a little paper, + "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus." + </p> + <p> + Again the expression of intense joy passed over the boy's face, and the + tears of gratitude started from his eyes. He wiped them away with his + tooth-brush and passed on. + </p> + <p> + The next packet was much larger and evidently contained something soft and + bulky. It had been too long to go into the stocking and was tied outside. + </p> + <p> + "I wonder what this is," Hoodoo mused, half afraid to open it. Then his + heart gave a great leap, and he forgot all his other presents in the + anticipation of this one. "It's the drum!" he gasped. "It's the drum, all + wrapped up!" + </p> + <p> + Drum nothing! It was pants—a pair of the nicest little short pants—yellowish-brown + short pants—with dear little stripes of colour running across both + ways, and here again Santa Claus had written, "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus, + one fort net." + </p> + <p> + But there was something wrapped up in it. Oh, yes! There was a pair of + braces wrapped up in it, braces with a little steel sliding thing so that + you could slide your pants up to your neck, if you wanted to. + </p> + <p> + The boy gave a dry sob of satisfaction. Then he took out his last present. + "It's a book," he said, as he unwrapped it. "I wonder if it is fairy + stories or adventures. Oh, I hope it's adventures! I'll read it all + morning." + </p> + <p> + No, Hoodoo, it was not precisely adventures. It was a small family Bible. + Hoodoo had now seen all his presents, and he arose and dressed. But he + still had the fun of playing with his toys. That is always the chief + delight of Christmas morning. + </p> + <p> + First he played with his tooth-brush. He got a whole lot of water and + brushed all his teeth with it. This was huge. + </p> + <p> + Then he played with his collars. He had no end of fun with them, taking + them all out one by one and swearing at them, and then putting them back + and swearing at the whole lot together. + </p> + <p> + The next toy was his pants. He had immense fun there, putting them on and + taking them off again, and then trying to guess which side was which by + merely looking at them. + </p> + <p> + After that he took his book and read some adventures called "Genesis" till + breakfast-time. + </p> + <p> + Then he went downstairs and kissed his father and mother. His father was + smoking a cigar, and his mother had her new brooch on. Hoodoo's face was + thoughtful, and a light seemed to have broken in upon his mind. Indeed, I + think it altogether likely that next Christmas he will hang on to his own + money and take chances on what the angels bring. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Life of John Smith + </h2> + <p> + The lives of great men occupy a large section of our literature. The great + man is certainly a wonderful thing. He walks across his century and leaves + the marks of his feet all over it, ripping out the dates on his goloshes + as he passes. It is impossible to get up a revolution or a new religion, + or a national awakening of any sort, without his turning up, putting + himself at the head of it and collaring all the gate-receipts for himself. + Even after his death he leaves a long trail of second-rate relations + spattered over the front seats of fifty years of history. + </p> + <p> + Now the lives of great men are doubtless infinitely interesting. But at + times I must confess to a sense of reaction and an idea that the ordinary + common man is entitled to have his biography written too. It is to + illustrate this view that I write the life of John Smith, a man neither + good nor great, but just the usual, everyday homo like you and me and the + rest of us. + </p> + <p> + From his earliest childhood John Smith was marked out from his comrades by + nothing. The marvellous precocity of the boy did not astonish his + preceptors. Books were not a passion for him from his youth, neither did + any old man put his hand on Smith's head and say, mark his words, this boy + would some day become a man. Nor yet was it his father's wont to gaze on + him with a feeling amounting almost to awe. By no means! All his father + did was to wonder whether Smith was a darn fool because he couldn't help + it, or because he thought it smart. In other words, he was just like you + and me and the rest of us. + </p> + <p> + In those athletic sports which were the ornament of the youth of his day, + Smith did not, as great men do, excel his fellows. He couldn't ride worth + a darn. He couldn't skate worth a darn. He couldn't swim worth a darn. He + couldn't shoot worth a darn. He couldn't do anything worth a darn. He was + just like us. + </p> + <p> + Nor did the bold cast of the boy's mind offset his physical defects, as it + invariably does in the biographies. On the contrary. He was afraid of his + father. He was afraid of his school-teacher. He was afraid of dogs. He was + afraid of guns. He was afraid of lightning. He was afraid of hell. He was + afraid of girls. + </p> + <p> + In the boy's choice of a profession there was not seen that keen longing + for a life-work that we find in the celebrities. He didn't want to be a + lawyer, because you have to know law. He didn't want to be a doctor, + because you have to know medicine. He didn't want to be a business-man, + because you have to know business; and he didn't want to be a + school-teacher, because he had seen too many of them. As far as he had any + choice, it lay between being Robinson Crusoe and being the Prince of + Wales. His father refused him both and put him into a dry goods + establishment. + </p> + <p> + Such was the childhood of Smith. At its close there was nothing in his + outward appearance to mark the man of genius. The casual observer could + have seen no genius concealed behind the wide face, the massive mouth, the + long slanting forehead, and the tall ear that swept up to the + close-cropped head. Certainly he couldn't. There wasn't any concealed + there. + </p> + <p> + It was shortly after his start in business life that Smith was stricken + with the first of those distressing attacks, to which he afterwards became + subject. It seized him late one night as he was returning home from a + delightful evening of song and praise with a few old school chums. Its + symptoms were a peculiar heaving of the sidewalk, a dancing of the street + lights, and a crafty shifting to and fro of the houses, requiring a very + nice discrimination in selecting his own. There was a strong desire not to + drink water throughout the entire attack, which showed that the thing was + evidently a form of hydrophobia. From this time on, these painful attacks + became chronic with Smith. They were liable to come on at any time, but + especially on Saturday nights, on the first of the month, and on + Thanksgiving Day. He always had a very severe attack of hydrophobia on + Christmas Eve, and after elections it was fearful. + </p> + <p> + There was one incident in Smith's career which he did, perhaps, share with + regret. He had scarcely reached manhood when he met the most beautiful + girl in the world. She was different from all other women. She had a + deeper nature than other people. Smith realized it at once. She could feel + and understand things that ordinary people couldn't. She could understand + him. She had a great sense of humour and an exquisite appreciation of a + joke. He told her the six that he knew one night and she thought them + great. Her mere presence made Smith feel as if he had swallowed a sunset: + the first time that his finger brushed against hers, he felt a thrill all + through him. He presently found that if he took a firm hold of her hand + with his, he could get a fine thrill, and if he sat beside her on a sofa, + with his head against her ear and his arm about once and a half round her, + he could get what you might call a first-class, A-1 thrill. Smith became + filled with the idea that he would like to have her always near him. He + suggested an arrangement to her, by which she should come and live in the + same house with him and take personal charge of his clothes and his meals. + She was to receive in return her board and washing, about seventy-five + cents a week in ready money, and Smith was to be her slave. + </p> + <p> + After Smith had been this woman's slave for some time, baby fingers stole + across his life, then another set of them, and then more and more till the + house was full of them. The woman's mother began to steal across his life + too, and every time she came Smith had hydrophobia frightfully. Strangely + enough there was no little prattler that was taken from his life and + became a saddened, hallowed memory to him. Oh, no! The little Smiths were + not that kind of prattler. The whole nine grew up into tall, lank boys + with massive mouths and great sweeping ears like their father's, and no + talent for anything. + </p> + <p> + The life of Smith never seemed to bring him to any of those great + turning-points that occurred in the lives of the great. True, the passing + years brought some change of fortune. He was moved up in his dry-goods + establishment from the ribbon counter to the collar counter, from the + collar counter to the gents' panting counter, and from the gents' panting + to the gents' fancy shirting. Then, as he grew aged and inefficient, they + moved him down again from the gents' fancy shirting to the gents' panting, + and so on to the ribbon counter. And when he grew quite old they dismissed + him and got a boy with a four-inch mouth and sandy-coloured hair, who did + all Smith could do for half the money. That was John Smith's mercantile + career: it won't stand comparison with Mr. Gladstone's, but it's not + unlike your own. + </p> + <p> + Smith lived for five years after this. His sons kept him. They didn't want + to, but they had to. In his old age the brightness of his mind and his + fund of anecdote were not the delight of all who dropped in to see him. He + told seven stories and he knew six jokes. The stories were long things all + about himself, and the jokes were about a commercial traveller and a + Methodist minister. But nobody dropped in to see him, anyway, so it didn't + matter. + </p> + <p> + At sixty-five Smith was taken ill, and, receiving proper treatment, he + died. There was a tombstone put up over him, with a hand pointing + north-north-east. + </p> + <p> + But I doubt if he ever got there. He was too like us. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + On Collecting Things + </h2> + <p> + Like most other men I have from time to time been stricken with a desire + to make collections of things. + </p> + <p> + It began with postage stamps. I had a letter from a friend of mine who had + gone out to South Africa. The letter had a three-cornered stamp on it, and + I thought as soon as I looked at it, "That's the thing! Stamp collecting! + I'll devote my life to it." + </p> + <p> + I bought an album with accommodation for the stamps of all nations, and + began collecting right off. For three days the collection made wonderful + progress. It contained: + </p> + <p> + One Cape of Good Hope stamp. + </p> + <p> + One one-cent stamp, United States of America. + </p> + <p> + One two-cent stamp, United States of America. + </p> + <p> + One five-cent stamp, United States of America. + </p> + <p> + One ten-cent stamp, United States of America. + </p> + <p> + After that the collection came to a dead stop. For a while I used to talk + about it rather airily and say I had one or two rather valuable South + African stamps. But I presently grew tired even of lying about it. + </p> + <p> + Collecting coins is a thing that I attempt at intervals. Every time I am + given an old half-penny or a Mexican quarter, I get an idea that if a + fellow made a point of holding on to rarities of that sort, he'd soon have + quite a valuable collection. The first time that I tried it I was full of + enthusiasm, and before long my collection numbered quite a few articles of + vertu. The items were as follows: + </p> + <p> + No. 1. Ancient Roman coin. Time of Caligula. This one of course was the + gem of the whole lot; it was given me by a friend, and that was what + started me collecting. + </p> + <p> + No. 2. Small copper coin. Value one cent. United States of America. + Apparently modern. + </p> + <p> + No. 3. Small nickel coin. Circular. United States of America. Value five + cents. + </p> + <p> + No. 4. Small silver coin. Value ten cents. United States of America. + </p> + <p> + No. 5. Silver coin. Circular. Value twenty-five cents. United States of + America. Very beautiful. + </p> + <p> + No. 6. Large silver coin. Circular. Inscription, "One Dollar." United + States of America. Very valuable. + </p> + <p> + No. 7. Ancient British copper coin. Probably time of Caractacus. Very dim. + Inscription, "Victoria Dei gratia regina." Very valuable. + </p> + <p> + No. 8. Silver coin. Evidently French. Inscription, "Funf Mark. Kaiser + Wilhelm." + </p> + <p> + No. 9. Circular silver coin. Very much defaced. Part of inscription, "E + Pluribus Unum." Probably a Russian rouble, but quite as likely to be a + Japanese yen or a Shanghai rooster. + </p> + <p> + That's as far as that collection got. It lasted through most of the winter + and I was getting quite proud of it, but I took the coins down town one + evening to show to a friend and we spent No. 3, No. 4, No. 5, No. 6, and + No. 7 in buying a little dinner for two. After dinner I bought a yen's + worth of cigars and traded the relic of Caligula for as many hot Scotches + as they cared to advance on it. After that I felt reckless and put No. 2 + and No. 8 into a Children's Hospital poor box. + </p> + <p> + I tried fossils next. I got two in ten years. Then I quit. + </p> + <p> + A friend of mine once showed me a very fine collection of ancient and + curious weapons, and for a time I was full of that idea. I gathered + several interesting specimens, such as: + </p> + <p> + No. 1. Old flint-lock musket, used by my grandfather. (He used it on the + farm for years as a crowbar.) + </p> + <p> + No. 2. Old raw-hide strap, used by my father. + </p> + <p> + No. 3. Ancient Indian arrowhead, found by myself the very day after I + began collecting. It resembles a three-cornered stone. + </p> + <p> + No. 4. Ancient Indian bow, found by myself behind a sawmill on the second + day of collecting. It resembles a straight stick of elm or oak. It is + interesting to think that this very weapon may have figured in some fierce + scene of savage warfare. + </p> + <p> + No. 5. Cannibal poniard or straight-handled dagger of the South Sea + Islands. It will give the reader almost a thrill of horror to learn that + this atrocious weapon, which I bought myself on the third day of + collecting, was actually exposed in a second-hand store as a family + carving-knife. In gazing at it one cannot refrain from conjuring up the + awful scenes it must have witnessed. + </p> + <p> + I kept this collection for quite a long while until, in a moment of + infatuation, I presented it to a young lady as a betrothal present. The + gift proved too ostentatious and our relations subsequently ceased to be + cordial. + </p> + <p> + On the whole I am inclined to recommend the beginner to confine himself to + collecting coins. At present I am myself making a collection of American + bills (time of Taft preferred), a pursuit I find most absorbing. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Society Chat-Chat + </h2> + <h3> + AS IT SHOULD BE WRITTEN + </h3> + <p> + I notice that it is customary for the daily papers to publish a column or + so of society gossip. They generally head it "Chit-Chat," or "On Dit," or + "Le Boudoir," or something of the sort, and they keep it pretty full of + French terms to give it the proper sort of swing. These columns may be + very interesting in their way, but it always seems to me that they don't + get hold of quite the right things to tell us about. They are very fond, + for instance, of giving an account of the delightful dance at Mrs. De + Smythe's—at which Mrs. De Smythe looked charming in a gown of old + tulle with a stomacher of passementerie—or of the dinner-party at + Mr. Alonzo Robinson's residence, or the smart pink tea given by Miss + Carlotta Jones. No, that's all right, but it's not the kind of thing we + want to get at; those are not the events which happen in our neighbours' + houses that we really want to hear about. It is the quiet little family + scenes, the little traits of home-life that—well, for example, take + the case of that delightful party at the De Smythes. I am certain that all + those who were present would much prefer a little paragraph like the + following, which would give them some idea of the home-life of the De + Smythes on the morning after the party. + </p> + <h3> + DEJEUNER DE LUXE AT THE DE SMYTHE RESIDENCE + </h3> + <p> + On Wednesday morning last at 7.15 a.m. a charming little breakfast was + served at the home of Mr. De Smythe. The dejeuner was given in honour of + Mr. De Smythe and his two sons, Master Adolphus and Master Blinks De + Smythe, who were about to leave for their daily travail at their wholesale + Bureau de Flour et de Feed. All the gentlemen were very quietly dressed in + their habits de work. Miss Melinda De Smythe poured out tea, the + domestique having refuse to get up so early after the partie of the night + before. The menu was very handsome, consisting of eggs and bacon, + demi-froid, and ice-cream. The conversation was sustained and lively. Mr. + De Smythe sustained it and made it lively for his daughter and his + garcons. In the course of the talk Mr. De Smythe stated that the next time + he allowed the young people to turn his maison topsy-turvy he would see + them in enfer. He wished to know if they were aware that some ass of the + evening before had broken a pane of coloured glass in the hall that would + cost him four dollars. Did they think he was made of argent. If so, they + never made a bigger mistake in their vie. The meal closed with general + expressions of good-feeling. A little bird has whispered to us that there + will be no more parties at the De Smythes' pour long-temps. + </p> + <p> + Here is another little paragraph that would be of general interest in + society. + </p> + <h3> + DINER DE FAMEEL AT THE BOARDING-HOUSE DE MCFIGGIN + </h3> + <p> + Yesterday evening at half after six a pleasant little diner was given by + Madame McFiggin of Rock Street, to her boarders. The salle a manger was + very prettily decorated with texts, and the furniture upholstered with + cheveux de horse, Louis Quinze. The boarders were all very quietly + dressed: Mrs. McFiggin was daintily attired in some old clinging stuff + with a corsage de Whalebone underneath. The ample board groaned under the + bill of fare. The boarders groaned also. Their groaning was very + noticeable. The piece de resistance was a hunko de boeuf boile, flanked + with some old clinging stuff. The entrees were pate de pumpkin, followed + by fromage McFiggin, served under glass. Towards the end of the first + course, speeches became the order of the day. Mrs. McFiggin was the first + speaker. In commencing, she expressed her surprise that so few of the + gentlemen seemed to care for the hunko de boeuf; her own mind, she said, + had hesitated between hunko de boeuf boile and a pair of roast chickens + (sensation). She had finally decided in favour of the hunko de boeuf (no + sensation). She referred at some length to the late Mr. McFiggin, who had + always shown a marked preference for hunko de boeuf. Several other + speakers followed. All spoke forcibly and to the point. The last to speak + was the Reverend Mr. Whiner. The reverend gentleman, in rising, said that + he confided himself and his fellow-boarders to the special interference of + providence. For what they had eaten, he said, he hoped that Providence + would make them truly thankful. At the close of the Repas several of the + boarders expressed their intention of going down the street to a + restourong to get quelque chose a manger. + </p> + <p> + Here is another example. How interesting it would be to get a detailed + account of that little affair at the Robinsons', of which the neighbours + only heard indirectly! Thus: + </p> + <h3> + DELIGHTFUL EVENING AT THE RESIDENCE OF MR. ALONZO ROBINSON + </h3> + <p> + Yesterday the family of Mr. Alonzo Robinson spent a very lively evening at + their home on —-th Avenue. The occasion was the seventeenth birthday + of Master Alonzo Robinson, junior. It was the original intention of Master + Alonzo Robinson to celebrate the day at home and invite a few of les + garcons. Mr. Robinson, senior, however, having declared that he would be + damne first, Master Alonzo spent the evening in visiting the salons of the + town, which he painted rouge. Mr. Robinson, senior, spent the evening at + home in quiet expectation of his son's return. He was very becomingly + dressed in a pantalon quatre vingt treize, and had his whippe de chien + laid across his knee. Madame Robinson and the Mademoiselles Robinson wore + black. The guest of the evening arrived at a late hour. He wore his habits + de spri, and had about six pouces of eau de vie in him. He was evidently + full up to his cou. For some time after his arrival a very lively time was + spent. Mr. Robinson having at length broken the whippe de chien, the + family parted for the night with expressions of cordial goodwill. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Insurance up to Date + </h2> + <p> + A man called on me the other day with the idea of insuring my life. Now, I + detest life-insurance agents; they always argue that I shall some day die, + which is not so. I have been insured a great many times, for about a month + at a time, but have had no luck with it at all. + </p> + <p> + So I made up my mind that I would outwit this man at his own game. I let + him talk straight ahead and encouraged him all I could, until he finally + left me with a sheet of questions which I was to answer as an applicant. + Now this was what I was waiting for; I had decided that, if that company + wanted information about me, they should have it, and have the very best + quality I could supply. So I spread the sheet of questions before me, and + drew up a set of answers for them, which, I hoped, would settle for ever + all doubts as to my eligibility for insurance. + </p> + <p> + Question.—What is your age? Answer.—I can't think. + </p> + <p> + Q.—What is your chest measurement? A.—Nineteen inches. + </p> + <p> + Q.—What is your chest expansion? A.—Half an inch. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Q.—What is your height? +A.—Six feet five, if erect, but less when + I walk on all fours. +</pre> + <p> + Q.—Is your grandfather dead? A.—Practically. + </p> + <p> + Q.—Cause of death, if dead? A.—Dipsomania, if dead. + </p> + <p> + Q.—Is your father dead? A.—To the world. + </p> + <p> + Q.—Cause of death? A.—Hydrophobia. + </p> + <p> + Q.—Place of father's residence? A.—Kentucky. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Q.—What illness have you had? +A.—As a child, consumption, leprosy, and water on + the knee. As a man, whooping-cough, stomach-ache, + and water on the brain. +</pre> + <p> + Q.—Have you any brothers? A.—Thirteen; all nearly dead. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Q.—Are you aware of any habits or tendencies which + might be expected to shorten your life? +A.—I am aware. I drink, I smoke, I take morphine and + vaseline. I swallow grape seeds and I hate exercise. +</pre> + <p> + I thought when I had come to the end of that list that I had made a dead + sure thing of it, and I posted the paper with a cheque for three months' + payment, feeling pretty confident of having the cheque sent back to me. I + was a good deal surprised a few days later to receive the following letter + from the company: + </p> + <p> + "DEAR SIR,—We beg to acknowledge your letter of application and + cheque for fifteen dollars. After a careful comparison of your case with + the average modern standard, we are pleased to accept you as a first-class + risk." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Borrowing a Match + </h2> + <p> + You might think that borrowing a match upon the street is a simple thing. + But any man who has ever tried it will assure you that it is not, and will + be prepared to swear to the truth of my experience of the other evening. + </p> + <p> + I was standing on the corner of the street with a cigar that I wanted to + light. I had no match. I waited till a decent, ordinary-looking man came + along. Then I said: + </p> + <p> + "Excuse me, sir, but could you oblige me with the loan of a match?" + </p> + <p> + "A match?" he said, "why certainly." Then he unbuttoned his overcoat and + put his hand in the pocket of his waistcoat. "I know I have one," he went + on, "and I'd almost swear it's in the bottom pocket—or, hold on, + though, I guess it may be in the top—just wait till I put these + parcels down on the sidewalk." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, don't trouble," I said, "it's really of no consequence." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, it's no trouble, I'll have it in a minute; I know there must be one + in here somewhere"—he was digging his fingers into his pockets as he + spoke—"but you see this isn't the waistcoat I generally..." + </p> + <p> + I saw that the man was getting excited about it. "Well, never mind," I + protested; "if that isn't the waistcoat that you generally—why, it + doesn't matter." + </p> + <p> + "Hold on, now, hold on!" the man said, "I've got one of the cursed things + in here somewhere. I guess it must be in with my watch. No, it's not there + either. Wait till I try my coat. If that confounded tailor only knew + enough to make a pocket so that a man could get at it!" + </p> + <p> + He was getting pretty well worked up now. He had thrown down his + walking-stick and was plunging at his pockets with his teeth set. "It's + that cursed young boy of mine," he hissed; "this comes of his fooling in + my pockets. By Gad! perhaps I won't warm him up when I get home. Say, I'll + bet that it's in my hip-pocket. You just hold up the tail of my overcoat a + second till I..." + </p> + <p> + "No, no," I protested again, "please don't take all this trouble, it + really doesn't matter. I'm sure you needn't take off your overcoat, and + oh, pray don't throw away your letters and things in the snow like that, + and tear out your pockets by the roots! Please, please don't trample over + your overcoat and put your feet through the parcels. I do hate to hear you + swearing at your little boy, with that peculiar whine in your voice. Don't—please + don't tear your clothes so savagely." + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the man gave a grunt of exultation, and drew his hand up from + inside the lining of his coat. + </p> + <p> + "I've got it," he cried. "Here you are!" Then he brought it out under the + light. + </p> + <p> + It was a toothpick. + </p> + <p> + Yielding to the impulse of the moment I pushed him under the wheels of a + trolley-car, and ran. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Lesson in Fiction + </h2> + <p> + Suppose that in the opening pages of the modern melodramatic novel you + find some such situation as the following, in which is depicted the + terrific combat between Gaspard de Vaux, the boy lieutenant, and Hairy + Hank, the chief of the Italian banditti: + </p> + <p> + "The inequality of the contest was apparent. With a mingled yell of rage + and contempt, his sword brandished above his head and his dirk between his + teeth, the enormous bandit rushed upon his intrepid opponent. De Vaux + seemed scarce more than a stripling, but he stood his ground and faced his + hitherto invincible assailant. 'Mong Dieu,' cried De Smythe, 'he is + lost!'" + </p> + <p> + Question. On which of the parties to the above contest do you honestly + feel inclined to put your money? + </p> + <p> + Answer. On De Vaux. He'll win. Hairy Hank will force him down to one knee + and with a brutal cry of "Har! har!" will be about to dirk him, when De + Vaux will make a sudden lunge (one he had learnt at home out of a book of + lunges) and— + </p> + <p> + Very good. You have answered correctly. Now, suppose you find, a little + later in the book, that the killing of Hairy Hank has compelled De Vaux to + flee from his native land to the East. Are you not fearful for his safety + in the desert? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Frankly, I am not. De Vaux is all right. His name is on the title + page, and you can't kill him. + </p> + <p> + Question. Listen to this, then: "The sun of Ethiopia beat fiercely upon + the desert as De Vaux, mounted upon his faithful elephant, pursued his + lonely way. Seated in his lofty hoo-doo, his eye scoured the waste. + Suddenly a solitary horseman appeared on the horizon, then another, and + another, and then six. In a few moments a whole crowd of solitary horsemen + swooped down upon him. There was a fierce shout of 'Allah!' a rattle of + firearms. De Vaux sank from his hoo-doo on to the sands, while the + affrighted elephant dashed off in all directions. The bullet had struck + him in the heart." + </p> + <p> + There now, what do you think of that? Isn't De Vaux killed now? + </p> + <p> + Answer. I am sorry. De Vaux is not dead. True, the ball had hit him, oh + yes, it had hit him, but it had glanced off against a family Bible, which + he carried in his waistcoat in case of illness, struck some hymns that he + had in his hip-pocket, and, glancing off again, had flattened itself + against De Vaux's diary of his life in the desert, which was in his + knapsack. + </p> + <p> + Question. But even if this doesn't kill him, you must admit that he is + near death when he is bitten in the jungle by the deadly dongola? + </p> + <p> + Answer. That's all right. A kindly Arab will take De Vaux to the Sheik's + tent. + </p> + <p> + Question. What will De Vaux remind the Sheik of? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Too easy. Of his long-lost son, who disappeared years ago. + </p> + <p> + Question. Was this son Hairy Hank? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Of course he was. Anyone could see that, but the Sheik never + suspects it, and heals De Vaux. He heals him with an herb, a thing called + a simple, an amazingly simple, known only to the Sheik. Since using this + herb, the Sheik has used no other. + </p> + <p> + Question. The Sheik will recognize an overcoat that De Vaux is wearing, + and complications will arise in the matter of Hairy Hank deceased. Will + this result in the death of the boy lieutenant? + </p> + <p> + Answer. No. By this time De Vaux has realized that the reader knows he + won't die and resolves to quit the desert. The thought of his mother keeps + recurring to him, and of his father, too, the grey, stooping old man—does + he stoop still or has he stopped stooping? At times, too, there comes the + thought of another, a fairer than his father; she whose—but enough, + De Vaux returns to the old homestead in Piccadilly. + </p> + <p> + Question. When De Vaux returns to England, what will happen? + </p> + <p> + Answer. This will happen: "He who left England ten years before a raw boy, + has returned a sunburnt soldierly man. But who is this that advances + smilingly to meet him? Can the mere girl, the bright child that shared his + hours of play, can she have grown into this peerless, graceful girl, at + whose feet half the noble suitors of England are kneeling? 'Can this be + her?' he asks himself in amazement." + </p> + <p> + Question. Is it her? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Oh, it's her all right. It is her, and it is him, and it is them. + That girl hasn't waited fifty pages for nothing. + </p> + <p> + Question. You evidently guess that a love affair will ensue between the + boy lieutenant and the peerless girl with the broad feet. Do you imagine, + however, that its course will run smoothly and leave nothing to record? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Not at all. I feel certain that the scene of the novel having + edged itself around to London, the writer will not feel satisfied unless + he introduces the following famous scene: + </p> + <p> + "Stunned by the cruel revelation which he had received, unconscious of + whither his steps were taking him, Gaspard de Vaux wandered on in the + darkness from street to street until he found himself upon London Bridge. + He leaned over the parapet and looked down upon the whirling stream below. + There was something in the still, swift rush of it that seemed to beckon, + to allure him. After all, why not? What was life now that he should prize + it? For a moment De Vaux paused irresolute." + </p> + <p> + Question. Will he throw himself in? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Well, say you don't know Gaspard. He will pause irresolute up to + the limit, then, with a fierce struggle, will recall his courage and + hasten from the Bridge. + </p> + <p> + Question. This struggle not to throw oneself in must be dreadfully + difficult? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Oh! dreadfully! Most of us are so frail we should jump in at once. + But Gaspard has the knack of it. Besides he still has some of the Sheik's + herb; he chews it. + </p> + <p> + Question. What has happened to De Vaux anyway? Is it anything he has + eaten? + </p> + <p> + Answer. No, it is nothing that he has eaten. It's about her. The blow has + come. She has no use for sunburn, doesn't care for tan; she is going to + marry a duke and the boy lieutenant is no longer in it. The real trouble + is that the modern novelist has got beyond the happy-marriage mode of + ending. He wants tragedy and a blighted life to wind up with. + </p> + <p> + Question. How will the book conclude? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Oh, De Vaux will go back to the desert, fall upon the Sheik's + neck, and swear to be a second Hairy Hank to him. There will be a final + panorama of the desert, the Sheik and his newly found son at the door of + the tent, the sun setting behind a pyramid, and De Vaux's faithful + elephant crouched at his feet and gazing up at him with dumb affection. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Helping the Armenians + </h2> + <p> + The financial affairs of the parish church up at Doogalville have been + getting rather into a tangle in the last six months. The people of the + church were specially anxious to do something toward the general public + subscription of the town on behalf of the unhappy Armenians, and to that + purpose they determined to devote the collections taken up at a series of + special evening services. To give the right sort of swing to the services + and to stimulate generous giving, they put a new pipe organ into the + church. In order to make a preliminary payment on the organ, it was + decided to raise a mortgage on the parsonage. + </p> + <p> + To pay the interest on the mortgage, the choir of the church got up a + sacred concert in the town hall. + </p> + <p> + To pay for the town hall, the Willing Workers' Guild held a social in the + Sunday school. To pay the expenses of the social, the rector delivered a + public lecture on "Italy and Her Past," illustrated by a magic lantern. To + pay for the magic lantern, the curate and the ladies of the church got up + some amateur theatricals. + </p> + <p> + Finally, to pay for the costumes for the theatricals, the rector felt it + his duty to dispense with the curate. + </p> + <p> + So that is where the church stands just at present. What they chiefly want + to do, is to raise enough money to buy a suitable gold watch as a + testimonial to the curate. After that they hope to be able to do something + for the Armenians. Meantime, of course, the Armenians, the ones right + there in the town, are getting very troublesome. To begin with, there is + the Armenian who rented the costumes for the theatricals: he has to be + squared. Then there is the Armenian organ dealer, and the Armenian who + owned the magic lantern. They want relief badly. + </p> + <p> + The most urgent case is that of the Armenian who holds the mortgage on the + parsonage; indeed it is generally felt in the congregation, when the + rector makes his impassioned appeals at the special services on behalf of + the suffering cause, that it is to this man that he has special reference. + </p> + <p> + In the meanwhile the general public subscription is not getting along very + fast; but the proprietor of the big saloon further down the street and the + man with the short cigar that runs the Doogalville Midway Plaisance have + been most liberal in their contributions. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Study in Still Life.—The Country Hotel + </h2> + <p> + The country hotel stands on the sunny side of Main Street. It has three + entrances. + </p> + <p> + There is one in front which leads into the Bar. There is one at the side + called the Ladies' Entrance which leads into the Bar from the side. There + is also the Main Entrance which leads into the Bar through the Rotunda. + </p> + <p> + The Rotunda is the space between the door of the bar-room and the + cigar-case. + </p> + <p> + In it is a desk and a book. In the book are written down the names of the + guests, together with marks indicating the direction of the wind and the + height of the barometer. It is here that the newly arrived guest waits + until he has time to open the door leading to the Bar. + </p> + <p> + The bar-room forms the largest part of the hotel. It constitutes the hotel + proper. To it are attached a series of bedrooms on the floor above, many + of which contain beds. + </p> + <p> + The walls of the bar-room are perforated in all directions with + trap-doors. Through one of these drinks are passed into the back + sitting-room. Through others drinks are passed into the passages. Drinks + are also passed through the floor and through the ceiling. Drinks once + passed never return. The Proprietor stands in the doorway of the bar. He + weighs two hundred pounds. His face is immovable as putty. He is drunk. He + has been drunk for twelve years. It makes no difference to him. Behind the + bar stands the Bar-tender. He wears wicker-sleeves, his hair is curled in + a hook, and his name is Charlie. + </p> + <p> + Attached to the bar is a pneumatic beer-pump, by means of which the + bar-tender can flood the bar with beer. Afterwards he wipes up the beer + with a rag. By this means he polishes the bar. Some of the beer that is + pumped up spills into glasses and has to be sold. + </p> + <p> + Behind the bar-tender is a mechanism called a cash-register, which, on + being struck a powerful blow, rings a bell, sticks up a card marked NO + SALE, and opens a till from which the bar-tender distributes money. + </p> + <p> + There is printed a tariff of drinks and prices on the wall. + </p> + <p> + It reads thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Beer . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky. . . . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky and Soda. . . . . . . 5 cents. + Beer and Soda . . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky and Beer and Soda . . 5 cents. + Whisky and Eggs . . . . . 5 cents. + Beer and Eggs . . . . . . 5 cents. + Champagne. . . . . . . 5 cents. + Cigars . . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Cigars, extra fine . . . . . 5 cents. +</pre> + <p> + All calculations are made on this basis and are worked out to three places + of decimals. Every seventh drink is on the house and is not followed by a + distribution of money. + </p> + <p> + The bar-room closes at midnight, provided there are enough people in it. + If there is not a quorum the proprietor waits for a better chance. A + careful closing of the bar will often catch as many as twenty-five people. + The bar is not opened again till seven o'clock in the morning; after that + the people may go home. There are also, nowadays, Local Option Hotels. + These contain only one entrance, leading directly into the bar. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + An Experiment With Policeman Hogan + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Scalper sits writing in the reporters' room of The Daily Eclipse. The + paper has gone to press and he is alone; a wayward talented gentleman, + this Mr. Scalper, and employed by The Eclipse as a delineator of character + from handwriting. Any subscriber who forwards a specimen of his + handwriting is treated to a prompt analysis of his character from Mr. + Scalper's facile pen. The literary genius has a little pile of + correspondence beside him, and is engaged in the practice of his art. + Outside the night is dark and rainy. The clock on the City Hall marks the + hour of two. In front of the newspaper office Policeman Hogan walks + drearily up and down his beat. The damp misery of Hogan is intense. A + belated gentleman in clerical attire, returning home from a bed of + sickness, gives him a side-look of timid pity and shivers past. Hogan + follows the retreating figure with his eye; then draws forth a notebook + and sits down on the steps of The Eclipse building to write in the light + of the gas lamp. Gentlemen of nocturnal habits have often wondered what it + is that Policeman Hogan and his brethren write in their little books. Here + are the words that are fashioned by the big fist of the policeman: + </p> + <p> + "Two o'clock. All is well. There is a light in Mr. Scalper's room above. + The night is very wet and I am unhappy and cannot sleep—my fourth + night of insomnia. Suspicious-looking individual just passed. Alas, how + melancholy is my life! Will the dawn never break! Oh, moist, moist stone." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper up above is writing too, writing with the careless fluency of + a man who draws his pay by the column. He is delineating with skill and + rapidity. The reporters' room is gloomy and desolate. Mr. Scalper is a man + of sensitive temperament and the dreariness of his surroundings depresses + him. He opens the letter of a correspondent, examines the handwriting + narrowly, casts his eye around the room for inspiration, and proceeds to + delineate: + </p> + <p> + "G.H. You have an unhappy, despondent nature; your circumstances oppress + you, and your life is filled with an infinite sadness. You feel that you + are without hope—" + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper pauses, takes another look around the room, and finally lets + his eye rest for some time upon a tall black bottle that stands on the + shelf of an open cupboard. Then he goes on: + </p> + <p> + "—and you have lost all belief in Christianity and a future world + and human virtue. You are very weak against temptation, but there is an + ugly vein of determination in your character, when you make up your mind + that you are going to have a thing—" + </p> + <p> + Here Mr. Scalper stops abruptly, pushes back his chair, and dashes across + the room to the cupboard. He takes the black bottle from the shelf, + applies it to his lips, and remains for some time motionless. He then + returns to finish the delineation of G.H. with the hurried words: + </p> + <p> + "On the whole I recommend you to persevere; you are doing very well." Mr. + Scalper's next proceeding is peculiar. He takes from the cupboard a roll + of twine, about fifty feet in length, and attaches one end of it to the + neck of the bottle. Going then to one of the windows, he opens it, leans + out, and whistles softly. The alert ear of Policeman Hogan on the pavement + below catches the sound, and he returns it. The bottle is lowered to the + end of the string, the guardian of the peace applies it to his gullet, and + for some time the policeman and the man of letters remain attached by a + cord of sympathy. Gentlemen who lead the variegated life of Mr. Scalper + find it well to propitiate the arm of the law, and attachments of this + sort are not uncommon. Mr. Scalper hauls up the bottle, closes the window, + and returns to his task; the policeman resumes his walk with a glow of + internal satisfaction. A glance at the City Hall clock causes him to enter + another note in his book. + </p> + <p> + "Half-past two. All is better. The weather is milder with a feeling of + young summer in the air. Two lights in Mr. Scalper's room. Nothing has + occurred which need be brought to the notice of the roundsman." + </p> + <p> + Things are going better upstairs too. The delineator opens a second + envelope, surveys the writing of the correspondent with a critical yet + charitable eye, and writes with more complacency. + </p> + <p> + "William H. Your writing shows a disposition which, though naturally + melancholy, is capable of a temporary cheerfulness. You have known + misfortune but have made up your mind to look on the bright side of + things. If you will allow me to say so, you indulge in liquor but are + quite moderate in your use of it. Be assured that no harm ever comes of + this moderate use. It enlivens the intellect, brightens the faculties, and + stimulates the dormant fancy into a pleasurable activity. It is only when + carried to excess—" + </p> + <p> + At this point the feelings of Mr. Scalper, who had been writing very + rapidly, evidently become too much for him. He starts up from his chair, + rushes two or three times around the room, and finally returns to finish + the delineation thus: "it is only when carried to excess that this + moderation becomes pernicious." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper succumbs to the train of thought suggested and gives an + illustration of how moderation to excess may be avoided, after which he + lowers the bottle to Policeman Hogan with a cheery exchange of greetings. + </p> + <p> + The half-hours pass on. The delineator is writing busily and feels that he + is writing well. The characters of his correspondents lie bare to his keen + eye and flow from his facile pen. From time to time he pauses and appeals + to the source of his inspiration; his humanity prompts him to extend the + inspiration to Policeman Hogan. The minion of the law walks his beat with + a feeling of more than tranquillity. A solitary Chinaman, returning home + late from his midnight laundry, scuttles past. The literary instinct has + risen strong in Hogan from his connection with the man of genius above + him, and the passage of the lone Chinee gives him occasion to write in his + book: + </p> + <p> + "Four-thirty. Everything is simply great. There are four lights in Mr. + Scalper's room. Mild, balmy weather with prospects of an earthquake, which + may be held in check by walking with extreme caution. Two Chinamen have + just passed—mandarins, I presume. Their walk was unsteady, but their + faces so benign as to disarm suspicion." + </p> + <p> + Up in the office Mr. Scalper has reached the letter of a correspondent + which appears to give him particular pleasure, for he delineates the + character with a beaming smile of satisfaction. To the unpractised eye the + writing resembles the prim, angular hand of an elderly spinster. Mr. + Scalper, however, seems to think otherwise, for he writes: + </p> + <p> + "Aunt Dorothea. You have a merry, rollicking nature. At times you are + seized with a wild, tumultuous hilarity to which you give ample vent in + shouting and song. You are much addicted to profanity, and you rightly + feel that this is part of your nature and you must not check it. The world + is a very bright place to you, Aunt Dorothea. Write to me again soon. Our + minds seem cast in the same mould." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper seems to think that he has not done full justice to the + subject he is treating, for he proceeds to write a long private letter to + Aunt Dorothea in addition to the printed delineation. As he finishes the + City Hall clock points to five, and Policeman Hogan makes the last entry + in his chronicle. Hogan has seated himself upon the steps of The Eclipse + building for greater comfort and writes with a slow, leisurely fist: + </p> + <p> + "The other hand of the clock points north and the second longest points + south-east by south. I infer that it is five o'clock. The electric lights + in Mr. Scalper's room defy the eye. The roundsman has passed and examined + my notes of the night's occurrences. They are entirely satisfactory, and + he is pleased with their literary form. The earthquake which I apprehended + was reduced to a few minor oscillations which cannot reach me where I sit—" + </p> + <p> + The lowering of the bottle interrupts Policeman Hogan. The long letter to + Aunt Dorothea has cooled the ardour of Mr. Scalper. The generous blush has + passed from his mind and he has been trying in vain to restore it. To + afford Hogan a similar opportunity, he decides not to haul the bottle up + immediately, but to leave it in his custody while he delineates a + character. The writing of this correspondent would seem to the + inexperienced eye to be that of a timid little maiden in her teens. Mr. + Scalper is not to be deceived by appearances. He shakes his head + mournfully at the letter and writes: + </p> + <p> + "Little Emily. You have known great happiness, but it has passed. + Despondency has driven you to seek forgetfulness in drink. Your writing + shows the worst phase of the liquor habit. I apprehend that you will + shortly have delirium tremens. Poor little Emily! Do not try to break off; + it is too late." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper is visibly affected by his correspondent's unhappy condition. + His eye becomes moist, and he decides to haul up the bottle while there is + still time to save Policeman Hogan from acquiring a taste for liquor. He + is surprised and alarmed to find the attempt to haul it up ineffectual. + The minion of the law has fallen into a leaden slumber, and the bottle + remains tight in his grasp. The baffled delineator lets fall the string + and returns to finish his task. Only a few lines are now required to fill + the column, but Mr. Scalper finds on examining the correspondence that he + has exhausted the subjects. This, however, is quite a common occurrence + and occasions no dilemma in the mind of the talented gentleman. It is his + custom in such cases to fill up the space with an imaginary character or + two, the analysis of which is a task most congenial to his mind. He bows + his head in thought for a few moments, and then writes as follows: + </p> + <p> + "Policeman H. Your hand shows great firmness; when once set upon a thing + you are not easily moved. But you have a mean, grasping disposition and a + tendency to want more than your share. You have formed an attachment which + you hope will be continued throughout life, but your selfishness threatens + to sever the bond." + </p> + <p> + Having written which, Mr. Scalper arranges his manuscript for the printer + next day, dons his hat and coat, and wends his way home in the morning + twilight, feeling that his pay is earned. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Passing of the Poet + </h2> + <p> + Studies in what may be termed collective psychology are essentially in + keeping with the spirit of the present century. The examination of the + mental tendencies, the intellectual habits which we display not as + individuals, but as members of a race, community, or crowd, is offering a + fruitful field of speculation as yet but little exploited. One may, + therefore, not without profit, pass in review the relation of the poetic + instinct to the intellectual development of the present era. + </p> + <p> + Not the least noticeable feature in the psychological evolution of our + time is the rapid disappearance of poetry. The art of writing poetry, or + perhaps more fairly, the habit of writing poetry, is passing from us. The + poet is destined to become extinct. + </p> + <p> + To a reader of trained intellect the initial difficulty at once suggests + itself as to what is meant by poetry. But it is needless to quibble at a + definition of the term. It may be designated, simply and fairly, as the + art of expressing a simple truth in a concealed form of words, any number + of which, at intervals greater or less, may or may not rhyme. + </p> + <p> + The poet, it must be said, is as old as civilization. The Greeks had him + with them, stamping out his iambics with the sole of his foot. The Romans, + too, knew him—endlessly juggling his syllables together, long and + short, short and long, to make hexameters. This can now be done by + electricity, but the Romans did not know it. + </p> + <p> + But it is not my present purpose to speak of the poets of an earlier and + ruder time. For the subject before us it is enough to set our age in + comparison with the era that preceded it. We have but to contrast + ourselves with our early Victorian grandfathers to realize the profound + revolution that has taken place in public feeling. It is only with an + effort that the practical common sense of the twentieth century can + realize the excessive sentimentality of the earlier generation. + </p> + <p> + In those days poetry stood in high and universal esteem. Parents read + poetry to their children. Children recited poetry to their parents. And he + was a dullard, indeed, who did not at least profess, in his hours of + idleness, to pour spontaneous rhythm from his flowing quill. + </p> + <p> + Should one gather statistics of the enormous production of poetry some + sixty or seventy years ago, they would scarcely appear credible. Journals + and magazines teemed with it. Editors openly countenanced it. Even the + daily press affected it. Love sighed in home-made stanzas. Patriotism + rhapsodized on the hustings, or cited rolling hexameters to an enraptured + legislature. Even melancholy death courted his everlasting sleep in + elegant elegiacs. + </p> + <p> + In that era, indeed, I know not how, polite society was haunted by the + obstinate fiction that it was the duty of a man of parts to express + himself from time to time in verse. Any special occasion of expansion or + exuberance, of depression, torsion, or introspection, was sufficient to + call it forth. So we have poems of dejection, of reflection, of + deglutition, of indigestion. + </p> + <p> + Any particular psychological disturbance was enough to provoke an excess + of poetry. The character and manner of the verse might vary with the + predisposing cause. A gentleman who had dined too freely might disexpand + himself in a short fit of lyric doggerel in which "bowl" and "soul" were + freely rhymed. The morning's indigestion inspired a long-drawn elegiac, + with "bier" and "tear," "mortal" and "portal" linked in sonorous sadness. + The man of politics, from time to time, grateful to an appreciative + country, sang back to it, "Ho, Albion, rising from the brine!" in verse + whose intention at least was meritorious. + </p> + <p> + And yet it was but a fiction, a purely fictitious obligation, self-imposed + by a sentimental society. In plain truth, poetry came no more easily or + naturally to the early Victorian than to you or me. The lover twanged his + obdurate harp in vain for hours for the rhymes that would not come, and + the man of politics hammered at his heavy hexameter long indeed before his + Albion was finally "hoed" into shape; while the beer-besotted convivialist + cudgelled his poor wits cold sober in rhyming the light little + bottle-ditty that should have sprung like Aphrodite from the froth of the + champagne. + </p> + <p> + I have before me a pathetic witness of this fact. It is the note-book once + used for the random jottings of a gentleman of the period. In it I read: + "Fair Lydia, if my earthly harp." This is crossed out, and below it + appears, "Fair Lydia, COULD my earthly harp." This again is erased, and + under it appears, "Fair Lydia, SHOULD my earthly harp." This again is + struck out with a despairing stroke, and amended to read: "Fair Lydia, DID + my earthly harp." So that finally, when the lines appeared in the + Gentleman's Magazine (1845) in their ultimate shape—"Fair Edith, + when with fluent pen," etc., etc.—one can realize from what a + desperate congelation the fluent pen had been so perseveringly rescued. + </p> + <p> + There can be little doubt of the deleterious effect occasioned both to + public and private morals by this deliberate exaltation of mental + susceptibility on the part of the early Victorian. In many cases we can + detect the evidences of incipient paresis. The undue access of emotion + frequently assumed a pathological character. The sight of a daisy, of a + withered leaf or an upturned sod, seemed to disturb the poet's mental + equipoise. Spring unnerved him. The lambs distressed him. The flowers made + him cry. The daffodils made him laugh. Day dazzled him. Night frightened + him. + </p> + <p> + This exalted mood, combined with the man's culpable ignorance of the + plainest principles of physical science, made him see something out of the + ordinary in the flight of a waterfowl or the song of a skylark. He + complained that he could HEAR it, but not SEE it—a phenomenon too + familiar to the scientific observer to occasion any comment. + </p> + <p> + In such a state of mind the most inconsequential inferences were drawn. + One said that the brightness of the dawn—a fact easily explained by + the diurnal motion of the globe—showed him that his soul was + immortal. He asserted further that he had, at an earlier period of his + life, trailed bright clouds behind him. This was absurd. + </p> + <p> + With the disturbance thus set up in the nervous system were coupled, in + many instances, mental aberrations, particularly in regard to pecuniary + matters. "Give me not silk, nor rich attire," pleaded one poet of the + period to the British public, "nor gold nor jewels rare." Here was an + evident hallucination that the writer was to become the recipient of an + enormous secret subscription. Indeed, the earnest desire NOT to be given + gold was a recurrent characteristic of the poetic temperament. The + repugnance to accept even a handful of gold was generally accompanied by a + desire for a draught of pure water or a night's rest. + </p> + <p> + It is pleasing to turn from this excessive sentimentality of thought and + speech to the practical and concise diction of our time. We have learned + to express ourselves with equal force, but greater simplicity. To + illustrate this I have gathered from the poets of the earlier generation + and from the prose writers of to-day parallel passages that may be fairly + set in contrast. Here, for example, is a passage from the poet Grey, still + familiar to scholars: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Can storied urn or animated bust + Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? + Can honour's voice invoke the silent dust + Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?" +</pre> + <p> + Precisely similar in thought, though different in form, is the more modern + presentation found in Huxley's Physiology: + </p> + <p> + "Whether after the moment of death the ventricles of the heart can be + again set in movement by the artificial stimulus of oxygen, is a question + to which we must impose a decided negative." + </p> + <p> + How much simpler, and yet how far superior to Grey's elaborate + phraseology! Huxley has here seized the central point of the poet's + thought, and expressed it with the dignity and precision of exact science. + </p> + <p> + I cannot refrain, even at the risk of needless iteration, from quoting a + further example. It is taken from the poet Burns. The original dialect + being written in inverted hiccoughs, is rather difficult to reproduce. It + describes the scene attendant upon the return of a cottage labourer to his + home on Saturday night: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face + They round the ingle form in a circle wide; + The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, + The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride: + His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, + His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare: + Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, + He wales a portion wi' judeecious care." +</pre> + <p> + Now I find almost the same scene described in more apt phraseology in the + police news of the Dumfries Chronicle (October 3, 1909), thus: "It appears + that the prisoner had returned to his domicile at the usual hour, and, + after partaking of a hearty meal, had seated himself on his oaken settle, + for the ostensible purpose of reading the Bible. It was while so occupied + that his arrest was effected." With the trifling exception that Burns + omits all mention of the arrest, for which, however, the whole tenor of + the poem gives ample warrant, the two accounts are almost identical. + </p> + <p> + In all that I have thus said I do not wish to be misunderstood. Believing, + as I firmly do, that the poet is destined to become extinct, I am not one + of those who would accelerate his extinction. The time has not yet come + for remedial legislation, or the application of the criminal law. Even in + obstinate cases where pronounced delusions in reference to plants, + animals, and natural phenomena are seen to exist, it is better that we + should do nothing that might occasion a mistaken remorse. The inevitable + natural evolution which is thus shaping the mould of human thought may + safely be left to its own course. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Self-made Men + </h2> + <p> + They were both what we commonly call successful business men—men + with well-fed faces, heavy signet rings on fingers like sausages, and + broad, comfortable waistcoats, a yard and a half round the equator. They + were seated opposite each other at a table of a first-class restaurant, + and had fallen into conversation while waiting to give their order to the + waiter. Their talk had drifted back to their early days and how each had + made his start in life when he first struck New York. + </p> + <p> + "I tell you what, Jones," one of them was saying, "I shall never forget my + first few years in this town. By George, it was pretty uphill work! Do you + know, sir, when I first struck this place, I hadn't more than fifteen + cents to my name, hadn't a rag except what I stood up in, and all the + place I had to sleep in—you won't believe it, but it's a gospel fact + just the same—was an empty tar barrel. No, sir," he went on, leaning + back and closing up his eyes into an expression of infinite experience, + "no, sir, a fellow accustomed to luxury like you has simply no idea what + sleeping out in a tar barrel and all that kind of thing is like." + </p> + <p> + "My dear Robinson," the other man rejoined briskly, "if you imagine I've + had no experience of hardship of that sort, you never made a bigger + mistake in your life. Why, when I first walked into this town I hadn't a + cent, sir, not a cent, and as for lodging, all the place I had for months + and months was an old piano box up a lane, behind a factory. Talk about + hardship, I guess I had it pretty rough! You take a fellow that's used to + a good warm tar barrel and put him into a piano box for a night or two, + and you'll see mighty soon—" + </p> + <p> + "My dear fellow," Robinson broke in with some irritation, "you merely show + that you don't know what a tar barrel's like. Why, on winter nights, when + you'd be shut in there in your piano box just as snug as you please, I + used to lie awake shivering, with the draught fairly running in at the + bunghole at the back." + </p> + <p> + "Draught!" sneered the other man, with a provoking laugh, "draught! Don't + talk to me about draughts. This box I speak of had a whole darned plank + off it, right on the north side too. I used to sit there studying in the + evenings, and the snow would blow in a foot deep. And yet, sir," he + continued more quietly, "though I know you'll not believe it, I don't mind + admitting that some of the happiest days of my life were spent in that + same old box. Ah, those were good old times! Bright, innocent days, I can + tell you. I'd wake up there in the mornings and fairly shout with high + spirits. Of course, you may not be able to stand that kind of life—" + </p> + <p> + "Not stand it!" cried Robinson fiercely; "me not stand it! By gad! I'm + made for it. I just wish I had a taste of the old life again for a while. + And as for innocence! Well, I'll bet you you weren't one-tenth as innocent + as I was; no, nor one-fifth, nor one-third! What a grand old life it was! + You'll swear this is a darned lie and refuse to believe it—but I can + remember evenings when I'd have two or three fellows in, and we'd sit + round and play pedro by a candle half the night." + </p> + <p> + "Two or three!" laughed Jones; "why, my dear fellow, I've known half a + dozen of us to sit down to supper in my piano box, and have a game of + pedro afterwards; yes, and charades and forfeits, and every other darned + thing. Mighty good suppers they were too! By Jove, Robinson, you fellows + round this town who have ruined your digestions with high living, have no + notion of the zest with which a man can sit down to a few potato peelings, + or a bit of broken pie crust, or—" + </p> + <p> + "Talk about hard food," interrupted the other, "I guess I know all about + that. Many's the time I've breakfasted off a little cold porridge that + somebody was going to throw away from a back-door, or that I've gone round + to a livery stable and begged a little bran mash that they intended for + the pigs. I'll venture to say I've eaten more hog's food—" + </p> + <p> + "Hog's food!" shouted Robinson, striking his fist savagely on the table, + "I tell you hog's food suits me better than—" + </p> + <p> + He stopped speaking with a sudden grunt of surprise as the waiter appeared + with the question: + </p> + <p> + "What may I bring you for dinner, gentlemen?" + </p> + <p> + "Dinner!" said Jones, after a moment of silence, "dinner! Oh, anything, + nothing—I never care what I eat—give me a little cold + porridge, if you've got it, or a chunk of salt pork—anything you + like, it's all the same to me." + </p> + <p> + The waiter turned with an impassive face to Robinson. + </p> + <p> + "You can bring me some of that cold porridge too," he said, with a defiant + look at Jones; "yesterday's, if you have it, and a few potato peelings and + a glass of skim milk." + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. Jones sat back in his chair and looked hard across at + Robinson. For some moments the two men gazed into each other's eyes with a + stern, defiant intensity. Then Robinson turned slowly round in his seat + and beckoned to the waiter, who was moving off with the muttered order on + his lips. + </p> + <p> + "Here, waiter," he said with a savage scowl, "I guess I'll change that + order a little. Instead of that cold porridge I'll take—um, yes—a + little hot partridge. And you might as well bring me an oyster or two on + the half shell, and a mouthful of soup (mock-turtle, consomme, anything), + and perhaps you might fetch along a dab of fish, and a little peck of + Stilton, and a grape, or a walnut." + </p> + <p> + The waiter turned to Jones. + </p> + <p> + "I guess I'll take the same," he said simply, and added; "and you might + bring a quart of champagne at the same time." + </p> + <p> + And nowadays, when Jones and Robinson meet, the memory of the tar barrel + and the piano box is buried as far out of sight as a home for the blind + under a landslide. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Model Dialogue + </h2> + <p> + In which is shown how the drawing-room juggler may be permanently cured of + his card trick. + </p> + <p> + The drawing-room juggler, having slyly got hold of the pack of cards at + the end of the game of whist, says: + </p> + <p> + "Ever see any card tricks? Here's rather a good one; pick a card." + </p> + <p> + "Thank you, I don't want a card." + </p> + <p> + "No, but just pick one, any one you like, and I'll tell which one you + pick." + </p> + <p> + "You'll tell who?" + </p> + <p> + "No, no; I mean, I'll know which it is don't you see? Go on now, pick a + card." + </p> + <p> + "Any one I like?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "Any colour at all?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, yes." + </p> + <p> + "Any suit?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes; do go on." + </p> + <p> + "Well, let me see, I'll—pick—the—ace of spades." + </p> + <p> + "Great Caesar! I mean you are to pull a card out of the pack." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, to pull it out of the pack! Now I understand. Hand me the pack. All + right—I've got it." + </p> + <p> + "Have you picked one?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, it's the three of hearts. Did you know it?" + </p> + <p> + "Hang it! Don't tell me like that. You spoil the thing. Here, try again. + Pick a card." + </p> + <p> + "All right, I've got it." + </p> + <p> + "Put it back in the pack. Thanks. (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle—flip)—There, + is that it?" (triumphantly). + </p> + <p> + "I don't know. I lost sight of it." + </p> + <p> + "Lost sight of it! Confound it, you have to look at it and see what it + is." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you want me to look at the front of it!" + </p> + <p> + "Why, of course! Now then, pick a card." + </p> + <p> + "All right. I've picked it. Go ahead." (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle—flip.) + </p> + <p> + "Say, confound you, did you put that card back in the pack?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, no. I kept it." + </p> + <p> + "Holy Moses! Listen. Pick—a—card—just one—look at + it—see what it is—then put it back—do you understand?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, perfectly. Only I don't see how you are ever going to do it. You must + be awfully clever." + </p> + <p> + (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle—flip.) + </p> + <p> + "There you are; that's your card, now, isn't it?" (This is the supreme + moment.) + </p> + <p> + "NO. THAT IS NOT MY CARD." (This is a flat lie, but Heaven will pardon you + for it.) + </p> + <p> + "Not that card!!!! Say—just hold on a second. Here, now, watch what + you're at this time. I can do this cursed thing, mind you, every time. + I've done it on father, on mother, and on every one that's ever come round + our place. Pick a card. (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle—flip, bang.) + There, that's your card." + </p> + <p> + "NO. I AM SORRY. THAT IS NOT MY CARD. But won't you try it again? Please + do. Perhaps you are a little excited—I'm afraid I was rather stupid. + Won't you go and sit quietly by yourself on the back verandah for half an + hour and then try? You have to go home? Oh, I'm so sorry. It must be such + an awfully clever little trick. Good night!" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Back to the Bush + </h2> + <p> + I have a friend called Billy, who has the Bush Mania. By trade he is a + doctor, but I do not think that he needs to sleep out of doors. In + ordinary things his mind appears sound. Over the tops of his gold-rimmed + spectacles, as he bends forward to speak to you, there gleams nothing but + amiability and kindliness. Like all the rest of us he is, or was until he + forgot it all, an extremely well-educated man. + </p> + <p> + I am aware of no criminal strain in his blood. Yet Billy is in reality + hopelessly unbalanced. He has the Mania of the Open Woods. + </p> + <p> + Worse than that, he is haunted with the desire to drag his friends with + him into the depths of the Bush. + </p> + <p> + Whenever we meet he starts to talk about it. + </p> + <p> + Not long ago I met him in the club. + </p> + <p> + "I wish," he said, "you'd let me take you clear away up the Gatineau." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I wish I would, I don't think," I murmured to myself, but I humoured + him and said: + </p> + <p> + "How do we go, Billy, in a motor-car or by train?" + </p> + <p> + "No, we paddle." + </p> + <p> + "And is it up-stream all the way?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes," Billy said enthusiastically. + </p> + <p> + "And how many days do we paddle all day to get up?" + </p> + <p> + "Six." + </p> + <p> + "Couldn't we do it in less?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes," Billy answered, feeling that I was entering into the spirit of the + thing, "if we start each morning just before daylight and paddle hard till + moonlight, we could do it in five days and a half." + </p> + <p> + "Glorious! and are there portages?" + </p> + <p> + "Lots of them." + </p> + <p> + "And at each of these do I carry two hundred pounds of stuff up a hill on + my back?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "And will there be a guide, a genuine, dirty-looking Indian guide?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "And can I sleep next to him?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes, if you want to." + </p> + <p> + "And when we get to the top, what is there?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, we go over the height of land." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, we do, do we? And is the height of land all rock and about three + hundred yards up-hill? And do I carry a barrel of flour up it? And does it + roll down and crush me on the other side? Look here, Billy, this trip is a + great thing, but it is too luxurious for me. If you will have me paddled + up the river in a large iron canoe with an awning, carried over the + portages in a sedan-chair, taken across the height of land in a palanquin + or a howdah, and lowered down the other side in a derrick, I'll go. Short + of that, the thing would be too fattening." + </p> + <p> + Billy was discouraged and left me. But he has since returned repeatedly to + the attack. + </p> + <p> + He offers to take me to the head-waters of the Batiscan. I am content at + the foot. + </p> + <p> + He wants us to go to the sources of the Attahwapiscat. I don't. + </p> + <p> + He says I ought to see the grand chutes of the Kewakasis. Why should I? + </p> + <p> + I have made Billy a counter-proposition that we strike through the + Adirondacks (in the train) to New York, from there portage to Atlantic + City, then to Washington, carrying our own grub (in the dining-car), camp + there a few days (at the Willard), and then back, I to return by train and + Billy on foot with the outfit. + </p> + <p> + The thing is still unsettled. + </p> + <p> + Billy, of course, is only one of thousands that have got this mania. And + the autumn is the time when it rages at its worst. + </p> + <p> + Every day there move northward trains, packed full of lawyers, bankers, + and brokers, headed for the bush. They are dressed up to look like + pirates. They wear slouch hats, flannel shirts, and leather breeches with + belts. They could afford much better clothes than these, but they won't + use them. I don't know where they get these clothes. I think the railroad + lends them out. They have guns between their knees and big knives at their + hips. They smoke the worst tobacco they can find, and they carry ten + gallons of alcohol per man in the baggage car. + </p> + <p> + In the intervals of telling lies to one another they read the railroad + pamphlets about hunting. This kind of literature is deliberately and + fiendishly contrived to infuriate their mania. I know all about these + pamphlets because I write them. I once, for instance, wrote up, from + imagination, a little place called Dog Lake at the end of a branch line. + The place had failed as a settlement, and the railroad had decided to turn + it into a hunting resort. I did the turning. I think I did it rather well, + rechristening the lake and stocking the place with suitable varieties of + game. The pamphlet ran like this. + </p> + <p> + "The limpid waters of Lake Owatawetness (the name, according to the old + Indian legends of the place, signifies, The Mirror of the Almighty) abound + with every known variety of fish. Near to its surface, so close that the + angler may reach out his hand and stroke them, schools of pike, pickerel, + mackerel, doggerel, and chickerel jostle one another in the water. They + rise instantaneously to the bait and swim gratefully ashore holding it in + their mouths. In the middle depth of the waters of the lake, the sardine, + the lobster, the kippered herring, the anchovy and other tinned varieties + of fish disport themselves with evident gratification, while even lower in + the pellucid depths the dog-fish, the hog-fish, the log-fish, and the + sword-fish whirl about in never-ending circles. + </p> + <p> + "Nor is Lake Owatawetness merely an Angler's Paradise. Vast forests of + primeval pine slope to the very shores of the lake, to which descend great + droves of bears—brown, green, and bear-coloured—while as the + shades of evening fall, the air is loud with the lowing of moose, cariboo, + antelope, cantelope, musk-oxes, musk-rats, and other graminivorous + mammalia of the forest. These enormous quadrumana generally move off about + 10.30 p.m., from which hour until 11.45 p.m. the whole shore is reserved + for bison and buffalo. + </p> + <p> + "After midnight hunters who so desire it can be chased through the woods, + for any distance and at any speed they select, by jaguars, panthers, + cougars, tigers, and jackals whose ferocity is reputed to be such that + they will tear the breeches off a man with their teeth in their eagerness + to sink their fangs in his palpitating flesh. Hunters, attention! Do not + miss such attractions as these!" + </p> + <p> + I have seen men—quiet, reputable, well-shaved men— reading + that pamphlet of mine in the rotundas of hotels, with their eyes blazing + with excitement. I think it is the jaguar attraction that hits them the + hardest, because I notice them rub themselves sympathetically with their + hands while they read. + </p> + <p> + Of course, you can imagine the effect of this sort of literature on the + brains of men fresh from their offices, and dressed out as pirates. + </p> + <p> + They just go crazy and stay crazy. + </p> + <p> + Just watch them when they get into the bush. + </p> + <p> + Notice that well-to-do stockbroker crawling about on his stomach in the + underbrush, with his spectacles shining like gig-lamps. What is he doing? + He is after a cariboo that isn't there. He is "stalking" it. With his + stomach. Of course, away down in his heart he knows that the cariboo isn't + there and never was; but that man read my pamphlet and went crazy. He + can't help it: he's GOT to stalk something. Mark him as he crawls along; + see him crawl through a thimbleberry bush (very quietly so that the + cariboo won't hear the noise of the prickles going into him), then through + a bee's nest, gently and slowly, so that the cariboo will not take fright + when the bees are stinging him. Sheer woodcraft! Yes, mark him. Mark him + any way you like. Go up behind him and paint a blue cross on the seat of + his pants as he crawls. He'll never notice. He thinks he's a hunting dog. + Yet this is the man who laughs at his little son of ten for crawling round + under the dining-room table with a mat over his shoulders, and pretending + to be a bear. + </p> + <p> + Now see these other men in camp. + </p> + <p> + Someone has told them—I think I first started the idea in my + pamphlet—that the thing is to sleep on a pile of hemlock branches. I + think I told them to listen to the wind sowing (you know the word I mean), + sowing and crooning in the giant pines. So there they are upside-down, + doubled up on a couch of green spikes that would have killed St. + Sebastian. They stare up at the sky with blood-shot, restless eyes, + waiting for the crooning to begin. And there isn't a sow in sight. + </p> + <p> + Here is another man, ragged and with a six days' growth of beard, frying a + piece of bacon on a stick over a little fire. Now what does he think he + is? The CHEF of the Waldorf Astoria? Yes, he does, and what's more he + thinks that that miserable bit of bacon, cut with a tobacco knife from a + chunk of meat that lay six days in the rain, is fit to eat. What's more, + he'll eat it. So will the rest. They're all crazy together. + </p> + <p> + There's another man, the Lord help him who thinks he has the "knack" of + being a carpenter. He is hammering up shelves to a tree. Till the shelves + fall down he thinks he is a wizard. Yet this is the same man who swore at + his wife for asking him to put up a shelf in the back kitchen. "How the + blazes," he asked, "could he nail the damn thing up? Did she think he was + a plumber?" + </p> + <p> + After all, never mind. + </p> + <p> + Provided they are happy up there, let them stay. + </p> + <p> + Personally, I wouldn't mind if they didn't come back and lie about it. + They get back to the city dead fagged for want of sleep, sogged with + alcohol, bitten brown by the bush-flies, trampled on by the moose and + chased through the brush by bears and skunks—and they have the nerve + to say that they like it. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes I think they do. + </p> + <p> + Men are only animals anyway. They like to get out into the woods and growl + round at night and feel something bite them. + </p> + <p> + Only why haven't they the imagination to be able to do the same thing with + less fuss? Why not take their coats and collars off in the office and + crawl round on the floor and growl at one another. It would be just as + good. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Reflections on Riding + </h2> + <p> + The writing of this paper has been inspired by a debate recently held at + the literary society of my native town on the question, "Resolved: that + the bicycle is a nobler animal than the horse." In order to speak for the + negative with proper authority, I have spent some weeks in completely + addicting myself to the use of the horse. I find that the difference + between the horse and the bicycle is greater than I had supposed. + </p> + <p> + The horse is entirely covered with hair; the bicycle is not entirely + covered with hair, except the '89 model they are using in Idaho. + </p> + <p> + In riding a horse the performer finds that the pedals in which he puts his + feet will not allow of a good circular stroke. He will observe, however, + that there is a saddle in which—especially while the horse is + trotting—he is expected to seat himself from time to time. But it is + simpler to ride standing up, with the feet in the pedals. + </p> + <p> + There are no handles to a horse, but the 1910 model has a string to each + side of its face for turning its head when there is anything you want it + to see. + </p> + <p> + Coasting on a good horse is superb, but should be under control. I have + known a horse to suddenly begin to coast with me about two miles from + home, coast down the main street of my native town at a terrific rate, and + finally coast through a plantoon of the Salvation Army into its livery + stable. + </p> + <p> + I cannot honestly deny that it takes a good deal of physical courage to + ride a horse. This, however, I have. I get it at about forty cents a + flask, and take it as required. + </p> + <p> + I find that in riding a horse up the long street of a country town, it is + not well to proceed at a trot. It excites unkindly comment. It is better + to let the horse walk the whole distance. This may be made to seem natural + by turning half round in the saddle with the hand on the horse's back, and + gazing intently about two miles up the road. It then appears that you are + the first in of about fourteen men. + </p> + <p> + Since learning to ride, I have taken to noticing the things that people do + on horseback in books. Some of these I can manage, but most of them are + entirely beyond me. Here, for instance, is a form of equestrian + performance that every reader will recognize and for which I have only a + despairing admiration: + </p> + <p> + "With a hasty gesture of farewell, the rider set spurs to his horse and + disappeared in a cloud of dust." + </p> + <p> + With a little practice in the matter of adjustment, I think I could set + spurs to any size of horse, but I could never disappear in a cloud of dust—at + least, not with any guarantee of remaining disappeared when the dust + cleared away. + </p> + <p> + Here, however, is one that I certainly can do: + </p> + <p> + "The bridle-rein dropped from Lord Everard's listless hand, and, with his + head bowed upon his bosom, he suffered his horse to move at a foot's pace + up the sombre avenue. Deep in thought, he heeded not the movement of the + steed which bore him." + </p> + <p> + That is, he looked as if he didn't; but in my case Lord Everard has his + eye on the steed pretty closely, just the same. + </p> + <p> + This next I am doubtful about: + </p> + <p> + "To horse! to horse!" cried the knight, and leaped into the saddle. + </p> + <p> + I think I could manage it if it read: + </p> + <p> + "To horse!" cried the knight, and, snatching a step-ladder from the hands + of his trusty attendant, he rushed into the saddle. + </p> + <p> + As a concluding remark, I may mention that my experience of riding has + thrown a very interesting sidelight upon a rather puzzling point in + history. It is recorded of the famous Henry the Second that he was "almost + constantly in the saddle, and of so restless a disposition that he never + sat down, even at meals." I had hitherto been unable to understand Henry's + idea about his meals, but I think I can appreciate it now. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Saloonio + </h2> + <h3> + A STUDY IN SHAKESPEAREAN CRITICISM + </h3> + <p> + They say that young men fresh from college are pretty positive about what + they know. But from my own experience of life, I should say that if you + take a comfortable, elderly man who hasn't been near a college for about + twenty years, who has been pretty liberally fed and dined ever since, who + measures about fifty inches around the circumference, and has a complexion + like a cranberry by candlelight, you will find that there is a degree of + absolute certainty about what he thinks he knows that will put any young + man to shame. I am specially convinced of this from the case of my friend + Colonel Hogshead, a portly, choleric gentleman who made a fortune in the + cattle-trade out in Wyoming, and who, in his later days, has acquired a + chronic idea that the plays of Shakespeare are the one subject upon which + he is most qualified to speak personally. + </p> + <p> + He came across me the other evening as I was sitting by the fire in the + club sitting-room looking over the leaves of The Merchant of Venice, and + began to hold forth to me about the book. + </p> + <p> + "Merchant of Venice, eh? There's a play for you, sir! There's genius! + Wonderful, sir, wonderful! You take the characters in that play and where + will you find anything like them? You take Antonio, take Sherlock, take + Saloonio—" + </p> + <p> + "Saloonio, Colonel?" I interposed mildly, "aren't you making a mistake? + There's a Bassanio and a Salanio in the play, but I don't think there's + any Saloonio, is there?" + </p> + <p> + For a moment Colonel Hogshead's eye became misty with doubt, but he was + not the man to admit himself in error: + </p> + <p> + "Tut, tut! young man," he said with a frown, "don't skim through your + books in that way. No Saloonio? Why, of course there's a Saloonio!" + </p> + <p> + "But I tell you, Colonel," I rejoined, "I've just been reading the play + and studying it, and I know there's no such character—" + </p> + <p> + "Nonsense, sir, nonsense!" said the Colonel, "why he comes in all through; + don't tell me, young man, I've read that play myself. Yes, and seen it + played, too, out in Wyoming, before you were born, by fellers, sir, that + could act. No Saloonio, indeed! why, who is it that is Antonio's friend + all through and won't leave him when Bassoonio turns against him? Who + rescues Clarissa from Sherlock, and steals the casket of flesh from the + Prince of Aragon? Who shouts at the Prince of Morocco, 'Out, out, you + damned candlestick'? Who loads up the jury in the trial scene and fixes + the doge? No Saloonio! By gad! in my opinion, he's the most important + character in the play—" + </p> + <p> + "Colonel Hogshead," I said very firmly, "there isn't any Saloonio and you + know it." + </p> + <p> + But the old man had got fairly started on whatever dim recollection had + given birth to Saloonio; the character seemed to grow more and more + luminous in the Colonel's mind, and he continued with increasing + animation: + </p> + <p> + "I'll just tell you what Saloonio is: he's a type. Shakespeare means him + to embody the type of the perfect Italian gentleman. He's an idea, that's + what he is, he's a symbol, he's a unit—" + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile I had been searching among the leaves of the play. "Look here," + I