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diff --git a/75226-h/75226-h.htm b/75226-h/75226-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4aceab1 --- /dev/null +++ b/75226-h/75226-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4543 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Light interviews with shades | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +a { + text-decoration: none; +} + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +h2.nobreak { + page-break-before: avoid; +} + +hr.chap { + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + clear: both; + width: 65%; + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; +} + +img.w100 { + width: 100%; +} + +div.chapter { + page-break-before: always; +} + +p { + margin-top: 0.5em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +table { + margin: 1em auto 1em auto; + max-width: 40em; + border-collapse: collapse; +} + +td { + padding-left: 2.25em; + padding-right: 0.25em; + vertical-align: top; + text-indent: -2em; +} + +.tdr { + text-align: right; +} + +.tdpg { + vertical-align: bottom; + text-align: right; +} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.larger { + font-size: 150%; +} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + right: 4%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; +} + +.poetry-container { + text-align: center; +} + +.poetry { + display: inline-block; + text-align: left; +} + +.poetry .stanza { + margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; +} + +.poetry .verse { + padding-left: 3em; +} + +.poetry .indent0 { + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poetry .indent2 { + text-indent: -2em; +} + +.smaller { + font-size: 80%; +} + +.smcap { + font-variant: small-caps; + font-style: normal; +} + +.spacer { + margin-left: 3em; + margin-right: 3em; +} + +.titlepage { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 3em; + text-indent: 0em; +} + +div.tp { + margin: auto; + max-width: 10em; +} + +.tp .bt { + border-top: 2px solid black; + max-width: 6em; +} + +.tp p { + text-indent: 0; + font-size: 130%; + font-weight: bold; +} + +.x-ebookmaker img { + max-width: 100%; + width: auto; + height: auto; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .poetry { + display: block; + margin-left: 1.5em; +} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp53 {width: 53%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp53 {width: 100%;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75226 ***</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p> + +<div class="tp"> + +<p>LIGHT<br> +INTERVIEWS<br> +WITH<br> +SHADES</p> + +<div class="bt"> + +<p>ROBERT<br> +WEBSTER<br> +JONES</p> + +</div> + +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span></p> + +<p class="titlepage larger">LIGHT INTERVIEWS<br> +WITH SHADES</p> + +<p class="titlepage">BY<br> +ROBERT WEBSTER JONES</p> + +<figure class="figcenter titlepage illowp53" id="crest" style="max-width: 6.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/crest.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + +<p class="titlepage">Publishers <span class="spacer">DORRANCE</span> Philadelphia</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span></p> + +<p class="titlepage smaller">COPYRIGHT 1922<br> +DORRANCE & COMPANY, INC.</p> + +<p class="titlepage smaller">MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> + +</div> + +<table> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">I</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Bluebeard Tells Why He Killed Wives</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#I">11</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">II</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Queen Elizabeth Discloses Why She Never Married</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#II">20</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">III</td> + <td><span class="smcap">John Paul Jones and A Grogless Navy</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#III">29</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">IV</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Joshua Advises Daylight Saving</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#IV">37</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">V</td> + <td><span class="smcap">King Solomon’s Family Vacation Trip</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#V">43</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VI</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Brigham Young Endorses Woman Suffrage</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#VI">50</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VII</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Hippocrates on Modern Doctors</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#VII">56</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VIII</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Methuselah Gives Longevity Secrets</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#VIII">66</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">IX</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Jesse James Talks on Tipping</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#IX">75</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">X</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Shakespeare Mentions Movies</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#X">80</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XI</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Adam Condemns Present Fashions</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XI">88</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XII</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Captain Kidd Speaks on Tag Days</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XII">96</a><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIII</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Alfred the Great Tries to Find Prosperous King</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XIII">102</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIV</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Old King Cole Gives Views on Prohibition</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XIV">111</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XV</td> + <td><span class="smcap">King Henry VIII Admits Some Matrimonial Mistakes</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XV">116</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVI</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Don Quixote Says He “Wasn’t So Crazy as Some Modern Reformers”</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XVI">123</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVII</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Pharaoh Solves Servant Problem</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XVII">129</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVIII</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Nero Discusses Jazz</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XVIII">137</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIX</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Lord Bacon Muses on Ciphers</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XIX">145</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span></p> + +<h1>LIGHT INTERVIEWS WITH SHADES</h1> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="I">I<br> +<span class="smaller">BLUEBEARD TELLS WHY HE KILLED WIVES</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>I drew this assignment to interview the shade +of Bluebeard because our girl reporter backed +out at the last minute,—said she had no objection +to a nice, ladylike assignment such as getting +Pharaoh’s daughter to talk about Annette +Kellerman or having a chat with Joan of Ark, +or whatever Mrs. Noah’s name was, but she +balked at calling on a wife murderer who had +never been introduced.</p> + +<p>If I had not been warned in advance I should +have thought this was surely an impostor—a +barefaced one, too, for he wore no beard—to +whose room I was ushered by a bellboy of the +Olympus Hotel.</p> + +<p>“Surprised at my appearance, eh?” he +chuckled. “Everybody is. Expect to see a +ferocious-looking monster with a long blue +beard and a bowie knife sticking out of his belt. +It’s about time the folks down below got the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span> +real facts, not only of my appearance but of my +character. That’s why I’ve consented for the +first time to talk for publication. I want to be +set right in the eyes of those mistaken mortals. +You are a young man and unmarried, I presume, +from your happy, carefree countenance. +Well, then, here is a thing I hope you’ll learn +by heart: where singleness is bliss ’tis folly to +have wives. I’ve tried it and I know. I, too, +was once a happy, cheerful, careless bachelor, +like Adam, you know. And like Adam I didn’t +get my eyes opened until after marriage. By +the way, speaking of Adam, did you ever pause +to think that not until marriage came into the +world did man have to dig for a living? Yet I +digress. What I started out to say was that +marriage is an excellent institution, but like all +good things, it can be overdone. My mistake +was in being too idealistic. I had resolved to +find the ideal, the perfect wife, the kind you +read about in poetry (a perfect woman, nobly +planned, to warn, to comfort and command). +Well, my first wife laid too much emphasis on +the ‘command.’ She took it literally. I found +I had made a mistake and decided to bury it. +If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. +Clementina was her name. She was not of a +trustful nature. Invariably her first greeting +on my returning home late at night took the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span> +sharply interrogatory form: ‘Where have you +been?’ Frequently I would have been glad to +tell her, only I could not remember. It has +been said that ‘absence makes the heart grow +fonder,’ but it did not seem to work out that +way worth a cent at three o’clock in the morning. +We had words, she seeking to obtain what +she termed the ‘last’ one. But still there were +always more to follow.</p> + +<p>“I came in time to feel that I did not possess +that treasure of treasures, a wife’s perfect confidence +in her husband. One night, I remember, +I started to get into bed with my overcoat on. +It was merely a bit of harmless absent-mindedness. +But Clementina continued to refer to the +trifling incident daily, and nightly, for weeks +afterwards. She even communicated the circumstance +to friends and relatives, including +her maternal parent, who naturally had no +interest in the subject. When we were invited +out to dinner she employed the incident as a +conversational topic. I begged her to desist. +She refused. I realized that it was high time to +‘try again.’ I need not go into details. But +Clementina ceased to trouble and the weary +was at rest. The coroner was a personal +friend of mine. I had voted for him in three +different precincts, and he kindly brought in +a verdict of ‘justifiable uxoricide,’ or something<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span> +of that sort, and everything was nice +and comfortable.</p> + +<p>“That was Clementina. Now let me see—let +me see—who came next? Susannah? No, +she was Number Three, I’m pretty sure. My +memory isn’t what it used to be, but if I only +had my old card index here I could tell you +in two seconds. Sapphira? No, she came +later. Oh, now I’ve got it: Maria. Yes, I +had to get rid of Maria within a year. Nice, +amiable girl she was, too, in most respects. +Always had the meals on time, never hauled +me out at night to call on the new neighbors, +would rather darn socks for her husband than +crochet a new sweater for herself, and had an +impediment in her speech. I’d often heard +there were such women, with impediments in +their speech, but had never met one before. +I thought it was a recommendation, but I was +mistaken. It only made her take that much +longer to say what she was going to say, anyway. +When Maria and the impediment clashed +it was always Maria that finally won out. But +it took time. Verbally Maria required a long +time to pass a given point, but she kept on +until she passed it. Maria had one great fault. +You’re not married, young man, and you may +not grasp this defect in all its hideousness.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span> +But this was it: she always talked to me when +I was trying to shave.</p> + +<p>“At that time I wore a beard, but no side-whiskers, +and I shaved every morning before +breakfast. It was Maria’s invariable habit to +stand at the bathroom door and engage in conversation—or +rather monologue interspersed +with questions. In consequence I got to +spending more money for court-plaster than +for shaving soap. A man stopped me on the +street one day, gave a second look at my liberally-scarred +countenance, and hailed me as a +fellow graduate of Heidelberg. Finally, I decided +that this business had gone on long +enough. I gave Maria fair warning. The very +next morning she stuck her head in at the door, +just as I was trying to steer around a pimple +below my right ear, and told me not to forget +to bring home those lamb chops for dinner. I +cut a gash an inch long and dropped the razor +on the floor. That was Maria’s farewell appearance. +There was no demand for an encore. +The coroner kindly found that the impediment +in her speech had stuck in her throat +and she had choked to death. He was a good +scout.</p> + +<p>“And now we come to Susannah, Number +Three, Series N. G. Susannah started out +splendidly. She came highly recommended. I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> +thought she was going to be one of the best +wives I ever had. But, like all the others, she +soon disclosed a fatal failing. I call it ‘fatal’ +because it always turned out that way for all +my wives. It may seem a trifle to you, young +man, but that’s because you’ve never been +married. The trouble was this, and it soon +got on my sensitive nerves: the only time I +could get Susannah’s absorbed, undivided attention +was when I talked in my sleep. Then, +I have reason to believe, she would sit up and +listen by the hour. But at other times she +might as well have been totally deaf, so far as +paying attention to what I was trying to say +was concerned. She always seemed to be +thinking of something—I hope it wasn’t somebody—else. +I’d start telling her about a business +deal I’d just put through with some fellows +up at Bagdad, or begin discussing the chances +of the Damascus ball team for winning the +pennant next year, and before I’d talked ten +minutes I’d see as plain as day that she wasn’t +hearing a word I said.</p> + +<p>“She’d contracted the crocheting habit, too—I +don’t know where she picked it up—and +she’d work away, whispering to herself and +nodding at me every now and then, until I +thought I’d go wild. One night while I was +right in the midst of telling her a funny story<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span> +I’d heard at the Khayyam Country Club, she +actually interrupted me to remark that she’d +just found a new way of purling 14 by casting +off 11 and dropping 34, or something of the +sort, and I just up and—and— Well, there’s +no need to harrow your feelings. Suffice it to +say that I added one more to the Association +of Former Mothers-in-Law of Bluebeard. +Whenever one of my wives departed this life +rather suddenly the ex-mothers-in-law always +held a sort of indignation meeting. Sometimes +they passed resolutions, too. But it didn’t +seem to do any good. Just advertised the fact +that I was a widower again. Didn’t seem to +prejudice the girls against me. In fact, one +leap-year I had to get a lot of rejection slips +printed, like the magazine editors use, for replying +to proposals. I read somewhere once +that it always made a fellow popular to get a +reputation as a lady-killer, and I seem to have +proved it.</p> + +<p>“And so it went. All the undertakers in +town were trying to stand in with me. But I +thought they went a little too far when they +adopted a set of appreciative resolutions and +invited me to address their annual convention. +Some folks have no sense of propriety. The +preachers showed more tact. It’s true that +one offered to do all my marrying on the basis<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span> +of a yearly contract, but that was a strictly +private, business arrangement, the same as I +had with the firm of caterers and liverymen +which supplied both cakes and camels. I could +go on all night telling you about my other +wives and the causes of their sudden shufflings-off—Sapphira, +who objected to my smoking in +the front parlor; Anastasia, who believed the +adjective ‘annual,’ as applied to house-cleanings, +meant every week; Boadicea, who was +strong for women’s rights, but refused to go +downstairs first to tackle the burglar; Sheba, +who took me along when she went shopping +and parked me for two hours outside a department +store; Delilah the Second, who wanted to +cut my hair so as to save enough money to +get herself a new winter hat, as if my overhead +charges weren’t high enough already. +These are just a few samples from my souvenir +collection of matrimonial misfits that I +happen to recall offhand. The proverb says, +‘A word to the wives is sufficient,’ but I never +found it so. Not by a long shot. I found action +more effective than words. They say bigamy +means one wife too many; but so does +monogamy sometimes. If my experience +helps other married men I shall be glad to +have given this interview. I like to talk, because +nowadays I feel I can do so without<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span> +interrupting some wife or other. Just one +word more, and then good night:</p> + +<p>“There is no marrying in heaven. Fools +rush in where angels fear to tread.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="II">II<br> +<span class="smaller">QUEEN ELIZABETH DISCLOSES WHY SHE NEVER MARRIED</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“Nothing would have induced me to talk for +publication,” said Queen Elizabeth, as she +negligently lit a cigarette and with a graceful +gesture invited me to take a seat, “if you +hadn’t printed that interview with that horrid +old Bluebeard last week. They used to say +that I was a heartless coquette, and that all +the men were losing their heads over me. Well, +if a young man had come to ask me, around the +year 1588, why I had never married—as you +have just done—he’d have lost his head in just +about the time it would have taken the chief +executioner to respond to a hurry call. But +times have changed and we change with them. +History has done many cruel wrongs to my +memory, and I want to be set right. I didn’t +stay single for lack of proposals, I can tell +you. Why, before I was sixteen the front yard +of our palace looked like a college campus, it +was so full all the time of young men carrying +flowers and boxes of candy and ringing the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span> +doorbell, wanting to know if Princess Elizabeth +were in. I had every other girl in England +jealous of me, if I do say it myself. But +I saw too much of marriage at home. My +father did enough marrying for the whole +family.</p> + +<p>“Life got to be just one stepmother after +another. I began to lose count. I decided that +one member of the family had given enough of +a boost to the institution of matrimony, and it +didn’t need any further endorsement from me. +I soon appreciated the truth of the saying, +‘Man proposes.’ I got so many proposals I +had my maids of honor knit a lot of mittens to +hand to the fellows as a souvenir. Finally the +men saw I was in earnest and let me alone; +that is to say, most of them. A few foolish +fellows continued to write poetry (that is what +they called it) and send presents, but my mind +was made up and I refused to change it. It +was about this time that our court fool remarked +that woman’s favorite occupations +were changing her mind, her clothes and her +name. And about five minutes afterward he +changed his permanent address to the Tower +of London. All the world’s a stage, as my +friend Shakespeare used to say, and ninety-nine +out of a hundred men consider themselves<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span> +perfectly equipped for the rôle of comedian. +But it’s possible to be too fatally funny.</p> + +<p>“Now, about that interview with Brother +Bluebeard last week. I suppose he thought +<i>he</i> was funny when he said about the only +time a man gets his wife’s absorbed, undivided +attention is when he talks in his sleep. But +that’s about the only time a man says anything +worth listening to. It just made my blood +boil—that man Bluebeard calmly talking about +the wives he’d killed. Not that I believe half +of it. He was only boasting. And that reminds +me: there used to be an organization +called the Ananias Club. But who ever heard +of a Sapphira Club? There wouldn’t be +enough members to hold a meeting in a telephone +booth. But ‘all men are liars,’ and +married ones have more ready-made opportunities. +It has been estimated that in a married +lifetime of forty years the average man +will be called upon to answer the perfectly +reasonable inquiry, ‘Where have you been?’ +14,610 times. This calculation allows for 365 +answers in each ordinary year and 366 in leap-years. +And when her husband replies to her +altogether proper interrogation, too often the +wife realizes, like the Queen of Sheba, that the +half has not been told her.</p> + +<p>“From Ananias to Munchausen and down<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span> +to the modern press agent, the experts at exaggeration +have all been men. Fishermen’s +tales and sailors’ yarns are proverbial. A +woman trying to tell a lie feels like a fish out +of water, and at the first opportunity flops +back into the ocean of truth.</p> + +<p>“There’s another slander on women I’d like +to say a few words about, and that’s the charge +of talkativeness. Men have always flocked to +the talkative professions like ducks to water. +Most lawyers and barbers are men. Are there +any women auctioneers? There are few women +preachers. There was a time when all the +talking in the world was done by one man, +but there was no conversation until the arrival +of Eve. She did the listening. It is essential +to conversation that there be a listener, and +man’s happiness was not complete until there +was somebody to hear him talk. The average +husband loves to deliver home lectures on baseball +in summer and politics in winter. Here +we have the reason for the popularity of +women’s clubs. No man being present, they +have a chance to talk. Go into any church +Sunday morning and what do you see? An +audience composed principally of women +listening to a man talking. The recording +angel who tries to keep up with a man has to +be an expert at taking lightning dictation.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span> +One of the newest works in three large volumes +is entitled, ‘Last Words of Great Men.’ +The edition makes no pretensions to being +complete. That, of course, would be impossible +when we have had so many great men, +all of them talking steadily to the last. But +it is worth noting that we have only meagre +records of the last words of any great woman. +Poor thing! With her husband, and a man +doctor and a clergyman at her bedside, what +chance would she have?</p> + +<p>“I’ll admit that there have been a few of +the so-called great men of history who have +not been noted for their love of talk, but when +such a man is discovered everybody calls attention +to him as if he were a genuine curiosity +of nature. He is usually given a nickname indicative +of his peculiarity, such as William the +Silent, and people travel miles to get a look +at him. Practically every man is Speaker of +the House, and in his case the title is no misnomer. +For instance, it’s a question whether +all the ancient martyrs put together ever said +as much about their sufferings as one modern +man with a boil on his neck. Man even goes +ahead and invents new languages like Esperanto +and baseball, and golf.</p> + +<p>“Wives of great men most remind us that +they talked all of the time, and departing left<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> +behind them words that were not worth a dime. +Isn’t that what one of your own American +poets said? Sounds something like it, anyway.</p> + +<p>“But you wanted to know just why I never +married. Well, it was because of these nasty +flings at women by the men that I’ve just been +speaking of. If they say such things before +marriage, what won’t they say after? They’re +always talking about women’s curiosity, starting +with Eve and the apple. I suppose if there +had been a <i>Saturday Eden Post</i>, Adam would +have written alleged jokes about it or run a +funny department called ‘Musings of a Married +Man.’ I blame that Eve and her apple +story for this eternal joshing about feminine +curiosity. You needn’t look surprised, young +man. I’m talking twentieth not sixteenth century +language these days, and since yours is +a family newspaper probably it’s just as well +that I am. When I was queen you’d have +thought the English language consisted principally +of proper nouns and improper adjectives. +We called a spade a spade, and then some. +If a lady disliked a gentleman she didn’t say +he was a mean old thing. She began by calling +him a diabolical blackguard and horse thief, +and then gradually grew abusive.</p> + +<p>“Woman’s curiosity! All the census-takers<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span> +and private detectives and professional Paul +Pry’s who stick their noses into other people’s +businesses are men. So are all the explorers, +the individuals who are so curious to find out +what’s going on at the other end of the earth +that they can’t content themselves at home. +If, in the history of the world, a woman has +ever been seized by an overwhelming desire to +see what the North Pole looks like, she has +cleverly concealed the fact. While the men +were organizing North Pole and South Pole +expeditions, and relief expeditions, and expeditions +to rescue the relief expeditions, the +wives and mothers remained patiently on the +job at home. And when the missing discoverers +came back covered with hero medals, and +suffering from chilblains, and writer’s cramp, +and lecturer’s sore throat, and coupon-clipper’s +thumb, the women never asked why +heroine medals seem so scarce these days. +Talk about curiosity! There’s a universal inquiry +which is being put by some man to some +woman in some part of the world at every +second of every minute of the twenty-four +hours, and it is this: ‘What did you do with +that LAST money I gave you?’ There it is +again, that insatiable curiosity of man which +will not let him rest. Man is a perambulating +question mark, the personification of the rising<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> +inflection, a chronic case of interrogationitis. +And he has the nerve to talk about woman’s +curiosity!”</p> + +<p>“How about Sir Walter Raleigh?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, young man, there are exceptions to +every rule, and a woman is generally willing +to take an exception. Walter was an awfully +nice fellow, at first, but I was dreadfully disappointed +in him. Do you know, that business +of the velvet cloak and the mud puddle was +only what you would call a grandstand play? +I found out later. It was his last winter’s +cloak, and he was just on his way to the Charing +Cross rummage sale to give it away, when +he happened to meet me. I know it’s so, because +I got it straight at the meeting of the +Westminster Sewing Society from the Countess +of Leicester’s sister-in-law, who said she +was told by the cousin of a woman who knew +an intimate friend of a friend of Walter +Raleigh’s aunt. And she said he actually +laughed about it afterward!</p> + +<p>“Do you wonder I stayed single? Perhaps +I’ve said too much already, but one word more +and I am finished. Do you know, young man, +why women say marriage is a lottery? It is +because they draw most of the blanks.”</p> + +<p>Subdued, but with a sigh of relief, I withdrew +hastily from the royal presence, feeling<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> +that “man’s inhumanity to man” wouldn’t be +a marker to what would have happened to +Queen Elizabeth’s husband.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="III">III<br> +<span class="smaller">JOHN PAUL JONES AND A GROGLESS NAVY</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“Interview your great-uncle and find out +what he thinks of our modern navy,” said the +city editor.</p> + +<p>“My great-uncle?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Admiral J. Paul Jones. Wasn’t he one of +your distinguished relatives? You’ve got the +same name.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Uncle John? I believe we are related, +but he was one of the rough specimens—sort of +a piece of bark on the family tree—other side +of the family, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you may find his bark worse than his +bite.”</p> + +<p>“Which planet is his shade living on now, do +you know?”</p> + +<p>“Neptune, I presume.”</p> + +<p>And that is where I found him. He gave me +genial greeting.</p> + +<p>“Shiver my timbers, but I’m glad to see you. +Come alongside and cast anchor, my lad, and +tell me what wind blew you here.”</p> + +<p>I explained that the mighty world below was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> +palpitating for a few timely remarks from its +old fighting hero.</p> + +<p>“Fire away, then,” he replied. “What’s the +first question?”</p> + +<p>“Do you believe, Admiral,” I asked, “that a +navy can be run on water—that is to say, of +course, the ships have to run on water ... but +I mean the men. Do you think——” And then +I got tangled up and came to a full stop, for the +expression on the old sea dog’s face was a mixture +of puzzlement and pugnacity.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” he roared. “Not to +give the men water in place of grog?”</p> + +<p>His attitude was positively menacing. I began +to grow nervous.</p> + +<p>“Why—er—that is the idea, Admiral. Do you +believe it is possible to conduct a navy efficiently +on prohibition principles?”</p> + +<p>“Prohibition? Never heard the word before. +And now that I have heard it I don’t like the +sound of it. What are you jibbing and windjamming +in this way for? Come right out and +run up your true colors. Do you mean to tell +me that anybody is seriously proposing to do +away with grog in the American Navy? I’d +hang the dastardly rascal from the yard-arm. +Walking the plank would be too good for him.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Admiral, you might as well know the +whole truth. Grog has not only been abolished<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span> +in the Navy (and that took place some years +ago), grog has been abolished throughout the +country. Liquor can neither be manufactured +nor sold anywhere in the United States.”</p> + +<p>Perhaps I should have broken the startling +news to the old fellow more gently. But instead +of the expected outburst of anger he sat +stunned, still as a statue, or a speak-easy in +Harlem.</p> + +<p>For two minutes or more he kept silent. +Then he spoke. “Say it again,” he muttered +in a weak tone, “and say it slow.”</p> + +<p>I complied.</p> + +<p>“No grog for them as fights the battles, no +whiskey, no brandy, no shandy-gaff, no Jamaikey +rum, nothin’ but milk and water. What +kind o’ putty-faced swabs—But I needn’t ask. +I see it now. You’ve been conquered by them +Turks and water-drinking Mohammedans. But +who’d have thought it?” And he shook his +grizzled head disconsolately. “No whiskey, no +brandy, no shandy-gaff, no Jamaikey rum,” he +went on muttering to himself as in a daze, over +and over again, until I thought it might be advisable +to recall him to himself.</p> + +<p>“America thinks a great deal of you, Admiral,” +I interrupted his melancholy monologue. +“The nation cherishes the memory of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> +your thrilling exploits. It will never forget +your heroic deeds.”</p> + +<p>The old Admiral brightened up a bit at this, +but quickly relapsed into his melancholy mood. +“No whiskey, no brandy—” he began again, +when I tried the effect of another diversion.</p> + +<p>“The nation is still safe, Admiral, and it has +the largest number of ships and sailors in its +history. The recent great war produced its +heroes, too. We do not lack for defenders, you +will be glad to know, if ever America is assailed +again.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’ve heard something about it,” he +grumblingly admitted. “There’s a new-fangled +cowardly sort of craft that goes under water +and stabs in the back, a regular assassin, I call +it. Farragut and Perry and some of the boys +went down to perform at a seance in Philadelphia +the other night, and they heard a lot of +talk about your new naval heroes that have +made us back numbers. There was Sims, and +Daniels, and Benson, and—and—Admiral +What’s-his-name? I can’t just think of it. +Gray? No, that’s not it exactly. Admiral—Admiral—”</p> + +<p>“Not Grayson?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s it, Rear Admiral Grayson. His +flagship was the <i>George Washington</i>, I believe.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span> +And Admiral Denby, what did he do? I just +can’t recollect on the moment.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Denby is not an Admiral; he’s the Secretary +of the Navy. He’s not supposed to go to +sea. He sits at a desk, instead of standing on +a deck.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I see. But Rear Admiral Grayson? I +wish you would describe some of his exploits +to me.”</p> + +<p>“Well-er—that’s a little difficult to explain, +Admiral Jones, for you have been so long out +of touch with our system. Admiral Grayson +is really a doctor, and—”</p> + +<p>“You mean the admirals say he is a doctor +and the doctors say he is an admiral?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, Admiral, not so bad as that. He is +a medical admiral, not a fighting admiral. Rear +Doctor—I mean Rear Admiral—Grayson was +a naval surgeon, and he has been regularly promoted +to the post of rear admiral. His job was +looking after the President’s health, and all +agree that he tendered good service.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, a medical admiral, eh?” grumbled the +old sea dog in a disappointed tone. “So that’s +what he is. I can see him now, standing on the +bridge of the good ship <i>Calomel</i>, stethoscope in +hand, studying the symptoms of the approaching +foe, writing the battle orders on prescription<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span> +blanks and getting ready to fire a volley of +quinine pills, three times a day before meals, at +the hated enemy. I can see him taking the +temperatures of the crew before going into +action, and then, with a lancet in one hand and +a scalpel in the other, preparing to repel +boarders. I can see him charging the enemy +(five dollars a visit, half price for office calls, +consultations fifteen, operations, what you’ve +got), I can hear the ringing words of command +to candidates for vaccination: ‘Present arms.’ +I can see him, with his trusty clinical thermometer +and his rapid firing hypodermic, +bravely—”</p> + +<p>“You’ve got the wrong idea, entirely, +Admiral Jones,” I hastened to interrupt. “It’s +different from your day. None of our admirals +do any hand-to-hand encounters. There are no +more clashes at close quarters. Sometimes +ships fight each other four or five miles apart.”</p> + +<p>The grizzled veteran looked as if he scarcely +understood what I was saying.</p> + +<p>“No coming together with grappling irons, +and fighting it out fair and square with pistols +and cutlasses on the quarterdeck? A modern +naval battle is just a long-distance artillery +duel between Sunday School classes composed +of total abstainers, as likely as not commanded<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> +by a specialist on whooping cough and measles? +I guess it’s a good thing I shuffled off when I +did. In my time a sea fight was more a matter +of men than of machinery. I wouldn’t know +how to go about it today. Everything is +changed. I’m sure I’d forget to order a double +round of hot lemonade for all the crew, instead +of a stiff glass of grog, before going into an engagement. +I must tell Farragut about it. I suppose +they wouldn’t let him say anything stronger +than ‘<i>Darn</i> the torpedoes,’ or ‘Oh, fudge,’ +if he were down on the job today. And Commodore +Perry: ‘We have met the enemy and +made ’em all sign the pledge.’ That’s the sort +of message he’d be expected to send nowadays. +I suppose with all these new-fangled inventions +you’ve been telling me about, wireless, and +range-finders, and searchlights, and turbines, +and seaplanes and torpedoes and all the rest of +’em, a fellow has to stay sober to work ’em. In +my day we always considered that a man +fought better when he was about three sheets +in the wind. I don’t say our ways were perfect, +but I’m sure I wouldn’t feel at home on one of +your big floating machine shops. I’d forget +myself sometimes and want to get close enough +to the enemy to see him without a telescope—or +a stethoscope.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, you’ll have to excuse me now, my lad. +I have a date with Lord Nelson for three +o’clock, to join in the historic and comforting +ceremony known as splicing the main brace. +I’ll break the news to him about what you’ve +just been telling me. He’ll need a bracer after +he hears it.”</p> + +<p>And as the old hero hobbled away I could +hear him muttering to himself: “No whiskey, +no brandy, no shandy-gaff, no Jamaikey rum; +water, water everywhere, but not a drop o’ +drink.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV">IV<br> +<span class="smaller">JOSHUA ADVISES DAYLIGHT SAVING</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“How about an interview with one of the +shades on daylight saving?” I suggested +timidly, as the city editor was racking what he +calls his brain in search of a suitable assignment.</p> + +<p>“Right! Get hold of one of the old astronomers, +Galileo, or Ike Newton, or—or—”</p> + +<p>“How would Joshua do?”</p> + +<p>“Joshua? You don’t mean Josh Whitcomb? +He wasn’t a real character. He was only—”</p> + +<p>“No, I mean the Biblical Joshua—fellow who +made the sun stand still. That’s what our +modern clock-fixers are trying to do. And as +the pioneer, the original inventor of the scheme, +a few views on his twentieth century imitators +ought to be interesting.”</p> + +<p>“Go to it. He can’t make the situation any +more confusing than it is already.”</p> + +<p>I found the ancient prophet reclining under +his own vine and fig tree, studying a brightly +colored seed catalogue. With alacrity he accepted +my invitation to talk for publication.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span></p> + +<p>“Daylight saving, eh?” he mused. “It’s odd +how you moderns never seem to get any ideas +of your own. Always the same old thing over +again. There’s nothing new under the sun. +And now you’re trying to beat old Tempus +Fidgets with what you imagine is a brand new +scheme, but really is older than Solomon’s +mother-in-law. What do you expect to get out +of it, anyway?”</p> + +<p>I started to explain how getting up an hour +earlier in the morning through putting the +clocks ahead gave us an additional hour of daylight +at the other end of the day, when the old +prophet cut in: “Just fooling yourselves, eh, +a great, big game of make-believe by grown-ups +in order to have a little more time for play? +You move the clock forward and pretend it’s an +hour later, by general agreement? Well, why +don’t you extend the idea while you’re about +it and apply it to other things besides clocks +and time?”</p> + +<p>“What, for instance, Mr. Joshua?”</p> + +<p>“Well, take the thermometer, an instrument +that’s been invented since my time. When I +lived on earth we never suffered much from +either heat or cold, because we hadn’t any +thermometers to tell us that we were uncomfortable. +If it were one hundred and ten in +the mighty scarce shade out on the desert, we<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span> +didn’t know it. Eighty-five or a hundred and +fifteen—it was all the same to us. We never +had any hot waves. There were no daily lists +of heat victims. The thermometer liar was +unknown. Nobody was initiated into the +Ananias Club for boasting that the thermometer +on his back porch hadn’t in fifteen years +varied a degree from the official weatherman’s. +We may have felt a little warmer under the +mantle some days than others, but we couldn’t +tell in degrees how uncomfortable we were, and +so we were spared a lot of suffering. It’s the +thermometer that makes you moderns take such +a morbid interest in the weather. If you hadn’t +any means of measuring the heat and the cold, +why, you wouldn’t care anything about them. +I was a prophet, but I never went so far as to +dare to prophesy the weather. I knew my limitations. +But your government guessers, backed +up by their thermometers, seem willing to take +any chances. Now, I suppose it’s too much to +expect you to abolish your worrisome thermometers +entirely, but why not take a hint +from your daylight saving business and tinkering +with the clock twice a year, and do a little +fixing of your thermometers?</p> + +<p>“For example? Well, for a beginning you +would have to adopt a new kind of thermometer +with changeable or removable figures. On April<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> +first of each year let everybody mark his thermometer +down ten degrees. That is to say, the +present figure ninety would be replaced by +eighty, and eighty by seventy, and so on. The +first hot spell would prove the practicability of +the device. The scheme is purely psychological, +of course, but so is daylight saving. Under the +old pessimistic thermometer, which has done +so much to encourage the Society for the Promotion +of Justifiable Profanity, the temperature, +we will say, would be eighty-five degrees +in the shade, provided you could find any. But +according to the marked-down thermometer it +would be only seventy-five, just warm enough +to sit comfortably on the front porch and smoke +your pipe and read the paper while your wife +was washing the dishes in the kitchen. Then in +mid-July along comes what, under the old +arrangement, would have been a regular +scorcher, with the mercury registering ninety-two +and all the meteorological Munchausens in +town down at the corner drugstore boasting +that their pet instruments were registering one +hundred and two plus, in the shade. But the +optimistic thermometer, operating under the +universal heat-saving law, would record only +eighty-two degrees. And everybody would be +comparatively cool and comfortable. In fact,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> +you would practically never have it ninety +degrees in your climate.</p> + +<p>“Think what that would mean to perspiring +humanity! For we all know how the thermometer +affects our feelings. And the optimistic thermometer +would work just as well in winter as +in summer. It would only be necessary to mark +it up ten extra degrees in October. Then you +would have mighty few zero days. The saving +in coal would be tremendous, for we all regulate +the heating apparatus by the thermometer instead +of the feelings. The optimistic thermometer +in winter would register seventy degrees +in the living room when the old-fashioned +instrument would have made it only sixty. Isn’t +that as sensible as daylight saving?”</p> + +<p>“It is certainly a novel idea, Mr. Joshua,” +I replied in a non-committal tone. “You seem +to be carrying out to the logical extreme the +Scriptural theory that as a man thinketh in his +heart so is he. Do you know of any other +practical application of the principle?”</p> + +<p>“It is capable of indefinite extension,” +responded the ancient prophet. “Take the +matter of people’s ages. Lots of folks are so +sensitive on the subject that it makes them +unhappy and others are discriminated against +in business or the professions because they +happen to be a year or two past an arbitrary<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span> +age limit and have a bit of gray in their hair. +Now, why not by common agreement let everybody +over the age of forty mark down his or +her age ten years? We are all as old, not as we +look or feel, but as we think we are. If we can +say it is only five o’clock when it’s six, then +we can assume we are only fifty years old when, +according to the strict, literal calculation, we +are really sixty. Let’s give psychology a +chance.”</p> + +<p>“Fine idea, Mr. Joshua. Make believe that +it’s an hour later or earlier than it is, that it is +ten degrees hotter or colder than it is, and that +we are all ten years younger than the record +says. We live largely in a world of self-delusion +anyway. That is what makes living endurable. +You would only carry the principle a little +farther, if I understand you. But there’s one +little device for human happiness I wish you +would add to the others.”</p> + +<p>“And that is?”</p> + +<p>“A barometer that will always predict fair +weather when I want to play golf Sunday morning +and rain if my wife wants me to go to +church.”</p> + +<p>But from the look the prophet gave me I saw +that Joshua couldn’t be joshed with impunity, +and leaping into my astral airplane I glided +back to good old terra firma.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="V">V<br> +<span class="smaller">KING SOLOMON’S FAMILY VACATION TRIP</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“My wife has just told me where we are +going to spend my summer vacation,” remarked +the city editor. “It’s been said that nothing +is absolutely certain in this world, but it’s as +sure as anything can be that I’m going to spend +my three weeks just where the missus tells me. +We never have any discussion on the subject +at our house—none of that mountains or seashore +business George Ade wrote about, ending +in a compromise on the wife’s favorite +mountains. But it’s always a relief when the +suspense is over and the annual announcement +by friend wife is made.</p> + +<p>“And that reminds me; how about an interview +with one of the shades on the modern +vacation, summer resorts and all that sort of +thing? Got anybody in mind for it? Noah? +No, that trip of his was no summer vacation +picnic. Suppose you ask Solomon how he +managed the annual vacation business with all +those wives of his. They tell me he was the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span> +wisest man that ever lived, and I’ll say he needed +to be?”</p> + +<p>I was gratified to find the shade of the former +monarch and much-married man not at all +averse to talking for publication. “You see,” +he observed with an apologetic smile, “I don’t +often get the opportunity to talk without being +interrupted. It’s quite refreshing to have an +appreciative, interested listener. Fortunately +you have come on the very day when the Wives +and Daughters of Solomon Association is holding +its annual convention, and the mothers-in-law +also are attending in their capacity of +honorary members. They haven’t the privilege +of voting—only of speaking from the floor—but +that’s quite satisfactory. They don’t care +where they speak from so long as they speak.</p> + +<p>“And so, as I have said, we can have a cozy +little chat. What did you want me to talk +about? Summer vacations? My boy, I could +tell you things about the trips I have taken in +my capacity as a multiple husband that would +dissuade you from matrimony ever after. But +I do not wish to relate all the harrowing details. +I’ll just give you a hint.</p> + +<p>“Well, to start at the beginning, during the +first few years of my married life the summer +vacation germ spared our happy home. But +as I gradually added more wives to my collection,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span> +an agitation was begun to get me to take +them away somewhere for the summer. The +wives began to find fault with the Jerusalem +climate.</p> + +<p>“They started to criticise what they called +the stuffy little rooms of the royal palace. They +suggested that other families were closing their +houses, or renting them furnished for the summer, +and going to the shore of the Mediterranean, +where resorts had sprung up that +advertised paradoxically cool breezes and a hot +old time. They made life so miserable for me +that finally one day, after a committee of wives +had presented the subject and threatened that +they would all go away to Mediterranean City +on their own hook if I didn’t consent, I yielded.</p> + +<p>“And then ensued such a season of preparation +as I hope I shall never have to go +through again. Four hundred new trunks +bought, four hundred new summer outfits +ordered. The palace as if by magic became +filled with seamstresses and fitters and millinery +architects and all sorts of strange women I had +never seen before. You couldn’t walk down the +front stairs without stumbling over a seamstress +or two.</p> + +<p>“The parlor, the living room, the library, all +seemed full of sewing societies. Perfect +strangers thronged the halls, their mouths full<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span> +of pins, and tape measures hung around their +necks.</p> + +<p>“And then, the night before we were to depart, +a special committee of wives called on me +to exhibit the standardized bathing suit they +had decided upon and get my official O. K. At +first I was inclined to criticise—and then I +reflected what a very, an exceedingly small +thing it was to quarrel about—and graciously +gave my consent.</p> + +<p>“The next day we left Jerusalem for Mediterranean +City. And we created some sensation. +I headed the procession, followed by +the Mesdames Solomon mounted on the four +hundred camels. Then came a detachment of +mothers-in-law on army mules (they were +invited to come in relays during the summer) +and the first instalment of the baggage train +brought up the rear.</p> + +<p>“The second instalment was to come next day +with the things the wives had forgotten and +sent back for. And other baggage trains were +to follow from time to time during the summer, +as needed.</p> + +<p>“We were several days upon the journey. +Before leaving I had not felt that I needed a +vacation, but before we finally arrived at Mediterranean +City I was ready for the rest cure.</p> + +<p>“You see, traveling in those days was not like<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span> +what it is now. A camel with shock absorbers +and air-cushion springs might be a comfortable +vehicle, I should imagine, but in his primitive +state a camel’s motion is quite different from +that of a limousine or a parlor car. Rubber +heels had not been invented or I would surely +have had our camels equipped with them.</p> + +<p>“We had to camp out along the roadside +several nights, and none of the wives were used +to that. And they did not hesitate to express +their feelings. We had started out with a goat +among our numerous menagerie, but at an early +stage of the proceedings he escaped into the +desert—doubtless in search of peace and quiet.</p> + +<p>“However, he was not missed. I took his +place. It was a rôle to which, in spite of my +royal rank, I was accustomed. Everything that +went wrong—and that meant practically everything +that happened from start to finish—was +blamed on me. I was even accused of having +planned and perpetrated the excursion, when I +had never had the slightest notion of leaving +Jerusalem until they suggested it. Finally my +patience was exhausted, and I up and told them +if they didn’t like it they could go to Jericho. +Then, as now, Jericho was far from being an +ideal place of summer residence, and their complaints +gradually ceased.</p> + +<p>“Well, we finally arrived at Mediterranean<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span> +City, and then our sorrows began in earnest. I +don’t know whether you have ever had any +practical experience with the Mediterranean +mosquito. I have never been quite able to forgive +Noah for bringing ’em into the ark. A reception +committee of these pests met us at the +city gate and escorted us to the Hotel Paymore—so +we were stung twice—when we arrived and +when we paid the bill on our departure.</p> + +<p>“The first hitch came when the clerk started +assigning the rooms. It seems there were only +some two hundred with an ocean view—and +four hundred wives demanding a room apiece. +The clerk threw up his hands and appealed to +me. He had heard of some puzzling problems I +had solved in my capacity as the world’s champion +wise man—I threw up my hands and appealed +to the proprietor. And he joined in the +pleasing indoor pastime, known as passing the +buck, by sending in a riot call for the police. +But they didn’t come. They were men of long +experience, and they knew better than to come +between man and wives.</p> + +<p>“The upshot was that we drew lots for the +first night, the arrangement after that being to +take turns occupying rooms with the ocean +view. As for myself, with my usual benign +disposition, I took a six-by-nine chamber—a +room commanding a splendid prospect of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> +great desert. But I had learned not to be too +particular.</p> + +<p>“I cannot say that I enjoyed my first and +only family summer vacation. Think of four +hundred wives wanting to be taken out rowing +every day! Think of being required to affix +wriggling angle-worms to four hundred separate +and distinct fish-hooks! I need not enter +into details. These samples are sufficient.</p> + +<p>“It is enough to say that after the regular +vacation period was over I was compelled, on +the advice of my chief physician, to enter the +Jerusalem Sanitarium and Rest Cure in order +to recuperate. It was ‘never again’ for me.</p> + +<p>“I hear there is some complaining today +among married men over having to take their +wives to the seashore or the mountains. But +they should pause to consider that their experience, +at worst, can be only one four-hundredth +as strenuous and wearing as was mine. I remember +the day we got back home to the palace +in Jerusalem. Every last one of those wives +was so glad to be back that she went up to her +room and had what she called ‘a good cry.’”</p> + +<p>“And what did you do, Your Majesty?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I went down cellar and took a smile.”</p> + +<p>And, notwithstanding my citizenship in the +dryest nation on earth, I felt that Solomon had +richly earned that spirituous solace.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="VI">VI<br> +<span class="smaller">BRIGHAM YOUNG ENDORSES WOMAN SUFFRAGE</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“I’ve got a job for you that’s some assignment. +You say <i>you</i> always have to suggest the +subjects for these interviews with the shades. +Well, here’s one for you that I thought of last +night all by myself. Interview Collector Brigham +Young on woman suffrage.”