said, "here's the list of the Dramatis Personae. There's no Saloonio + there." + </p> + <p> + But this didn't dismay the Colonel one atom. "Why, of course there isn't," + he said. "You don't suppose you'd find Saloonio there! That's the whole + art of it! That's Shakespeare! That's the whole gist of it! He's kept + clean out of the Personae—gives him scope, gives him a free hand, + makes him more of a type than ever. Oh, it's a subtle thing, sir, the + dramatic art!" continued the Colonel, subsiding into quiet reflection; "it + takes a feller quite a time to get right into Shakespeare's mind and see + what he's at all the time." + </p> + <p> + I began to see that there was no use in arguing any further with the old + man. I left him with the idea that the lapse of a little time would soften + his views on Saloonio. But I had not reckoned on the way in which old men + hang on to a thing. Colonel Hogshead quite took up Saloonio. From that + time on Saloonio became the theme of his constant conversation. He was + never tired of discussing the character of Saloonio, the wonderful art of + the dramatist in creating him, Saloonio's relation to modern life, + Saloonio's attitude toward women, the ethical significance of Saloonio, + Saloonio as compared with Hamlet, Hamlet as compared with Saloonio—and + so on, endlessly. And the more he looked into Saloonio, the more he saw in + him. + </p> + <p> + Saloonio seemed inexhaustible. There were new sides to him—new + phases at every turn. The Colonel even read over the play, and finding no + mention of Saloonio's name in it, he swore that the books were not the + same books they had had out in Wyoming; that the whole part had been cut + clean out to suit the book to the infernal public schools, Saloonio's + language being—at any rate, as the Colonel quoted it—undoubtedly + a trifle free. Then the Colonel took to annotating his book at the side + with such remarks as, "Enter Saloonio," or "A tucket sounds; enter + Saloonio, on the arm of the Prince of Morocco." When there was no + reasonable excuse for bringing Saloonio on the stage the Colonel swore + that he was concealed behind the arras, or feasting within with the doge. + </p> + <p> + But he got satisfaction at last. He had found that there was nobody in our + part of the country who knew how to put a play of Shakespeare on the + stage, and took a trip to New York to see Sir Henry Irving and Miss Terry + do the play. The Colonel sat and listened all through with his face just + beaming with satisfaction, and when the curtain fell at the close of + Irving's grand presentation of the play, he stood up in his seat, and + cheered and yelled to his friends: "That's it! That's him! Didn't you see + that man that came on the stage all the time and sort of put the whole + play through, though you couldn't understand a word he said? Well, that's + him! That's Saloonio!" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Half-hours with the Poets + </h2> + <h3> + I.—MR. WORDSWORTH AND THE LITTLE COTTAGE GIRL. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I met a little cottage girl, + She was eight years old she said, + Her hair was thick with many a curl + That clustered round her head." + + WORDSWORTH. +</pre> + <p> + This is what really happened. + </p> + <p> + Over the dreary downs of his native Cumberland the aged laureate was + wandering with bowed head and countenance of sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Times were bad with the old man. + </p> + <p> + In the south pocket of his trousers, as he set his face to the north, + jingled but a few odd coins and a cheque for St. Leon water. Apparently + his cup of bitterness was full. + </p> + <p> + In the distance a child moved—a child in form, yet the deep lines + upon her face bespoke a countenance prematurely old. + </p> + <p> + The poet espied, pursued and overtook the infant. He observed that + apparently she drew her breath lightly and felt her life in every limb, + and that presumably her acquaintance with death was of the most + superficial character. + </p> + <p> + "I must sit awhile and ponder on that child," murmured the poet. So he + knocked her down with his walking-stick and seating himself upon her, he + pondered. + </p> + <p> + Long he sat thus in thought. "His heart is heavy," sighed the child. + </p> + <p> + At length he drew forth a note-book and pencil and prepared to write upon + his knee. "Now then, my dear young friend," he said, addressing the elfin + creature, "I want those lines upon your face. Are you seven?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, we are seven," said the girl sadly, and added, "I know what you + want. You are going to question me about my afflicted family. You are Mr. + Wordsworth, and you are collecting mortuary statistics for the Cottagers' + Edition of the Penny Encyclopaedia." + </p> + <p> + "You are eight years old?" asked the bard. + </p> + <p> + "I suppose so," answered she. "I have been eight years old for years and + years." + </p> + <p> + "And you know nothing of death, of course?" said the poet cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + "How can I?" answered the child. + </p> + <p> + "Now then," resumed the venerable William, "let us get to business. Name + your brothers and sisters." + </p> + <p> + "Let me see," began the child wearily; "there was Rube and Ike, two I + can't think of, and John and Jane." + </p> + <p> + "You must not count John and Jane," interrupted the bard reprovingly; + "they're dead, you know, so that doesn't make seven." + </p> + <p> + "I wasn't counting them, but perhaps I added up wrongly," said the child; + "and will you please move your overshoe off my neck?" + </p> + <p> + "Pardon," said the old man. "A nervous trick, I have been absorbed; + indeed, the exigency of the metre almost demands my doubling up my feet. + To continue, however; which died first?" + </p> + <p> + "The first to go was little Jane," said the child. + </p> + <p> + "She lay moaning in bed, I presume?" + </p> + <p> + "In bed she moaning lay." + </p> + <p> + "What killed her?" + </p> + <p> + "Insomnia," answered the girl. "The gaiety of our cottage life, previous + to the departure of our elder brothers for Conway, and the constant + field-sports in which she indulged with John, proved too much for a frame + never too robust." + </p> + <p> + "You express yourself well," said the poet. "Now, in regard to your + unfortunate brother, what was the effect upon him in the following winter + of the ground being white with snow and your being able to run and slide?" + </p> + <p> + "My brother John was forced to go," answered she. "We have been at a loss + to understand the cause of his death. We fear that the dazzling glare of + the newly fallen snow, acting upon a restless brain, may have led him to a + fatal attempt to emulate my own feats upon the ice. And, oh, sir," the + child went on, "speak gently of poor Jane. You may rub it into John all + you like; we always let him slide." + </p> + <p> + "Very well," said the bard, "and allow me, in conclusion, one rather + delicate question: Do you ever take your little porringer?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes," answered the child frankly— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "'Quite often after sunset, + When all is light and fair, + I take my little porringer'— +</pre> + <p> + "I can't quite remember what I do after that, but I know that I like it." + </p> + <p> + "That is immaterial," said Wordsworth. "I can say that you take your + little porringer neat, or with bitters, or in water after every meal. As + long as I can state that you take a little porringer regularly, but never + to excess, the public is satisfied. And now," rising from his seat, "I + will not detain you any longer. Here is sixpence—or stay," he added + hastily, "here is a cheque for St. Leon water. Your information has been + most valuable, and I shall work it, for all I am Wordsworth." With these + words the aged poet bowed deferentially to the child and sauntered off in + the direction of the Duke of Cumberland's Arms, with his eyes on the + ground, as if looking for the meanest flower that blows itself. + </p> + <h3> + II:—HOW TENNYSON KILLED THE MAY QUEEN + </h3> + <p> + "If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART I + </h2> + <p> + As soon as the child's malady had declared itself the afflicted parents of + the May Queen telegraphed to Tennyson, "Our child gone crazy on subject of + early rising, could you come and write some poetry about her?" + </p> + <p> + Alfred, always prompt to fill orders in writing from the country, came + down on the evening train. The old cottager greeted the poet warmly, and + began at once to speak of the state of his unfortunate daughter. + </p> + <p> + "She was took queer in May," he said, "along of a sort of bee that the + young folks had; she ain't been just right since; happen you might do + summat." + </p> + <p> + With these words he opened the door of an inner room. + </p> + <p> + The girl lay in feverish slumber. Beside her bed was an alarm-clock set + for half-past three. Connected with the clock was an ingenious arrangement + of a falling brick with a string attached to the child's toe. + </p> + <p> + At the entrance of the visitor she started up in bed. "Whoop," she yelled, + "I am to be Queen of the May, mother, ye-e!" + </p> + <p> + Then perceiving Tennyson in the doorway, "If that's a caller," she said, + "tell him to call me early." + </p> + <p> + The shock caused the brick to fall. In the subsequent confusion Alfred + modestly withdrew to the sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + "At this rate," he chuckled, "I shall not have long to wait. A few weeks + of that strain will finish her." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II + </h2> + <h3> + Six months had passed. + </h3> + <p> + It was now mid-winter. + </p> + <p> + And still the girl lived. Her vitality appeared inexhaustible. + </p> + <p> + She got up earlier and earlier. She now rose yesterday afternoon. + </p> + <p> + At intervals she seemed almost sane, and spoke in a most pathetic manner + of her grave and the probability of the sun shining on it early in the + morning, and her mother walking on it later in the day. At other times her + malady would seize her, and she would snatch the brick off the string and + throw it fiercely at Tennyson. Once, in an uncontrollable fit of madness, + she gave her sister Effie a half-share in her garden tools and an interest + in a box of mignonette. + </p> + <p> + The poet stayed doggedly on. In the chill of the morning twilight he broke + the ice in his water-basin and cursed the girl. But he felt that he had + broken the ice and he stayed. + </p> + <p> + On the whole, life at the cottage, though rugged, was not cheerless. In + the long winter evenings they would gather around a smoking fire of peat, + while Tennyson read aloud the Idylls of the King to the rude old cottager. + Not to show his rudeness, the old man kept awake by sitting on a tin-tack. + This also kept his mind on the right tack. The two found that they had + much in common, especially the old cottager. They called each other + "Alfred" and "Hezekiah" now. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART III + </h2> + <h3> + Time moved on and spring came. + </h3> + <p> + Still the girl baffled the poet. + </p> + <p> + "I thought to pass away before," she would say with a mocking grin, "but + yet alive I am, Alfred, alive I am." + </p> + <p> + Tennyson was fast losing hope. + </p> + <p> + Worn out with early rising, they engaged a retired Pullman-car porter to + take up his quarters, and being a negro his presence added a touch of + colour to their life. + </p> + <p> + The poet also engaged a neighbouring divine at fifty cents an evening to + read to the child the best hundred books, with explanations. The May Queen + tolerated him, and used to like to play with his silver hair, but + protested that he was prosy. + </p> + <p> + At the end of his resources the poet resolved upon desperate measures. + </p> + <p> + He chose an evening when the cottager and his wife were out at a + dinner-party. + </p> + <p> + At nightfall Tennyson and his accomplices entered the girl's room. + </p> + <p> + She defended herself savagely with her brick, but was overpowered. + </p> + <p> + The negro seated himself upon her chest, while the clergyman hastily read + a few verses about the comfort of early rising at the last day. + </p> + <p> + As he concluded, the poet drove his pen into her eye. + </p> + <p> + "Last call!" cried the negro porter triumphantly. + </p> + <h3> + III.—OLD MR. LONGFELLOW ON BOARD THE HESPERUS. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "It was the schooner Hesperus that sailed the wintry sea, + And the skipper had taken his little daughter to bear + him company."