</p> + +<p>“Collector Young? I can’t quite recall on +the moment. Let’s see: what did he collect?”</p> + +<p>“Wives. Had one of the largest modern collections +on record. When they were young +used to call ’em his souvenir spoons. You may +have a tough time getting him to talk, but if +you succeed it ought to be hot stuff. I can +imagine what Brigham Young would think of +woman suffrage.”</p> + +<p>But my usually infallible city editor was +wrong on both points. Collector Young was +not averse to talking for publication, and his +views on woman suffrage were quite different +from those he might have been presumed to +hold.</p> + +<p>“Take a seat. Glad to see you,” he exclaimed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span> +with all the affability I had been accustomed to +receive during my adventures in interviewing +illustrious spirits. “Thought I mightn’t wish +to talk for publication? Why, I’ll talk for anything. +Mighty glad of the opportunity. I talk +now on the slightest provocation. Sometimes +when there’s nobody else to talk to I talk to +myself. Do you realize, young man, what it +was to have forty-nine wives, simultaneously, +and just about how much chance a husband had +to get in an occasional remark edgewise? And +as for getting the last word in a more or less +animated discussion! Why, it always looked as +if there never were going to be any last word.</p> + +<p>“But after my extensive and varied matrimonial +experience, as I have said, you can imagine +the amount of pent-up opinions, the quantity +of suppressed conversation I still have in +my system. For thirty-two years my principal +rôle in life was that of silent listener. Think of +having to sit still and listen to forty-nine separate +and distinct, and largely contradictory, reports +of the meeting of the Mount Zion Missionary +and Sewing Society! Think of listening +every Sunday afternoon to forty-nine individual +criticisms, chiefly destructive, of the +feminine fashions observed in the congregation! +Imagine the position of a so-called head of the +house who could never utter a word without<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span> +interrupting somebody or other! But the most +maddening experience I had to undergo was +when they all came down with the crocheting +craze at the same time—or else the knitting +mania—another form of feminine insanity—it’s +all one to me. When the spell was on they +wouldn’t talk to anyone else or let anyone +else talk to them. It put them out of their +count, they said. But they’d sit there in the +front parlor—the whole regiment of them—and +knit away, muttering some mysterious words to +themselves. And never condescending to explain +to a mere man what it was all about. They +declared that would be ‘casting purls before +swine.’ The click-click-click of the needles, +forty-nine pairs of them all going at once, +would sound like a knitting mill running full +blast. And they always knitted in the evening, +the time they insisted on my being at home. +Said it made them nervous to be left alone in +the house at night. Why, the forty-nine of +them could have talked an ordinary burglar to +death in half an hour and robbed him of his +tools. But they thought they ought to have a +man’s protection.”</p> + +<p>“That reminds me, Mr. Young, of something +I wanted to ask you before I knew you were +going to be so courteously communicative. You +will pardon me, I know, but I have often wondered<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span> +how certain things were managed in +such a-er-er—such a numerous establishment. +For instance, the average husband with only +one wife expects to be asked where he has been +when he returns home late at night, but if he +had forty-nine matrimonial partners, why, +er-er—”</p> + +<p>“You want to know whether they would all +ask him at once? No, sir. That wasn’t the +arrangement. We had committees for all such +matters. Otherwise there would have been intolerable +confusion. It would never have done +in the world. A husband might inadvertently +give twenty or thirty different—er-er—explanations +of his unavoidable tardiness, and then +when they got to comparing notes there would +have been trouble. As I have said, we had +committees. There was a committee on late +returns and excuses, a committee for seeing that +husband wore his rubbers to the office, a committee +for reminding him to get his hair cut, +a committee on new hats and gowns for summer +and other seasons, a committee to get him +to put on the screen doors in May, a committee +to remind him about birthdays one week in advance, +a committee for—oh, everything you can +imagine. It was like a Legislature or Congress—except +that instead of one there were forty-nine +Speakers in the House.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span></p> + +<p>“Very interesting, Mr. Young, I am sure. +But I was instructed to get your views on +woman suffrage. Do you approve of women +voting?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t quite like the form of your question. +Put it this way: do I object to women voting? +I do not, for two reasons: first, I know better, +after my extensive experience, than to object to +anything women want to do, since it can do no +good; and second, since women run things, anyway, +to suit themselves, the act of voting is +merely a symbol or ceremony of registration of +their power. They were the real rulers before +they got the ballot, and the vote isn’t going to +change the situation any. The only hitch I see +will come if the women can’t make up their +minds as to just what and whom they want to +vote for. I suppose in states where women +have never voted before there may be a little +trouble with those who have changed their +minds after casting their ballot and want to +get it back for a minute to add a postscript. +But on the whole I don’t see why any man—any +married one at least—should object to woman +suffrage. Since the average voter gets his +instructions from a political boss, anyway, it +might be more convenient to have that boss in +the family. Woman is assuming new duties and +responsibilities every day. The hand that used<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span> +to roll the baby carriage now rolls the cigarette.”</p> + +<p>“You have spoken, Mr. Young,” I remarked +as I rose to depart, “as if the wife were always +the ruler, the autocrat of the home. Are you +aware that the Census Bureau now officially +recognizes the husband as the head of the +house?”</p> + +<p>Brigham smiled sadly as he replied: “Yes; +but they only take a census once in ten years.”</p> + +<p>And I tiptoed silently from the pathetic presence +of one who had married not wisely, but too +much.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="VII">VII<br> +<span class="smaller">HIPPOCRATES ON MODERN DOCTORS</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“What did you say about a hip-pocket?” +queried the city editor suspiciously. “I want a +drink as much as any man, but since prohibition +arrived no camel has had anything on me. I +believe in respecting the law even if—”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t say anything about a hip-pocket,” +I cut in. “I said it might be a good scheme to +interview old Hippocrates, the Father of Medicine, +and find out what he thinks about modern +doctors and surgeons and professional etiquette +and whether times have improved any since he +was in active practice a couple of thousand +years ago. What do you think of the idea?”</p> + +<p>“Go to it,” responded the C. E., “but be +careful he doesn’t try to charge you ‘for professional +advice.’ Make him understand that +we’re doing the favor, not he. He ought to +be glad of the free advertising. He’ll say at +first he doesn’t want any publicity—it is unethical. +See if he doesn’t. These doctors are +all alike. I know ’em.”</p> + +<p>Much to my surprise the city editor’s cynical<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> +prediction was verified by my victim’s opening +remarks. “You want me to talk for <i>publication</i>, +young man?” said the Father of Medicine. +“You’re sure you’re not a representative of an +eastern publishing house who has been authorized +to place a few copies of a new encyclopedia +with a selected number of the most prominent +citizens, absolutely free of charge, on payment +of a dollar down and five dollars a month for +twenty years?”</p> + +<p>Somewhat mystified, I replied in the negative.</p> + +<p>“And you’re not demonstrating from purely +philanthropic motives—the only charge being +for packing and postage—a new tonic guaranteed +to make the baldest pate blossom into a +Paderewski?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, I’m not an agent of any kind. I +have nothing to sell.”</p> + +<p>“You are certain you are not promoting the +sale of a new absolutely talk-proof safety razor +for married men whose wives insist on conversing +while they are trying to shave themselves? +Or a new hip-pocket Testament holding one +pint? Or a machine for manufacturing cigars +at home, in anticipation of the next Great Reform? +Or a self-spelling typewriter for business +college graduates? You are not selling +stock in a gold mine in Iceland at fifty cents +par today, but price to be raised positively next<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span> +Monday at ten o’clock to a dollar and a half, +all shares guaranteed non-assessable and non-returnable? +You are not the agent for a combination +snow-shovel and lawn-mower, especially +designed for the North American climate, +transposable at a moment’s notice? You are +not selling diamond-studded coupon clippers for +profiteers or self-finding collar buttons, or—”</p> + +<p>“My dear sir, I have nothing to sell at all. +I am a reporter and I want—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, a reporter? Well, why didn’t you say +so at first, instead of causing all this confusion +and waste of breath? I’ve been so bothered +with agents of every sort lately that I can’t +sleep nights. I told one that the other day and +he pulled a bottle out of his bag and tried to +sell me an infallible cure for insomnia. I resolved +not to let another one into my house. +But you’re a reporter, eh? That’s a refreshing +novelty around here. Come in.</p> + +<p>“But you must know that I never talk for +publication. I have never done such a thing in +my entire professional career. It would be +entirely contrary to the ethics of my sacred +calling. Somebody might say I was trying to +advertise myself. You know doctors can’t be +too careful. We never advertise. We may occasionally +consent, under pressure, to the publication +of an item in the society column saying<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span> +that ‘Dr. Theophilus Sawbones of 52896 Arnica +Avenue has returned after a two weeks’ trip to +Atlantic City and resumed his practice.’ But +that isn’t advertising. That’s news. You never +see a surgeon, for instance, descending to the +low commercial plane of your merchants, and +announcing in a display advertisement: ‘Cut +rates all this week at Dr. Carvem’s. Now is +the time to get that appendix cut out. All +operations marked down. Special bargains in +tonsils.’</p> + +<p>“No, sir. We have an exalted code of ethics +in our profession, I am happy to say, dating +from the time when I founded the practice of +medicine. But if you are sure a few timely remarks +from me will not be misinterpreted and +regarded as an attempt on my part to get into +the limelight, I am at your service to the extent +of about a column and a half, offered for acceptance +at your regular rates, to be run next +reading matter.”</p> + +<p>“I am certain, doctor,” I responded, “that +the world will attribute no self-promoting motives +to one enjoying your long and honorable +reputation. Do you note many changes in the +practice of medicine since the days when you +were in the harness?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” responded Hippocrates as he +thoughtfully stroked his long beard, “there<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> +seem to be more different kinds of doctors nowadays +than we had in 400 B. C. We didn’t know +anything about specialists in our time. We +were not merely general practitioners; we were +universal practitioners.</p> + +<p>“Suppose, for instance, a prosperous citizen +of Athens had the gout, indigestion, corns, heart +murmur, rheumatism, torpidity of the liver and +clergyman’s sore throat—seven ailments in all. +He sent for me and I treated all his diseases at +the same time. While he had a combination of +diseases, we knew any good doctor would understand +the combination.</p> + +<p>“I felt his pulse, looked at his tongue, and +told him he was working too hard—just as one +of your modern doctors would do. It always +pleases a prosperous citizen to be told that he +is working too hard—and we aim to please. If +I thought he would like a trip somewhere, I +recommended a run over to Rome during the +Coliseum season. They used to have some +mighty good shows at the Coliseum. If he preferred +to take his vacation at home, then I +recommended a trip for his wife. I told him not +to eat so much and to take more exercise, and +to cut out the worry, and then collected my fee +of two drachmas, and went on to the next +vic—I mean, the next patient.</p> + +<p>“But take that same prosperous citizen today.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span> +How many specialists would he have to +call in before he could consider his case properly +attended to? Seven diseases, seven specialists, +you say? Oh, more than that. First thing +he’d have to send for the primary diagnostician, +if he wished to do it in thoroughly up-to-date +style. Well, the primary diagnostician would +come in to find out, first, what was the matter +with him. He looks the patient all over and +takes flash-light pictures of his interior, makes +a card index of all the things the matter with +him and then calls in his stenographer and dictates +a circular letter to a collection of specialists, +asking them to drop around at their leisure +and confirm his diagnoses. And do <i>they</i> proceed +then to treat the patient? Not for a minute. +They are the secondary diagnosticians. +Each has his specialty and wouldn’t dream of +encroaching on any other specialist’s territory. +The gout man looks only for gout—and he finds +what he is looking for. The indigestion expert +does the same—and it can’t escape his eagle +eye. It’s the same all down the line.</p> + +<p>“When the seven secondary diagnosticians +have finished their job the patient is presented +with seven neatly-inscribed charts, showing the +general plan and location of his various +troubles—and seven courteously worded communications<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span> +beginning with precisely the same +words: ‘For professional services to date.’</p> + +<p>“Now it’s time to call in the specialists who +administer the treatment. Seven more of ’em. +Why, nowadays the house of a rich man who’s +got something the matter with his insides looks +like the convention hall of the American Medical +Association during a well-attended session. +And that’s not all. You not only have to have a +different doctor for each disease, but a whole +lot of brand-new diseases we never heard of +in my time have been invented. Back in the +old days in Athens there were only about a +dozen ailments a fellow could acquire. If he +escaped these he never had to call in a doctor. +But today, as any specialist will tell you, there +are about fifty-seven varieties of throat trouble +alone. You can have eighty-six different things +the matter with your liver, while the various +kinds of indigestion, plain and fancy, would fill +a book. In our time, too, we did mighty little +tinkering with the human frame with tools and +things. We knew about the appendix, but we +failed to perceive its commercial possibilities. +We thought it had been put there for some wise +purpose—but it didn’t occur to us that it might +be a financial one. The price of a modern appendicitis +operation would have supported one<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span> +of our old Greek physicians in luxury for three +years.</p> + +<p>“It was the same with tonsils. We’d as soon +have thought of cutting off a man’s tongue as +taking out his tonsils. Every young doctor had +to take an oath—the <i>Hippocratic</i> oath, <i>I</i> called +it—that he would give everybody the benefit of +his services without regard to money. Nowadays +if doctors take the oath I presume a good +many of them keep their fingers crossed. I agree +that when a doctor is called out of his bed in +the middle of the night, to treat an old fellow +who is suffering from nothing except fatty degeneration +of the pocketbook, it’s quite a temptation +to relieve him of a substantial share of +that trouble. Some folk think they aren’t getting +full attention unless they are charged +enough to make them feel it in the pocket nerve. +Increased wages of workingmen are bound to +enlarge the number of millionaire medicos.”</p> + +<p>“So, you think, Doctor, the practice of medicine +has become somewhat commercialized since +your day?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no. Not at all. I did not wish to reflect +on my successors. That would not be professional. +I’m simply sorry that back in 400 +B. C. we were not alive to our opportunities. +Think of our allowing Croesus, the richest man<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span> +that ever lived, to go around with his appendix +intact! Why, I sat up with him all one night +when he had acute inflammation of the imagination +and thought he saw pink Egyptian crocodiles +crawling up the window-shades, and only +charged him two dollars!</p> + +<p>“No, understand me. I’m not finding fault +with the twentieth century doctors. I’m only +envious of their opportunities. Your modern +doctor dashes around town in his automobile +and calls on twenty patients a day. I had an +old ox team, non-self-starting, that couldn’t +take the smallest hill on high and had a maximum +speed on the level of two miles an hour. +While I was attending a patient at one end of +Athens a patient at the other end had time to +get well without my assistance. That was discouraging +to any young fellow just as his practice +and professional beard were beginning to +grow. And nowadays they tell me you have +allopaths, and homeopaths and osteopaths—but +you must remember that all paths lead to the +grave.”</p> + +<p>“Why is that last joke just like you, Doctor?” +I interposed in self-defense.</p> + +<p>“I give it up. Why is it?”</p> + +<p>“Because it dates from at least 400 B. C.”</p> + +<p>And the look Hippocrates gave in return<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span> +made me thankful he wasn’t my family doctor. +I knew he would rejoice to write me a prescription +of ten grains of strychnine, three times a +day, to be taken before meals.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII">VIII<br> +<span class="smaller">METHUSELAH GIVES LONGEVITY SECRETS</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>It’s odd how often in interviewing the old-timers +and ancient shades one’s preconceived +ideas get a jolt. In my mind’s eye I had a +vision of Methuselah, for instance, as an antediluvian +figure with a Santa Claus beard and a +general air of decrepitude. The door was +opened in response to my ring by a smartly +dressed, smooth-shaven individual, who certainly +looked as if the burden of age sat lightly +upon his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“I should like to see Mr. Methuselah,” I said. +“That is, if he is able to see callers today. If +he’s having his nap, or not feeling very spry +this morning, I can come again.”</p> + +<p>“Come again? I guess not. You see me +right now. I was going over to the Olympus +Club to play a round of golf, but I’ll be glad to +give you half an hour. Walk right in. What +can I do for you?”</p> + +<p>“My city editor wanted an interview on how +to attain long life, but I must have got hold of +the wrong Mr. Methuselah. I want the one who<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span> +lived nine hundred and sixty-nine years, the +world’s champion oldest inhabitant. Surely +you’re not—”</p> + +<p>“I’ll say I am. I’m the only original, the +guaranteed nine-times-centenarian and then +some. I know what you expected to see: an +old fossil with snowy whiskers and numerous +wrinkles, walking with a couple of canes and +dressed in a single garment like an old-fashioned +nightshirt. You were prepared to +have me give my reminiscences, to wheeze out, +between painful breaths, that the old days were +far better than anything we have now, to roast +the younger generation, and wind up by attributing +my longevity to abstaining from booze +and the use of tobacco in any form. You were +all ready to put down that I can read fine print +without glasses and can remember events of +nine hundred and fifty years ago as if they happened +only yesterday. Oh, I know you newspaper +fellows and I’ve read so many interviews +with centenarians I could write one myself with +my eyes shut. My advice to anybody who wants +to live to be a hundred, to say nothing of nine +hundred and sixty-nine, is, ‘Don’t.’ And as for +reminiscences, my motto is, ‘Forget it.’ I +haven’t any very happy recollections of my +long-drawn-out stay on earth. Existence is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span> +pleasant, but it is possible to have entirely too +much of a good thing.</p> + +<p>“Take our married life, for instance. At +the start everybody said it was a regular love +story. But even a love story that stretches +out into a serial of over nine hundred chapters +gets a trifle monotonous. You’ve never heard +of Mrs. M. She wouldn’t tell her age even to +get her name into the Bible. I remember when +they first started taking the census. The census +taker came to our house and camped out three +years. Couldn’t get all the facts of our family +any other way. And we had to board him all +that time. Well, his wife’s sister belonged to +the Daughters of Eve Foreign Missionary Society, +the same one my wife did, and Mrs. M. +said she just knew that if she gave her age, +why, that mean old thing would know it within +half an hour, and it would be all around town before +the day was over. And she just wouldn’t +give it. I gave him all the dope about the other +members of the family, my great-great-great-etc.-grandchildren +and the close relations on my +wife’s side who’d been living with us for three +hundred and fifty years (close was no name for +it), but I balked when it came to the question +of Mrs. M.’s age. The fact was, she was only +about four hundred and twenty-five, or thereabouts, +at the time, but you know how women<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> +are—so blamed sensitive about something that +men are proud of—and so I told him to go and +get the information from headquarters.</p> + +<p>“Well, it happened to be a bad combination +that day. It was wash-day, and the cook had +just left, after being with us for a hundred and +eighty years, and quite a number of the children +had the measles and the whooping cough +and one thing another, and Mrs. M. happened +to have a mop in her hand at the time, and—But +here I am reminiscing away and I said I +wouldn’t. Let’s get back to business. What did +you want me to talk about?”</p> + +<p>“I’d like you to explain how you’ve kept so +young-looking and feeling after all these +years.”</p> + +<p>“That’s easy. I’m just following the new +policy of you folks down below and carrying +it out to its logical extreme. The modern idea +is to regard age as merely a state of mind. +Simply refuse to grow old and you’ll find it’s +easy enough to stay young. Is your hair getting +gray? Never say dye. Is your hair falling out? +Get it bobbed. Don’t try camouflaging your +face, but keep young inside. Joshua has the +right dope: let’s have some lifetime saving. +Half a century ago a man was old at forty and +a woman put on a cap and sat in the chimney +corner when she turned thirty. A girl was an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span> +old maid at twenty-five. Today you think +there’s something wrong with a grandmother +who can’t jazz and nobody knows the meaning +of ‘declining years.’ And nobody is too +old to decline a cigarette or a dance. They +used to say a man ought to retire at seventy. +Now it’s hard to get him to retire at midnight, +if there’s a good show left in town. Folks are +just beginning to enjoy life at sixty.</p> + +<p>“All I’ve done is to follow you folk’s example +and refuse to be old at nine hundred and sixty-nine. +If I can do it, everybody can. How does +this jibe with my advice not to try to live to +be a hundred, you may ask. That’s perfectly +consistent. The way to live long is not to bother +about it. I wouldn’t have been five hundred +if I’d tried to keep up with the advice of all +the insurance experts. I speak from experience. +Take the ‘no breakfast’ cranks, for instance. +I went without breakfast for one hundred +and twenty-five years and I didn’t know +what was the matter with me. Then I tried +taking a couple of pounds of beefsteak and half +a dozen baked potatoes before breakfast every +morning, and I felt like a new man. Then, once +at the beginning of a century—I forget which +one—Mrs. M. got me to swear off on tobacco +for a hundred years. We used to make our so-called +good resolutions at the start of a century,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span> +not of a year, the way you do. The first hundred +years may be the hardest, she said, but +‘see how much better you’ll feel.’ Well, I stuck +it out about sixty years, and then the whole +family came around and besought me on bended +knee to go back to hitting the pipe. They said +life in our once happy home was getting to resemble +a bear garden or a peace conference or +a free-for-all prize fight. Better to smoke than +to fume. And so I got out the old pipe and +smoked up for another six hundred years.</p> + +<p>“I wish I’d kept a card index of all the health +fads I’ve seen come and go. Once the vegetarians +had their inning. Somebody said the +secret of health was to eat nothing but onions. +It would have been pretty hard to keep the +secret. Then we were told to eat only fruit. +And once all the cranks decided on an exclusive +diet of nuts—sort of cannibalistic when +you come to think of it. One winter they said +we’d all be healthier with the minimum of underwear—the +short and simple flannels of the +poor. Another rule for living long was to +almost freeze yourself every morning taking a +cold bath—I remember one winter I qualified +for a zero medal. I ate baled hay and fried sawdust +and all sorts of breakfast foods for two or +three centuries, under the impression that they +were the elixirs of eternal youth, and then one<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span> +day I found I was getting so weak and wobbly +on my pins I cut ’em all out and went back to a +good dose of real food, three times a day, to be +taken at mealtime. I quit the fads and fancies, +ate everything that came my way and let ’em +fight it out among themselves. And I broke +the world’s record for dodging the undertaker.</p> + +<p>“But, as I remarked before, I can’t say I’d +advise anybody to try to be even a single centenarian, +to say nothing of scoring nine. Think +of paying for nine hundred birthday presents +your wife gave you, not to mention several thousand +contributed by the children and grandchildren +and other descendants. Why, one +birthday I got ninety-three pairs of slippers, +most of ’em, of course, a size too small—must +have thought I was a centipede. Then there’s +a good deal of competition among centenarians, +and that leads to jealousy and hard feelings. +For instance, I’d always predicted the weather +by my rheumatiz (although I could never tell +when there was going to be a storm at home). +I got quite a reputation by it. And then an upstart +centenarian over at Ararat, a young fellow +only about three hundred years old, claimed +it always rained when his corns hurt him—or +the other way round—and took away about half +my visitors. He boasted that he had a set of +infallible corns, and every morning he’d get<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span> +out a bulletin such as ‘Fair and warmer,’ or +‘Cold weather with snow.’ A regular fakir, he +was. Honest folk just considered him one of +those excess prophets. But he seemed to guess +right about fifty per cent of the time, and when +he was wrong people gave him credit for his +good intentions. His whole stock in trade was +his corns. Any good chiropodist could have reduced +him to bankruptcy in five minutes. But +he put up a bluff and got away with it and made +folks think he was the real Oldest Inhabitant.”</p> + +<p>“One more question, Mr. Methuselah: how +do you account for the fact that folks lived so +much longer in your time than they do nowadays?”</p> + +<p>“Well, there were no automobiles and telephones +and germ theories, and revenue officers +and apartment houses and phonographs +and piano-players and rolled hose and alarm +clocks and table d’hôte dinners, for one thing, +and for another, we didn’t try to compress five +hundred years of living into a fifty years’ existence. +We didn’t cover any more distance +over the highway of life than you moderns do, +but we took more time to do it in. We walked +instead of ran, and picked flowers along the +wayside and paused now and then to admire the +scenery. And rich or poor, young or old, we +got out of life exactly what you do—a living.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> +And now I must ask you to excuse me. I +promised to play nine holes with Noah before +luncheon. How would you like to carry my golf +sticks?”</p> + +<p>I respectfully declined, pleading a previous +engagement. I have played many rôles in my +time, as a reporter, but I felt I must draw the +line at caddying for Methuselah.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="IX">IX<br> +<span class="smaller">JESSE JAMES TALKS ON TIPPING</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>On receiving the city editor’s assignment to +interview the shade of Jesse James on the tipping +custom, I carefully removed my watch, +purse and scarfpin and left them in my desk, +for even my brief experience with dwellers in +the astral region had taught me that they +haven’t greatly changed their habits and modes +of living since their departure from earthly +scenes, and I couldn’t afford to run any risk. +But I soon found that I needn’t have taken the +precaution, for in almost his first words the +famous bandit and all-round bad man showed +me that he had thoroughly reformed.</p> + +<p>“Want me to talk about tipping, eh?” he +growled. “Well, I throw up my hands. I’m +through with the bandit business. I’m a has-been, +a second-rater, and I don’t mind admittin’ +it. I suppose you know that we shades go back +to earth now and then to see how things are +comin’ along, take a hand in ’em, too, if we +feel like it. Sometimes we play one-night +stands for the mejums. Captain Kidd had a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span> +job all last season at a kind of continuous performance +seance in Boston. Took all sorts of +parts, from Julius Cæsar to Andrew Jackson. +One night he was materializin’ as John Bunyun, +and he couldn’t find his chewin’ tobacco or +something, and he kind o’ forgot himself and +he used the particular brand of language that +Bunyun didn’t and—well, that ended the Massachusetts +engagement. We don’t all go in for +performin’. Personally, I prefer just to go +around the old places and mix in with the +crowds and compare old times to these, but I’m +not going back again for a while. My last trip +was a little too much for me. I got a shock and +I guess I need a good long rest.</p> + +<p>“I’d heard considerable about this tipping +business, pro and con, but I thought it just +meant slippin’ the colored waiter a nickel if he +happened to be extra spry and accommodatin’. +That’s the way it used to be out in Missouri +back in seventy-nine. But tipping today! +Yours truly and his gang was called bandits, +and train robbers, and highwaymen, and I don’t +know what all, when we was carryin’ on our +profitable little business of forty years ago, but +we had nothing on the members of the Amalgamated +Association of Tip Extractors of 1922. +We were pikers, that’s all, plain, everyday +pikers. We had no organization, no system, no<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span> +nothing. It was just about the difference between +running a peanut stand and a billion-dollar +trust. I suppose if we were operatin’ +today with our old gang we’d have a cash register +and an addin’ machine and a private telephone +exchange and a card index of past and +prospective customers and a publicity department, +to see that the papers got our names and +pictures straight. But, shucks! Even then we +couldn’t compete with the great national hold-up +game that’s going on all the time. On that +last trip down below I was never so discouraged +and humiliated in my life. I sat in a hotel +restaurant and watched a head waiter at work. +From the professional standpoint it was beautiful. +Nothing could have been more artistic. +But it made me feel blue, made me realize how +I had neglected my opportunities. There he +stood, no mask on his face, no gun in his hand, +dressed in a swallowtail and biled shirt, takin’ +toll so fast he hadn’t time to count it. Everybody +gave up, without a murmur. And the next +day, too, he was there at the same old stand, as +if there wasn’t any such thing as a sheriff +within fifty miles. No look-out men on guard, +no disguise, no frisking the victims for concealed +weapons. The folks just handin’ out the +coin as meek as lambs. It was a revelation to +me. In the old days we never stayed two days<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span> +in the same place, nor two hours neither, believe +me. But somebody said that head waiter had +been on that same job for fifteen years. Fifteen +years! I’d have owned the state of Missouri if +they’d let me alone that long.</p> + +<p>“It made me positively sick to see how the +hold-up boys are getting away with it so easy +these days, and a friend recommended an ocean +trip. ‘Take a run over to Europe and back,’ he +says. ‘You’ve never been to sea and it’ll do you +good.’ The day I boarded the boat I asked a +stranger who had the next cell to put me wise to +this tipping business, because I wanted to do +the right thing. ‘Five dollars to your stateroom +steward,’ he said, ‘and five to the saloon +steward.’ ‘I don’t drink any more,’ I said. +‘Saloon means dining room.’ ‘Oh, all right,’ I +said. ‘And two-fifty to the deck steward and +the same to the library steward. The smoke +room steward will expect a couple of dollars and +the boy who blacks your boots about one-fifty. +Bath steward, two dollars. Card room steward, +one dollar. And of course you’ll tip the barber +and anyone else who does you a service.’</p> + +<p>“Going into the washroom, the first sign I +saw read: ‘Please tip the basin.’ And I walked +right out and went to bed for two days. The +waiter brought in all my meals—a dollar tip a +meal. When I had recovered enough to sit on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span> +deck in one of them overgrown Morris chairs, +I couldn’t get that tipping idea out of my head. +A friend introduced me to a fat fellow in uniform. +I didn’t catch the name, but automatically +handed him fifty cents and then learned +that he was the captain. The day we arrived at +Liverpool the passengers were all drawn up on +deck and so were the pirates—excuse me, I +mean the crew. Then came the ringing words +of command: ‘Present alms!’ And we handed +over all the coin we had left. I only wished +Captain Kidd had been there. He’d have learned +something new about his old game.</p> + +<p>“I confess I had thought some of going back +into the hold-up business, just to keep my hand +in, but never again now. Too much competition, +and I’m too old to learn new ways. Good-bye, +young man, and if you want to say a good word +for an old man who never did you any harm, +put this in your article:</p> + +<p>“‘Jesse James may have had his faults, but +he was different from some of the folks who are +now carrying on the business—he never robbed +the same man twice.’”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="X">X<br> +<span class="smaller">SHAKESPEARE MENTIONS MOVIES</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>The thought of interviewing a gentlemanly +genius like William Shakespeare after stacking +up against such remote and formidable characters +as Bluebeard, Brigham Young and Jesse +James was most refreshing, though it took some +nerve after all to tackle the world’s champion +dramatic poet. I had feared he might be slightly +disinclined to talk, not being familiar with +the ways of modern journalism, but I was +speedily set at ease on that point.