—LONGFELLOW. +</pre> + <p> + There were but three people in the cabin party of the Hesperus: old Mr. + Longfellow, the skipper, and the skipper's daughter. + </p> + <p> + The skipper was much attached to the child, owing to the singular + whiteness of her skin and the exceptionally limpid blue of her eyes; she + had hitherto remained on shore to fill lucrative engagements as albino + lady in a circus. + </p> + <p> + This time, however, her father had taken her with him for company. The + girl was an endless source of amusement to the skipper and the crew. She + constantly got up games of puss-in-the-corner, forfeits, and Dumb Crambo + with her father and Mr. Longfellow, and made Scripture puzzles and + geographical acrostics for the men. + </p> + <p> + Old Mr. Longfellow was taking the voyage to restore his shattered nerves. + From the first the captain disliked Henry. He was utterly unused to the + sea and was nervous and fidgety in the extreme. He complained that at sea + his genius had not a sufficient degree of latitude. Which was unparalleled + presumption. + </p> + <p> + On the evening of the storm there had been a little jar between Longfellow + and the captain at dinner. The captain had emptied it several times, and + was consequently in a reckless, quarrelsome humour. + </p> + <p> + "I confess I feel somewhat apprehensive," said old Henry nervously, "of + the state of the weather. I have had some conversation about it with an + old gentleman on deck who professed to have sailed the Spanish main. He + says you ought to put into yonder port." + </p> + <p> + "I have," hiccoughed the skipper, eyeing the bottle, and added with a + brutal laugh that "he could weather the roughest gale that ever wind did + blow." A whole Gaelic society, he said, wouldn't fizz on him. + </p> + <p> + Draining a final glass of grog, he rose from his chair, said grace, and + staggered on deck. + </p> + <p> + All the time the wind blew colder and louder. + </p> + <p> + The billows frothed like yeast. It was a yeast wind. + </p> + <p> + The evening wore on. + </p> + <p> + Old Henry shuffled about the cabin in nervous misery. + </p> + <p> + The skipper's daughter sat quietly at the table selecting verses from a + Biblical clock to amuse the ship's bosun, who was suffering from + toothache. + </p> + <p> + At about ten Longfellow went to his bunk, requesting the girl to remain up + in his cabin. + </p> + <p> + For half an hour all was quiet, save the roaring of the winter wind. + </p> + <p> + Then the girl heard the old gentleman start up in bed. + </p> + <p> + "What's that bell, what's that bell?" he gasped. + </p> + <p> + A minute later he emerged from his cabin wearing a cork jacket and + trousers over his pyjamas. + </p> + <p> + "Sissy," he said, "go up and ask your pop who rang that bell." + </p> + <p> + The obedient child returned. + </p> + <p> + "Please, Mr. Longfellow," she said, "pa says there weren't no bell." + </p> + <p> + The old man sank into a chair and remained with his head buried in his + hands. + </p> + <p> + "Say," he exclaimed presently, "someone's firing guns and there's a + glimmering light somewhere. You'd better go upstairs again." + </p> + <p> + Again the child returned. + </p> + <p> + "The crew are guessing at an acrostic, and occasionally they get a + glimmering of it." + </p> + <p> + Meantime the fury of the storm increased. + </p> + <p> + The skipper had the hatches battered down. + </p> + <p> + Presently Longfellow put his head out of a porthole and called out, "Look + here, you may not care, but the cruel rocks are goring the sides of this + boat like the horns of an angry bull." + </p> + <p> + The brutal skipper heaved the log at him. A knot in it struck a plank and + it glanced off. + </p> + <p> + Too frightened to remain below, the poet raised one of the hatches by + picking out the cotton batting and made his way on deck. He crawled to the + wheel-house. + </p> + <p> + The skipper stood lashed to the helm all stiff and stark. He bowed stiffly + to the poet. The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow on his fixed + and glassy eyes. The man was hopelessly intoxicated. + </p> + <p> + All the crew had disappeared. When the missile thrown by the captain had + glanced off into the sea, they glanced after it and were lost. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the final crash came. + </p> + <p> + Something hit something. There was an awful click followed by a peculiar + grating sound, and in less time than it takes to write it (unfortunately), + the whole wreck was over. + </p> + <p> + As the vessel sank, Longfellow's senses left him. When he reopened his + eyes he was in his own bed at home, and the editor of his local paper was + bending over him. + </p> + <p> + "You have made a first-rate poem of it, Mr. Longfellow," he was saying, + unbending somewhat as he spoke, "and I am very happy to give you our + cheque for a dollar and a quarter for it." + </p> + <p> + "Your kindness checks my utterance," murmured Henry feebly, very feebly. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A, B, and C + </h2> + <h3> + THE HUMAN ELEMENT IN MATHEMATICS + </h3> + <p> + The student of arithmetic who has mastered the first four rules of his + art, and successfully striven with money sums and fractions, finds himself + confronted by an unbroken expanse of questions known as problems. These + are short stories of adventure and industry with the end omitted, and + though betraying a strong family resemblance, are not without a certain + element of romance. + </p> + <p> + The characters in the plot of a problem are three people called A, B, and + C. The form of the question is generally of this sort: + </p> + <p> + "A, B, and C do a certain piece of work. A can do as much work in one hour + as B in two, or C in four. Find how long they work at it." + </p> + <p> + Or thus: + </p> + <p> + "A, B, and C are employed to dig a ditch. A can dig as much in one hour as + B can dig in two, and B can dig twice as fast as C. Find how long, etc. + etc." + </p> + <p> + Or after this wise: + </p> + <p> + "A lays a wager that he can walk faster than B or C. A can walk half as + fast again as B, and C is only an indifferent walker. Find how far, and so + forth." + </p> + <p> + The occupations of A, B, and C are many and varied. In the older + arithmetics they contented themselves with doing "a certain piece of + work." This statement of the case however, was found too sly and + mysterious, or possibly lacking in romantic charm. It became the fashion + to define the job more clearly and to set them at walking matches, + ditch-digging, regattas, and piling cord wood. At times, they became + commercial and entered into partnership, having with their old mystery a + "certain" capital. Above all they revel in motion. When they tire of + walking-matches—A rides on horseback, or borrows a bicycle and + competes with his weaker-minded associates on foot. Now they race on + locomotives; now they row; or again they become historical and engage + stage-coaches; or at times they are aquatic and swim. If their occupation + is actual work they prefer to pump water into cisterns, two of which leak + through holes in the bottom and one of which is water-tight. A, of course, + has the good one; he also takes the bicycle, and the best locomotive, and + the right of swimming with the current. Whatever they do they put money on + it, being all three sports. A always wins. + </p> + <p> + In the early chapters of the arithmetic, their identity is concealed under + the names John, William, and Henry, and they wrangle over the division of + marbles. In algebra they are often called X, Y, Z. But these are only + their Christian names, and they are really the same people. + </p> + <p> + Now to one who has followed the history of these men through countless + pages of problems, watched them in their leisure hours dallying with cord + wood, and seen their panting sides heave in the full frenzy of filling a + cistern with a leak in it, they become something more than mere symbols. + They appear as creatures of flesh and blood, living men with their own + passions, ambitions, and aspirations like the rest of us. Let us view them + in turn. A is a full-blooded blustering fellow, of energetic temperament, + hot-headed and strong-willed. It is he who proposes everything, challenges + B to work, makes the bets, and bends the others to his will. He is a man + of great physical strength and phenomenal endurance. He has been known to + walk forty-eight hours at a stretch, and to pump ninety-six. His life is + arduous and full of peril. A mistake in the working of a sum may keep him + digging a fortnight without sleep. A repeating decimal in the answer might + kill him. + </p> + <p> + B is a quiet, easy-going fellow, afraid of A and bullied by him, but very + gentle and brotherly to little C, the weakling. He is quite in A's power, + having lost all his money in bets. + </p> + <p> + Poor C is an undersized, frail man, with a plaintive face. Constant + walking, digging, and pumping has broken his health and ruined his nervous + system. His joyless life has driven him to drink and smoke more than is + good for him, and his hand often shakes as he digs ditches. He has not the + strength to work as the others can, in fact, as Hamlin Smith has said, "A + can do more work in one hour than C in four." + </p> + <p> + The first time that ever I saw these men was one evening after a regatta. + They had all been rowing in it, and it had transpired that A could row as + much in one hour as B in two, or C in four. B and C had come in dead + fagged and C was coughing badly. "Never mind, old fellow," I heard B say, + "I'll fix you up on the sofa and get you some hot tea." Just then A came + blustering in and shouted, "I say, you fellows, Hamlin Smith has shown me + three cisterns in his garden and he says we can pump them until to-morrow + night. I bet I can beat you both. Come on. You can pump in your rowing + things, you know. Your cistern leaks a little, I think, C." I heard B + growl that it was a dirty shame and that C was used up now, but they went, + and presently I could tell from the sound of the water that A was pumping + four times as fast as C. + </p> + <p> + For years after that I used to see them constantly about town and always + busy. I never heard of any of them eating or sleeping. Then owing to a + long absence from home, I lost sight of them. On my return I was surprised + to no longer find A, B, and C at their accustomed tasks; on inquiry I + heard that work in this line was now done by N, M, and O, and that some + people were employing for algebraica jobs four foreigners called Alpha, + Beta, Gamma, and Delta. + </p> + <p> + Now it chanced one day that I stumbled upon old D, in the little garden in + front of his cottage, hoeing in the sun. D is an aged labouring man who + used occasionally to be called in to help A, B, and C. "Did I know 'em, + sir?" he answered, "why, I knowed 'em ever since they was little fellows + in brackets. Master A, he were a fine lad, sir, though I always said, give + me Master B for kind-heartedness-like. Many's the job as we've been on + together, sir, though I never did no racing nor aught of that, but just + the plain labour, as you might say. I'm getting a bit too old and stiff + for it nowadays, sir—just scratch about in the garden here and grow + a bit of a logarithm, or raise a common denominator or two. But Mr. Euclid + he use me still for them propositions, he do." + </p> + <p> + From the garrulous old man I learned the melancholy end of my former + acquaintances. Soon after I left town, he told me, C had been taken ill. + It seems that A and B had been rowing on the river for a wager, and C had + been running on the bank and then sat in a draught. Of course the bank had + refused the draught and C was taken ill. A and B came home and found C + lying helpless in bed. A shook him roughly and said, "Get up, C, we're + going to pile wood." C looked so worn and pitiful that B said, "Look here, + A, I won't stand this, he isn't fit to pile wood to-night." C smiled + feebly and said, "Perhaps I might pile a little if I sat up in bed." Then + B, thoroughly alarmed, said, "See here, A, I'm going to fetch a doctor; + he's dying." A flared up and answered, "You've no money to fetch a + doctor." "I'll reduce him to his lowest terms," B said firmly, "that'll + fetch him." C's life might even then have been saved but they made a + mistake about the medicine. It stood at the head of the bed on a bracket, + and the nurse accidentally removed it from the bracket without changing + the sign. After the fatal blunder C seems to have sunk rapidly. On the + evening of the next day, as the shadows deepened in the little room, it + was clear to all that the end was near. I think that even A was affected + at the last as he stood with bowed head, aimlessly offering to bet with + the doctor on C's laboured breathing. "A," whispered C, "I think I'm going + fast." "How fast do you think you'll go, old man?" murmured A. "I don't + know," said C, "but I'm going at any rate."—The end came soon after + that. C rallied for a moment and asked for a certain piece of work that he + had left downstairs. A put it in his arms and he expired. As his soul sped + heavenward A watched its flight with melancholy admiration. B burst into a + passionate flood of tears and sobbed, "Put away his little cistern and the + rowing clothes he used to wear, I feel as if I could hardly ever dig + again."—The funeral was plain and unostentatious. It differed in + nothing from the ordinary, except that out of deference to sporting men + and mathematicians, A engaged two hearses. Both vehicles started at the + same time, B driving the one which bore the sable parallelopiped + containing the last remains of his ill-fated friend. A on the box of the + empty hearse generously consented to a handicap of a hundred yards, but + arrived first at the cemetery by driving four times as fast as B. (Find + the distance to the cemetery.) As the sarcophagus was lowered, the grave + was surrounded by the broken figures of the first book of Euclid.—It + was noticed that after the death of C, A became a changed man. He lost + interest in racing with B, and dug but languidly. He finally gave up his + work and settled down to live on the interest of his bets.—B never + recovered from the shock of C's death; his grief preyed upon his intellect + and it became deranged. He grew moody and spoke only in monosyllables. His + disease became rapidly aggravated, and he presently spoke only in words + whose spelling was regular and which presented no difficulty to the + beginner. Realizing his precarious condition he voluntarily submitted to + be incarcerated in an asylum, where he abjured mathematics and devoted + himself to writing the History of the Swiss Family Robinson in words of + one syllable. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Acknowledgments + </h2> + <p> + Many of the sketches which form the present volume have already appeared + in print. Others of them are new. Of the re-printed pieces, "Melpomenus + Jones," "Policeman Hogan," "A Lesson in Fiction," and many others were + contributions by the author to the New York Truth. The "Boarding-House + Geometry" first appeared in Truth, and was subsequently republished in the + London Punch, and in a great many other journals. The sketches called the + "Life of John Smith," "Society Chit-Chat," and "Aristocratic Education" + appeared in Puck. "The New Pathology" was first printed in the Toronto + Saturday Night, and was subsequently republished by the London Lancet, and + by various German periodicals in the form of a translation. The story + called "Number Fifty-Six" is taken from the Detroit Free Press. "My + Financial Career" was originally contributed to the New York Life, and has + been frequently reprinted. The Articles "How to Make a Million Dollars" + and "How to Avoid Getting Married," etc. are reproduced by permission of + the Publishers' Press Syndicate. The wide circulation which some of the + above sketches have enjoyed has encouraged the author to prepare the + present collection. + </p> + <p> + The author desires to express his sense of obligation to the proprietors + of the above journals who have kindly permitted him to republish the + contributions which appeared in their columns. + </p> + <h3> + END + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <pre> + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Literary Lapses, by Stephen Leacock + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY LAPSES *** + +***** This file should be named 6340-h.htm or 6340-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/4/6340/ + +Etext produced by Gardner Buchanan + +HTML file produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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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