</p> + +<p>“Not talk for publication?” said the shade +of Shakespeare, as he resumed his seat in his +Morris chair upon my entrance, and tried to +look like his pictures. “Not talk for publication? +Did you ever know an actor, playwright +or a poet who wouldn’t? And I’ve been all +three, and a theatrical manager thrown in. It’s +quite a while since I trod the boards, or walked +the ties, but I’ve managed to keep fairly in +touch with the times from frequent trips down +below to oblige my mediumistic friends. +There’s a great boom on just now. I could get<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span> +an engagement every night in the week, and a +pair of matinées, if I cared to perform. But +there’s nothing in it. If they’d let me perform +in my own plays it would be different. But +there’s not much demand for them, it seems. +All they’ll let me do is play the tambourine in +a dark cabinet and scribble on slates and turn +tables—just vaudeville I call it. And I see +they’re beginning to censor my plays and cut +out all references to booze on account of the +new prohibition law. They made one of my +actors quit giving the line: ‘I can call spirits +from the vasty deep.’ Said it gave a wrong impression +and tantalized men in the audience +who thought the speaker was referring to his +private stock down cellar. Well, all the world’s +a stage—and the last time I was down I noticed +most of the girls seemed to believe in making +up for their parts. Talk about fresh paint!</p> + +<p>“But you wished me to compare modern +theatrical conditions with those of my day. +This is an age of specialists, but as I have said, +when I was on earth, ‘One man in his time plays +many parts.’ I used to write a play, hire a +company, rehearse it, take the leading part myself, +sell tickets at the door, usher, beat the +bass drum, fill the lamps and sweep out. I’ve +died on the stage and two minutes later gone +up into the top gallery to bounce a couple of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> +rowdies. But we were all trained to versatility +in those days. No women were allowed to act, +you know. You can’t imagine how nice and +peaceful it was in our companies. Nobody ever +threatened to quit because the type of his name +on the posters was an eighth of an inch smaller +than somebody else’s. Nobody ever cried all +over the stage because somebody made disparaging +remarks about his complexion or said his +teeth showed he was ten years older than he +claimed. But there were disadvantages, too, +from the absence of the girls. Men had to take +feminine parts. And you take an Ophelia, for +instance, who chews tobacco and is drunk half +the time, and it’s hard to invest the part with +the genuine pathos it demands. I remember one +time I hired a tall, gawky youth to play the part +of Desdemona. He was all right the first week, +but after that his voice suddenly began changing, +and it sounded like a phonograph record +that’s had a fall and got twisted. A Desdemona +with a deep bass voice that switches to a shrill +soprano without warning and then back again +to the husky rumbling in the space of thirty +seconds is bound to incur adverse criticism.</p> + +<p>“I once had a Lady Macbeth, too, who had a +habit of smoking his pipe behind the scenes +while waiting for his cue. And one time, when +he got the call, he absent-mindedly forgot to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span> +put his pipe away. It is entirely contrary to +tradition for Lady Macbeth to smoke a pipe in +the sleep-walking scene, and I had to dispense +with his services the next Saturday night. And +barring absent-mindedness, he was the best +Lady Macbeth I ever had, too. I suppose our +performances were pretty bum. But there were +no daily newspaper dramatic critics then, and +we didn’t know how rotten we were. Ignorance +was bliss, both for us and for our audiences. +We were handicapped, also, by lack of scenery. +Our property man had a sinecure. The only +‘set’ we had consisted of a couple of kitchen +chairs and a tin pan—the latter for the thunder. +We used the chairs for thrones or mossy banks +or anything else that happened to be needed. +The audience had to picture the rest of the +scenery. There was no curtain and the orchestra +consisted of one performer. That insured +harmony in the orchestra. Our equipment +was ahead of your modern companies in +only one respect: that of costumes. We always +had plenty of costumes, such as they were. The +last time I was down below I attended a musical +comedy performance, and I was pained to observe +how badly handicapped the management +was in the matter of costumes. There weren’t +half enough to go around. And the thermometer +was below zero, too. As I said, we always<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> +had enough costumes, because we used the same +ones in every performance. Everybody, from +Romeo to old King Lear, wore an antiquated red +bathrobe and slippers. At least we managed +to keep warm. Unlike your modern managers, +we never had to hang out the ‘Standing room +only’ sign. Nobody would have gone if he +couldn’t get a seat. But I’ve been told that +nowadays theater audiences will stand for anything. +I can believe it after seeing some of your +plays. As I have remarked in one of my own +compositions, ‘Sweet are the uses of advertisements.’</p> + +<p>“But to return to our discussion. The present +generation has witnessed a wonderful addition +to the dramatic art. I refer to the moving +pictures. You thought I wouldn’t be for +them? I am. I think they’re wonderful. I +only wish we’d had them in my day. I’d have +been able to retire about ten years sooner. +You see, the highest salary I ever got was about +twenty-five a week, and out of that I had to pay +my board and traveling expenses—everything +but hauling trunks to the hotel. Then I went +into the producing game and did a little better. +But even then, some Saturday nights, the ghost +didn’t walk—except the one in Hamlet. I understand +the average salary of a modern moving +picture actor is a million dollars a year and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span> +accident insurance. Newcomers learning the +business draw down nominal pay of five thou’ a +week. Small my-lord-the-carriage-waits parts +get only two thousand a week, and so on down +to the supes and scene-shifters and deckhands +struggling to support their families on a hundred +or so a day. I figure that the salary of a +first-class movie actor for one year would have +supported in luxury all the actors of my day +for their entire lifetimes. And they’d have +saved money. In my day an actor was about +the next thing to a professional pauper. Like +the dentist, he eked out a hand-to-mouth existence, +but unlike the dentist he didn’t often have +the opportunity of filling an aching void—his +stomach. Life was just one bill collector after +another. When anybody was needed to play +the rôle of the half-starved apothecary in +Romeo and Juliet there was no trouble finding a +fellow who looked the part. There was always +a rush of volunteers for the banquet scenes—if +real food was provided. But I don’t begrudge +your modern actors their prosperity. I only +wish the stuff had been handed around a little +earlier. That’s all.”</p> + +<p>“Are you so enthusiastic over the movies, +Mr. Shakespeare, that you like to have them +produce your own plays? Or is that sacrilege?”</p> + +<p>“I’d like to have my plays in the movies if<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span> +they’d produce them properly. But what makes +me sore is to have them leave out all the pep. +When a play is transferred from the book or +the stage to the movie, certain necessary +changes should be made. The first requirement +of the picture play is action. There’s no place +for talk. Now, if they’re going to have my +plays in the movies, I wish they’d popularize +’em. For instance, in my day there wasn’t an +actor who knew how to throw a pie. Nobody +could fire a pistol without ever taking aim—the +way the movie actors do it. I hate to see my +plays fail just for lack of a few pies and pistols, +artistically handled. When one of my productions +is put on the screen they engage some +long-faced tragedian who’s immersed in great +gobs of gloom all the time—some impressive individual +with a St. Bernard voice that’s entirely +wasted in the movies. What I say is: get somebody +like Charlie Chaplin for Romeo and Mary +Pickford for Juliet, Mary Carr or Nazimova +for the nurse, and put some punch into it. +Take Hamlet: imagine Ben Turpin and his fat +side kick as grave diggers! What a rattling +good duel Doug Fairbanks and Bill Hart could +pull off with pistols at forty paces! If they’re +going to have my plays in the movies, then have +movie actors give them; that’s all I say. And<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span> +make them real movie plays while they’re about +it.”</p> + +<p>“One question more, Mr. Shakespeare. You +have described most graphically the seven ages +of man. In view of femininity’s wonderful +progress, could you not give me a parting +message on the ages of woman?”</p> + +<p>The great dramatist pondered deeply for a +moment and then replied in an impressive tone. +“Woman has only two ages nowadays,” he said +with a sigh. “Her real one and the one she +uses to vote.”</p> + +<p>His air of finality showed me that our interview +was at an end.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XI">XI<br> +<span class="smaller">ADAM CONDEMNS FEMININE FASHIONS</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>I had been assigned to interview Eve on the +feminine fashions of 1922, but the maid said she +was out, and so I had to fall back on old Adam +instead. I approached the father of the race +not without diffidence, feeling so painfully +young and fearing he would not care to talk +for publication, but his opening remarks set me +entirely at ease.</p> + +<p>“Not care to be quoted!” he exclaimed. “I’m +mighty glad of the opportunity. I don’t have +one so often, now that Eve stays home so much. +You see, she calls only on people of the first +families, and they’re not very numerous around +here. The neighbors say she gives herself airs, +and so they don’t call on her. It’s been a lasting +source of grief that she’s ineligible to join +the Daughters of anything. She arrived too +early on the scene. It used to be awfully galling +to her to hear the women all talking about their +family trees and boasting of their ancestors, +and swapping lies about what their great-great-grandfathers +said to George Washington at the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> +battle of San Juan Hill, or whatever it was, and +giving an expurgated edition of what George +Washington said to Lord Cornwallis, as handed +down to posterity in the family records. Eve +used to sit in a corner and weep while the +Daughters of the Mexican Revolutions or the +Granddaughters of Russian Independence (to +be eligible for the latter you must have an ancestor +who shot at least one grand duke, five assassinations +making you an ace; and if your +relative happened to pot a Czar your social +position is assured forever) were spinning +their yarns and trying to make each other +jealous. But now she’s organized a new society, +the Mothers of Humanity, and she’s president, +secretary, treasurer and chairman of the +committee on membership. She’s away this +afternoon calling on Mrs. Methuselah and +they’re trying to get up some scheme that will +induce all the women they want to blackball to +apply for membership.</p> + +<p>“Yes, poor Eve has had a pretty hard time +right from the start, and I don’t believe her +descendants have appreciated what she did for +them. I’ll say this for her: she’s been as true +as steel, even if she hasn’t always kept her +temper so well. It’s a fact that after that first +little unpleasantness she always kept a broomstick +handy for any peddler who might come<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span> +along trying to sell ‘nice eating apples,’ but +consider the provocation! There we were, nicely +settled in the garden, no work, nothing to do +but step out in the yard and help ourselves to +all the fruit and vegetables in sight. All the +trees and vines were of the self-cultivating variety. +We’d never even heard of the high cost +of living. No family to support. No neighbors +to scrap with. No money, and no pockets to put +it in if we had had, but, glorious thought! No +bills to pay. We had our little disagreements, +of course. The first day she arrived, Eve said +I’d been doing the dishes the wrong way, letting +’em all go until the end of the month and +then turning the hose on ’em out in the front +yard; she insisted on washing ’em after every +meal. But, as I said, who was there to know +the difference? She had to learn the names of +all the animals, and she was especially glad to +hear about the bear, so that she could tell me +what I was as-cross-as when I got the grip that +first winter.</p> + +<p>“Yes, life is real and wife is earnest, but, as I +said, ours was very happy. The first quarrel? +I don’t know that I remember just what it was +about. I recall a dispute over Eve’s new bathing +suit, which was intensified by my innocent +remark that it was an exceedingly small thing +to quarrel about, but I think our initial serious<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span> +disagreement occurred when I respectfully declined +to go into hysterics over Cain’s first +tooth.</p> + +<p>“And this reminds me: our first social event +in Eden was little Cain’s inaugural bawl. I’m +sure you’ll pardon me for getting that off my +mind at this stage of the interview. If I tried +that joke on Eve once I tried it fifty times, and +every time I was met by the same blank stare. +I’ve been waiting seven thousand years to tell +it to somebody who would appreciate it. Thank +you for smiling. I was the originator of the +saying that women have no sense of humor. +Man was made to mourn, and he never realizes +it so keenly as when he hears a woman try to +tell a funny story. I could talk to you all day +about Eve, the only girl I ever loved—because +there wasn’t any other. It didn’t take us long +to get out of the Garden that time—principally +because Eve didn’t have to wait to dress. Today +it would be a different story. If clothes +had been in vogue in the year one I suppose I +might have waited two hours down in the front +hall while Eve was getting ready and packing +the trunks—and then probably I’d have had to +go back two or three times for something she +thought she’d forgotten after we got outside. +Well, what I started to say was that little Eve +bore up bravely under her misfortunes. She put<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span> +up a splendid bluff. I’ll say that for her. Why, +do you know, instead of sitting down and bewailing +her hard fate after being put out of the +Garden, she actually gave a coming out party! +I certainly admired her nerve, one day, when I +overheard her telling the new neighbors that +Eden was all very well for young couples just +starting housekeeping, but the neighborhood +was getting so crowded and it was so near the +zoo that we just really had to move. And then +she remarked that she had never been able to +get me to take enough exercise anyway and she +thought gardening would now be just fine for +me. It takes a woman to carry a thing off like +that. Women are the world’s champion bluffers +and yet we men think we know how to play +poker. Why—”</p> + +<p>“Excuse me, Mr. Adam, but I was asked to +get an interview on feminine fashions of 1922, +and whether you think they have changed for +the better.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, beg pardon, I’m sure. But when I get +talking about Eve my tongue runs away with +me. I suppose all married men are that way. +It’s so delightful sometimes to have the chance +of talking without feeling that you’re interrupting +anybody. Feminine fashions, eh? Well, +I’ve seen some changes in the last seven +thousand years. I thought nothing could shock<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span> +me any more, but I’ve had a few stiff jolts the +last few months. I guess I’m not as strong as +I used to be. Back in the old days, in the +garden, fashions weren’t so much. That was +before the trouble, but after we moved, plain, +simple fig-leaves became passée, hopelessly old-fashioned +and out-of-date. I read a book the +other day entitled ‘How to Dress on Nothing +a Year.’ That described our case exactly, in the +early, happy, carefree days. There wasn’t a +dressmaker in the world. If anybody had +mentioned the word ‘modiste’ I’d have thought +it was some new kind of animal I’d overlooked +in taking the census. I wouldn’t have known +what he meant. Ever have a sewing woman +come to your house and stay a week at a time +and always sit down with the family at table +and be a damper on the conversation? Well, +that’s one trouble we never experienced. Eve +never came home from a walk in the woods +and remarked carelessly that she’d just seen +a hat downtown that could be bought for a +song, and then it turned out that the song was +‘Old Hundred.’ Not for a minute. Nobody gave +a hang in those days what others might be +wearing as the latest style. We knew they +might wear more, but they couldn’t well wear +any less. When anybody wanted a Spring or +Fall outfit, all he had to do was to go out in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span> +the woods and pick a new suit off a tree. If you +were getting a bit shabby and resolved to dress +better in the future, you just turned over a new +leaf.</p> + +<p>“Then came moving day, and what a change! +First crack out of the box the girls all began +clamoring for clothes, real clothes. I remember +one hot day—the thermometer would have been +registering about ninety-five, if there had been +one—the girls all set up a howl for furs—furs, +mind you, with the sun hot enough to boil a +cold storage egg. I tried to reason with ’em. +‘You don’t mean furs,’ I said, ‘you mean bathing +suits or peek-aboo waists or mosquito netting. +This is summer, the hottest weather +since the year one. The heat has affected your +brains. Go take a swim in the Euphrates and +cool off.’ But they insisted that they knew +what they were talking about, and so there was +nothing for it but I must shoulder my old club +and go off and kill a bear and a couple of foxes +and a mink and fit ’em all out with a set of furs +to wear while most folks were busy trying to +dodge sunstrokes. That was the start, I believe, +of this modern movement of the girls, wrapping +themselves up in ‘summer furs’ just as +soon as the weather gets hot enough. That next +winter Eve and the girls started going around +in the snow and ice in low shoes and short,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span> +open-work stockings and wish-bone waists and +pneumonia sleeves, and defying the doctors. +And that’s the worst of it, that’s what makes +me mad. The girls do defy every last rule of +health when it comes to dress and get away +with it. The strongest man that ever lived +couldn’t do it without a call from the undertaker, +but the girls seem to thrive on their +foolishness.</p> + +<p>“The fashions of 1922! Well, looking at +them pro and con, without blinders or smoked +glasses or anything at all, I may say that they +have nothing on the fashions of the year one. +And the fashions of the year one (I am merely +stating the naked truth) had nothing on anybody. +One word more, and I trust you are +strong enough to stand it: It’s all right for +the women to be eager rivals, but they ought +to draw the line at trying to outstrip each +other.”</p> + +<p>The next thing I knew I was in the ambulance +headed for the Olympus Homeopathic Hospital. +Old Adam had done his worst.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XII">XII<br> +<span class="smaller">CAPTAIN KIDD ON TAG DAYS</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“Yes, I have observed that your country is +now experiencing one of those unprecedented +waves of crime for which it is justly celebrated,” +remarked Captain Kidd as he unsheathed +a huge bowie knife and proceeded to +cut off a man’s dose of particularly black eating +tobacco. “For a nation that’s been so busy +makin’ the world safe for democracy you don’t +seem to be doing much to make it unsafe for the +gunmen and stick-up artists. A few months +ago everybody was talkin’ about the ‘uplift.’ +And now they’re trying to dodge the hold-ups. +I was down below the other night. Had a date +at a Philadelphia seance. And the moment I +appeared the whole audience started bombarding +me with questions about the location +of my buried treasure. I didn’t tell ’em, of +course, but I did give ’em some good advice +for the present emergency. I told ’em that any +man who carried more than carfare and lunch +money in his pockets these days, and nights, +was a fool. And I also suggested that anybody<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span> +who buried his treasure in a sand bank instead +of a savings bank or a safe deposit vault was +entitled to admission to the nearest home for +the feeble-minded without an entrance examination.</p> + +<p>“I went out for a walk down Chestnut Street +and in going four blocks had my pocket picked +three times. The fellow who was supposed to +be looking after that other block must have +been off his beat. I got scared and wanted to +hustle back up here, but to oblige the medium +I stayed over until the next day. I took another +walk, down Market street this time, and found +it was a tag day. There were female hold-up +artists at every corner. I turned over what +the pick-pockets had missed the night before +and made my escape. Terra firma is no place +these days for a reformed pirate. It reminds +him too painfully of the many good bets he +overlooked.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes, especially after I’ve been readin’ +of the activities of your cabaret waiters, +bootleggers and Pullman porters, I can’t help +thinkin’ that history has been too hard on us +plain, unornamental pirates. We had to pick +up a livin’ best we could. We didn’t have our +tools and equipment provided for us. We had +to furnish our own cutlasses and pistols, while +your modern waiters and porters have their<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span> +trays and whisk-brooms anyhow supplied free +of charge. There wasn’t an unwritten law, +either, that anybody who didn’t cough up freely +was a piker, and we had the greatest difficulty +sometimes in getting a victim to produce. Folks +found all sorts of mean little schemes for hiding +away their valuables. That’s why we had +to invent the ingenious device known as ‘walking +the plank’ to make ’em give till it hurt. But +nowadays it’s amazing to me to see the way the +people hand over without even a pistol clapped +at their heads. They’re meek as lambs. The +pirate business would have been a lot less wearing +on the nerves if the public had co-operated +then the way it does now.</p> + +<p>“Holding up a shipload of passengers used +to be a complicated, annoying business. First, +we’d run up the black flag with the skull and +crossbones on it. Then we’d fire a round shot +across the vessel’s bows to bring her to. We’d +paint our faces sometimes to make ourselves +look as horrible as possible, and taking a pistol +in each hand and a cutlass in our teeth, board +the ship and line up the passengers and crew +in a row. By the time we’d gone through their +pockets and searched the cabin and lugged out +the strong box we’d put in an eight-hour day, +straight time. Hard, exhausting work, and all +because people hadn’t been properly trained<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> +in those days to hand over quickly and gracefully +so that we could get on to the next job.</p> + +<p>“If I were flying the Jolly Roger today on +my old pirate ship, with my crew of hard-boiled +sinners around me, possibly we’d find merchant +and passenger ships pestering us to come +and take their money away from them. I’d +be taking a quiet snooze in my cabin, maybe, +when the bosn’s mate would wake me up and +say: ‘Cap’n, a vessel on the starboard bow +has just signalled for us to stand by and it +will send over a boatload of treasure.’ And +we’d have to get a cash register and a card +index of customers and a press agent, to see +that the papers got our names and pictures +straight, as Jesse James suggests, and an ad +writer to put a piece in saying: ‘Why go elsewhere +to be robbed? Come to old reliable Captain +Kidd & Co., Inc., and be immediately +relieved.’ But at that I don’t suppose with my +old-fashioned ideas I’d be able to compete with +your up-to-date hold-up games.</p> + +<p>“I guess the best plan, if I were ever able +to resume business, would be to start a ‘drive’ +or hold a tag day. From the way the public +gives up, I don’t know but a drive for a $100,000 +fund to establish a home for worn-out +pirates would bring in a lot of coin. First thing +I’d get up a dinner for my executive committee +of one hundred. You can’t start anything<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span> +without a lot of eating these days. Then we’d +have a daily luncheon to receive reports from +the captains of the various teams, winding up +with a mass meeting where we’d take up a collection +and announce the result of the house-to-house +canvass. Still, a general tag day might +bring in more money. I’d have pretty girls at +all the street corners to pin a miniature artificial +lemon on every contributor to the Captain +Kidd Refuge for Reformed Robbers. What +do you think?”</p> + +<p>“There are many excellent causes, Captain, +that have adopted these devices to raise money +and I hope you don’t intend to reflect upon +them.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, not at all, not at all. But don’t you +think yourself that the idea has been worked a +little hard? It’s all right for the public to give +to the things it knows about, but I was thinking +it was becoming such an easy mark I might as +well have my share. What I object to is being +set down in history as the world’s champion +pirate and all around bad man, when the fact is +I was naturally the most peaceable individual +you ever met. The trouble is, I was born about +a hundred years too soon. If I were in business +today I wouldn’t be a pirate; I’d be a +head waiter in a New York hotel, with a foreign +accent but able to understand all languages.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span> +Money talks. Probably I’d have served an +apprenticeship at the place where they check +your hat and coat.</p> + +<p>“If I wasn’t a head waiter I’d be a steward +on an ocean ship. Perhaps I’d feel more at +home on the sea anyway. I was talking to my +old friend, Jesse James, the other day and he +said the difference between him and the modern +professional tip extractor was that he never +robbed the same man twice. But I suppose his +successors believe that anybody who is worth +doing at all is worth doing well. One of these +days the American people will probably adopt +a new Declaration of Independence against +foreign waiters and resolve to give the enemy +no quarter—and no half dollar either. They’ll +change the old naval hero’s slogan to ‘Don’t +give up the tip.’ ‘Millions for good meals, but +not one cent for tribute.’ ‘All things come to +him who waits.’ Well, I’m sorry for the waiter +if he ever gets all that’s coming to him. Ta, +ta! young man.”</p> + +<p>And as he hobbled off to splice the main +brace I could hear the old fellow muttering to +himself: “And they used to call me a pirate!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIII">XIII<br> +<span class="smaller">ALFRED THE GREAT TRIES TO FIND PROSPEROUS KING</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“You want me to talk about modern monarchs!” +Alfred the Great responded with a +trace of irritation. “Why don’t you ask me +to talk about the snakes in Ireland or the best +method of preserving hen’s teeth? Why not interview +me on the habits of the dodo? How +about a little chat concerning that common domestic +animal, the long-toed diplodocus, or that +popular indoor pet, the megatherium? Let’s +discuss that numerous class of estimable citizens, +the mound builders. Let’s—”</p> + +<p>“I beg pardon, your Majesty,” I hastened to +interrupt, “but I had no intention of offending. +I know kings are very few and far between +these days, but I thought your views on the two +or three who have managed to survive would +be most interesting to the present generation. +You yourself were such a mighty monarch, so +generally respected for your honesty and ability +and bravery and regal appearance, that I am +sure—”</p> + +<p>“There, there, say no more,” he replied<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span> +with condescending affability, “I am just a +trifle sensitive, I suppose, on the subject. When +I see so many of my brothers sacrificed to the +onrushing tide of democracy, naturally it makes +me a bit sad.</p> + +<p>“It’s just a month,” continued King Alfred, +as he lighted his long meerschaum and settled +down comfortably in his armchair, which was +fashioned like a throne, “it’s just a month +since I took my first trip down below to see how +the earth had been getting along in my absence +of a thousand years plus. And I am frank to +confess I found some changes. I went down +under the auspices of a spiritualist who wanted +me to tell a woman’s club how to make griddle +cakes. I suppose you’ve read about the time +I let the cakes burn in the farmer’s cottage and +the housewife bawled me out when she came +back. It’s in every school reader. Well, the +next day I called in my chief cook and had him +show me how to make griddle cakes that would +melt in your mouth. There’s no trick at all to +it, really. The only thing is you must keep +your mind on it. That time in the cottage I +got to thinking about a new way to fight the +Danes, and the first thing I knew there was a +smell like burning rubber and the old dame +rushed in and called me down. I’d have ordered +her off to instant execution, but just then our<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span> +side needed all the votes it could get, and I +didn’t know whether her husband would thank +me or be annoyed.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes you can make a hit with a husband +by giving his wife a ten-year sentence in +jail, and again it makes him peevish—particularly +if he has to do his own housework. So I +spared her that time. Where was I? Oh, yes, +as I was saying, I went down to tell the club +how to make griddle cakes. After I’d filled that +date I decided to take a little trip around the +capitols of Europe and call on my cousins, the +kings and queens. You know every king is supposed +to be at least a cousin of every other +one—that’s why we have such strained relations +so often in royal circles. Well, I decided +first to project my astral body up to Moscow, +the ancient capitol of Russia. I’d never traveled +that far during my previous existence on +earth, because I couldn’t spare the time—our +wars were a continuous performance. Arrived +at the palace, I walked right up to the front +door and was going in when a big fellow, roughly +clad, his countenance concealed beneath a +tangled growth of whiskers, barred my passage.</p> + +<p>“‘Who do you want to see?’ he inquired +gruffly.</p> + +<p>“‘Whom do I want to see?’ I said, ‘Why—’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span></p> + +<p>“‘No, <i>who</i>, not <i>whom</i>,’ he returned. ‘Anybody +who uses good grammar is bourgeois and +an enemy of the Commune. Down with fool +laws and rules. This is the land where all +speak and do as they choose.’</p> + +<p>“‘But you’re not letting me speak as I +choose,’ I retorted. ‘How’s that for consistency?’ +He said anyone who was a Bolshevik, +whatever that was, didn’t have to be consistent. +Consistency was a jewel. Jewelry was wealth. +The Bolsheviki were opposed to wealth and +private property in any form. I was about to +force my way past this lunatic when a number +of other rough-looking persons, armed with +guns and bayonets, rushed out of the palace +and surrounded me.</p> + +<p>“‘I want to see the king!’ I exclaimed. And +immediately by their faces, or as much of them +as I could see peeping out from beneath the +whiskers—I saw that something was wrong.</p> + +<p>“‘He wants to see the Czar,’ they shouted, +and then laughed in a way that made my blood +run cold. ‘There are no more kings. They’ve +been abolished.’ And one huge fellow, drawing +a long knife out of his belt, shook it menacingly +under my nose and began to cross-examine me. +It took me about one-fifth of a second to make +up my mind to be about the most enthusiastic +revolutionist and all-around king hater that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span> +ever was born. ‘What did you want to see the +Czar for, eh?” he asked. ‘I want to kill him,’ I +replied. And a chorus of cheers rent the air. +But it was an exceedingly narrow escape. I +learned later that the Czar was no more, that +the country was being ruled by a little band of +lunatics calling themselves Bolsheviki, and that +it was a crime even to utter the word king +unless a strong adjective was put before it.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t understand it at the time, but I +didn’t wait to investigate. I decided to get +back to civilization by the shortest route, and +so I projected my astral body over to Poland. +To save time, I’ll just say that Poland was as +benighted as Russia. No king. Then I hopped +over to Jugo-Slovakia, I believe you call it. +Same thing there. On I sped over the kingless +countries of the Balkans and up to Budapest. A +big sign on the front door of the palace: ‘Beggars, +Peddlers and Kings Not Admitted to This +Building.’ I moved on. I went hopefully to +Vienna. Picking up a newspaper, I read these +headlines: ‘Open Season for Aristocrats Begins. +In First Day’s Shooting Twenty-nine +Counts and Forty-three Barons Bagged. Slaying +Parties Now Favorite Winter Sport. +Special Prize Offered by Government to First +Person to Kill King.’ Two minutes later I +was on my aerial way to Berlin. Here, at least,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> +I was sure I should find royal autocracy firmly +entrenched. But as I went up the palace walk +one glance told me that Germany, too, had cast +off her royal rulers. Sitting on the front steps +in his shirtsleeves, smoking a corncob pipe, was +a slouchy, unshaven citizen whom I mistook for +the janitor. In the old days you know no such +uncouth specimen of humanity would have been +permitted within half a mile of the palace. And +who do you think he turned out to be? The +President of the German Republic. A harness-maker, +or cobbler, or something of the sort. I +learned that, as in Russia, the very name of +king was tabooed. Just a day or two before a +prominent author had been executed for absent-mindedly +remarking that he was fond of collecting +his royalties. In a German deck of cards +instead of having a king they have two knaves. +So I lit out for France. Here I found they +hadn’t had a king for many years. I inquired +anxiously about my old kingdom, England. +‘Oh, they have something over there they call a +king,’ I was told. ‘You might cross the Channel +and have a chat with him. It would cheer +him up.’</p> + +<p>“I decided to act on the hint. I didn’t see +many changes in London. I thought I recognized +some familiar faces among the cab horses. +I got an audience with King George by pretending<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span> +to be the business agent of the Pavers’ and +Rammers’ Union. Labor is all-powerful in +England today (where is it not?) and George +sent word to walk right in the minute he got +my card. He was wearing that morning the fool +dress uniform of an Honorary Vice-President +in the Royal Hibernian Highlanders, Ltd. As +soon as we were alone in his private office and I +disclosed my identity, he fell on my neck and +wept, and called me Uncle Alf. It was very +affecting. ‘You’re the only king left that +I can talk confidentially to,’ he said, ‘and +you’re not really alive. It used to be that almost +every country in Europe had its king and +royal family. Everybody with a drop of royal +blood in his veins was on the public payroll. It +kept me busy exchanging birthday greetings +with my fellow monarchs. I got a stack of letters +from them every day. Today the annual +convention of the European Kings’ Mutual +Benefit Association could hold its meetings in a +telephone booth. Where have they all gone? +Some are dead and others wish they were.</p> + +<p>“‘There’s not much to choose between the +mighty dead and the mighty near dead,’ King +George continued. ‘Cousin Mohammed, the last +I heard of him, was running an elevator in a +Swiss hotel. Cousin Ferdinand was an old +clothes man in Naples. Cousin Ludwig had got<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> +a job as janitor of an apartment house—determined +to be an autocrat to the end. Cousin +Wilhelm was engaged in writing his auto-obituary +and reading a book on ‘St. Helena As +a Health Resort.’ Cousin Charles got upset +and left for good. All the retired kings I know +are retiring indeed. About the quickest way to +unpopularity these days is to proclaim the divine +right of kings. Even my oldest boy feels +it, poor Wails. ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears +a crown.’ The man who wrote that knew what +he was talking about. It makes the poorest +nightcap on record. I’ll s’y.</p> + +<p>“‘I feel comparatively safe myself,’ he went +on, ‘because I’m not and never have been a real +king. I draw the salary and hold the title and +wear tailor-made uniforms without doing the +work. I have no real authority. Why, I can’t +dictate to anybody except the court stenographer—when +she’s not too busy scrutinizing +her nose. Shall I tell you who’s the real boss +of Buckingham Palace? (Whisper) The wife. I +can’t even spend my own money as I choose. +Freedom of the ‘shes’ and all that sort of thing. +Also, there’s an Hereditary Keeper of the Royal +Purse, and whenever I want any coin I have to +apply to him. You’ve heard of the ‘king’s +touch’? Well, that’s it. George is the ruler of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span> +England, all right, but his first name is Lloyd, +not King.’</p> + +<p>“‘And is there any genuine autocrat left +on earth?’ I asked King George. ‘Anybody +to carry on the traditions of the old absolute +monarchs?’</p> + +<p>“‘Just one,’ he replied, ‘and he’s not called a +king. His title is President. His name is—’</p> + +<p>“‘George! George!’ a shrill voice interrupted +his Majesty. ‘Did you get that pound of +sugar I sent you for?’</p> + +<p>“‘I told you I wasn’t an absolute monarch,’ +George said, as he motioned me to depart while +the departing was good. But I wonder whom +he meant when he said there was only one world +autocrat left?”</p> + +<p>As I took my leave I could not even hazard a +guess.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIV">XIV<br> +<span class="smaller">OLD KING COLE GIVES VIEWS ON PROHIBITION</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>The city editor’s assignment read: “Interview +Old King Cole if sober (I mean the king, +not you) and get his photo and pictures of the +pipe, the bowl and the three fiddlers, if possible, +for a nice layout. Stir him up on prohibition.”</p> + +<p>I found His Majesty at his home at the +corner of Rye and Bourbon Avenues, planet +of Jupiter, next door to Bacchus and across +the street from Gambrinus. I entered his presence +not without trepidation, for I had never +interviewed a real king before, although I am +personally acquainted with several apartment +house janitors and the policeman on our beat. +But I needn’t have feared, for he received me +with the utmost urbanity. Dressed in a purple +robe, he was sitting in a chair of state and +looked every foot a king. I just had time to +note his typical poker face, suffused with a +royal flush, when he gave me greeting.</p> + +<p>“Sit down and have something,” he exclaimed. +“What’ll it be? Tea, lemonade,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span> +beerine or just a drink from the old town pump? +Here’s a new soft bottled beverage that’s having +quite a run with the boys. It’s made of +ginger, red pepper, turpentine, cocaine, yeast +and chewing tobacco. Here’s another drink the +boys call the ‘lame mule,’ because it hasn’t any +kick. Ha, ha! Would you like to have some +more of my jokes?”</p> + +<p>“In just a few minutes, Your Majesty, but +business before pleasure. I have been asked to +interview you on the subject of prohibition, but +I had no idea that booze was under the ban up +here.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, we had to follow the fashion. +Queen Cole, as you may not know, has been +president of the West Jupiter W. C. T. U. for +years, and when America did the Sahara act, +why there was nothing to it but we must give +prohibition a whirl too. But I dunno. I kind +of think we’ll be back on the old basis again +some day.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes, however, I can’t help wondering +what’ll be the next great reform. Abolishing +tobacco, prob’ly. The fellows who never succeeded +in learning to smoke are getting busy +already, I see. If I called for my bowl today I +wouldn’t get it, and I suppose along about week +after next, if I call for my pipe, somebody will +tell me that all tobacco is prohibited except<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span> +Wheeling tobies containing less than half of +one per cent of the real thing. I can still call +for my fiddlers three, but the next thing I +know they’ll be locking me up for running a +cabaret without a license and a cover charge.</p> + +<p>“You never can tell where those measly reformers +will break out next. One of these +mornings you’ll pick up the paper and read: +‘Association for the Prohibition of Lemon Pie +Introduces Bill in Congress. Alarming Increase +in Indigestion Attributed to Seductive +Delicacy. New Law Provides for Right of +Search of Pantries.’ There’d be a lot of kicks, +but what’s the use? Folk would go around +wearing buttons inscribed: ‘No Pie, No Work.’ +Orators would point out that the workingman +must have his pie. Schoolboys would go on +strike. New England farmers would protest +that their breakfasts had been spoiled. But the +pie amendment would be slipped in some appropriation +bill as a joker, and then good-bye +pie.</p> + +<p>“That would be only a starter. The scheme +to have the government prescribe what you +shall eat and drink and smoke is only +beginning to get up speed. Every domestic +menu will have to be O. K’d by the Secretary +of the Interior. There will be laws to make +everybody go to bed at ten and get up at six, to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span> +prohibit the wearing of blue neckties with red +whiskers, to compel the printing of all baseball +reports in English, and to force pedestrians to +wear license numbers, front and rear, and give +three loud honks on approaching congested +cross-walks.</p> + +<p>“You’ll have to get up in the morning by the +official whistle, eat breakfast according to the +food controller, ride to work in a government +street car, work so many hours, play a round of +golf on the public links, don a Bureau of Health +mask to kiss your wife when you get home, eat +another government meal, sit on the front porch +and smoke a tobaccoless cigar, fight the mosquitos +awhile—remembering the anti-profanity +amendment to the old Federal Constitution—and +then go to bed when the curfew sounds, +being careful not to transgress the state anti-snoring +law. That’s what you’re coming to.</p> + +<p>“‘Old King Cole was a merry old soul.’ Ah, +my boy, I’m afraid the emphasis is going to +be on the ‘was.’ I try to keep up the bluff that +I’m enjoying myself; it’s a tough task. Take +away my pipe, and my bowl, and my fiddlers +three, and you can have my job as king. A +king will have no more fun than a commoner. +But here comes the Queen. Sh! Sh! Not a +word of this to Her Majesty.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my dear, this young man and I have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span> +just been having a chat about the delights and +benefits of prohibition. As I was saying, what +a glorious thing it is to think that husbands +who used to hang around bar-rooms after office +hours will now spend their evenings at home, +sitting by the fireside reading Woodrow Wilson’s +‘History of the American People’ in nine +volumes, net, and drinking hot lemonade. Must +you go so soon? Well, good-bye. And listen: +if you must print what I said, perhaps you’d +better not use my name. Just say ‘one of our +most prominent citizens,’ or something. Farewell.”</p> + +<p>And as I stepped into the cockpit of my +ethereal airplane I reflected that some kings, +after all, are no different from other men.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XV">XV<br> +<span class="smaller">KING HENRY VIII ADMITS SOME MATRIMONIAL MISTAKES</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“King Henry the Eighth wants to see you,” +said the city editor as I reported for duty. +“Says he doesn’t think we’re giving him a +square deal. We’ve printed interviews with +Solomon and Bluebeard and Brigham Young, +all much-married men, and let them make their +explanations to put them in a better light with +posterity, but for some reason he can’t understand +we’ve passed him up. Better see what +the old boy has to say.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said His Majesty, as he motioned me +graciously to a seat in his reception room, “I +thought it only due to myself to make a statement +for publication, particularly since you +have been interviewing some of my noted—er—er—competitors, +or perhaps I should say fellow-sufferers, +and setting them right with the +public. Not that I consider them exactly in my +class, of course. Unlike Solomon and Bro. +Young, I did not believe in what I might call +numerically-simultaneous matrimony, nor like<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> +Mr. Bluebeard did I think a man justified, whatever +the provocation, in resorting to the most +extreme measures himself and taking the law +into his own hands. Let everything be done +strictly according to law, was my motto. I +defy anyone, in the case of my wives, to find the +coroner’s verdict defective. I am not saying +there is not such a thing as justifiable uxoricide. +But I can’t understand how a man could get +up his nerve to do it. Certainly, speaking for +myself, after being bossed by the first five, I’m +sure I didn’t feel like raising my finger, or even +my voice, against Mrs. Henry Tudor VI. If +they lost their heads I do not think the whole +blame should rightly rest on me. It takes two +to make a quarrel. There were faults on both +sides—especially theirs. History records the—that +is—rather sudden shufflings-off of my several +spouses, but it doesn’t tell the real reasons +therefor. Sometimes it seems to me that the +history of my case must have been written +either by old bachelors or by members of the +women’s rights association. Certainly if experienced +married men had done the job they +wouldn’t have left out all the extenuating circumstances.”</p> + +<p>“As what, Your Majesty?”</p> + +<p>“Well, did you ever see any reference in history +to the annual earthquake at St. James’<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span> +Palace known as the Fall house-cleaning cataclasm? +Of course you haven’t. And yet we +husbands were afflicted with the same epidemics +in those days, that seem so far away, as you +are now.”</p> + +<p>“I never thought of it before, Your Majesty. +With the canning and house-cleaning seasons +over, a modern married man begins to realize +just how the soldiers felt the day the armistice +was signed.”</p> + +<p>“Precisely. Even though he knows the trouble +is bound to recur when the germs get in the +air again next Fall. But the man who has been +married to only a limited extent can’t begin +to sympathize with a case like mine. The first +few wives are the hardest.</p> + +<p>“Take this matter of house-cleaning. Every +wife has her own system, her exclusive, copyrighted +plan of offensive campaign which differs +from everybody else’s. My first wife, for +example, believed in moving all the furniture +out of the dining room into the hall on the very +first day of the attack and then served all meals +for two days in the form of a stand-up free +lunch in the butler’s pantry. The regular hall +furniture was moved into the parlor to make +room for the dining room furniture. Consequently +the place was so cluttered up there was +nowhere to sit down. But of course all husbands,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span> +even when house-cleaning is not prevalent, +have to stand a good deal. My second wife, +as soon as she was inaugurated in office as secretary +of the interior and speaker of my house, +reversed all the precedents of her predecessor. +When the house-cleaning epidemic arrived she +collected all the furniture in the palace and +piled it up in the dining room. On fine days +during the upheaval I got a hand-out on the +back porch and on wet days I ate in the cellar. +I had just become fairly accustomed to this +domestic arrangement when Wife III, Series A, +appeared on the scene with some entirely different +and equally ingenious scheme for turning +the house downside up. So it went, each new +domestic administration having its own peculiar +policies, not only with reference to house-cleaning +but to all forms of domestic discipline. +I was willing enough to obey—I realized +that is the first duty of soldiers and husbands—but +I had work keeping track of the orders. I +perceived then why so many married men were +volunteering for my new army to fight in +France: they wanted to get where there would +not be quite so much discipline.</p> + +<p>“As I was saying, I got mixed on my orders +and was constantly making mistakes. Wives +so often fail to realize that accidents will happen +to the best regulated husbands. For instance,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span> +Wife No. 1 had a rule that I must be in +by eleven o’clock, but might stay out till twelve +if I could tell just where I’d been. Wife No. 2 +changed the hour to ten and No. 3, if I recall +correctly, fixed it at ten-thirty. It’s not strange +if occasionally along late in the evening I got a +trifle mixed as to which administration was in +office at that precise moment and consequently +strayed a bit from the prescribed schedule. I +could not always be sure whether I was supposed +to be running on eastern or central standard +time. As a result the first unvarying greeting +that met my ears on my arrival home was +apt to assume the sharply interrogatory form. +I always answered whenever I could distinctly +remember. At least I did my best. Matrimony +is paved with good intentions.</p> + +<p>“There were other disadvantages, also—connected +with what I now perceive to have been +my mistaken matrimonial policy—which may +not occur to persons of more limited experience. +For instance, how many realize that I was virtually +at the mercy of a soviet of my wives’ relations? +When a wife happened to shuffle off +did her relatives immediately conclude that +they were no longer my connections by marriage? +They did not. They still considered +themselves close relations—even closer, when I +sought to borrow money from them. After a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span> +few matrimonial administrations I had enough +‘in-laws’ to fill a convention hall. Indeed, they +did form a sort of mutual benefit association +and used to meet and pass resolutions of condemnation +on me and condolence with the new +incumbent every time I happened to change +wives. Sore, of course, because they weren’t +invited to the wedding. But I had to draw the +line somewhere. In those days, as now, they +used to term it ‘solemnizing’ a marriage, although +that word ‘obey’ in the ceremony was a +joke. And half the time I felt just like a sort +of comic supplement. In all my voyaging on +the seven seas of matrimony I can recollect very +few times when I was allowed to do any of the +steering. Looking back, life seems to have been +just one wife after another. Why did I do it? +Well, I read in the newspapers the other day +a supposedly sensational story of a Boston man +who got married while under the influence of +hypnotism, but I couldn’t see that the case contained +any unusual feature.”</p> + +<p>“Speaking of matrimony, Your Majesty (as +you have just been doing so extensively), have +you any advice to offer? What do you consider +the lucky month for marriage?”</p> + +<p>“Young man,” replied the king in solemn +tones as he arose to bid me adieu, “I don’t +know anything about that. But I can tell you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span> +this: there are at least six unlucky ones. That +is as far as I experimented.”</p> + +<p>And though I possessed only one-sixth of his +matrimonial experience, I shook the aged monarch’s +hand in silent sympathy before tiptoeing +from his pathetic presence.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVI">XVI<br> +<span class="smaller">DON QUIXOTE SAYS HE WASN’T SO CRAZY AS SOME MODERN REFORMERS</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>As the trim figure in a neatly fitted sack suit +arose to greet me with an odd mixture in his +manner of ancient courtesy and the modern +“glad hand,” my face must have betrayed my +surprise at his unexpected appearance for he +exclaimed: “Astonished, eh? Most earth folk +are. Seem to expect to see the shade of Don +Quixote de la Mancha togged out in his old cast-iron +clothes and helmet with a sword for a +walking stick. They fail to make allowance for +the fact that we shades progress, just like you +people down below. We try to be as up-to-date +as possible. I suppose you thought, too, you +were going to interview a harmless lunatic and +listen amusedly to his rambling conversation +and perhaps have the fun of joshing him a bit. +Well, I’m happy to say I’ve got over my delusions, +or illusions or whatever they were. And +shall I tell you what cured me? Why, watching +the antics and performances of some of you +down on earth. My motto is thoroughness. I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> +want to do every job up in the most complete +style. I will either be the champion, the record-holder, +the biggest in the bunch or else nothing +at all. I may once have been in a fair way to +becoming the world’s most inspired idiot and +champion all-round, catch-as-catch-can professional +‘regulator,’ but I’m now a has-been, a +second-rater. There’s too much competition. +I’m ashamed of myself. I throw up my hands +and quit. Do you understand me?”</p> + +<p>“Well, not entirely, Don Quixote. What modern +competitors or successors have you got?”</p> + +<p>“Do you have to ask that?” he replied. +“Why, I can get materialized and take a run +below and in five minutes see more fellows +crazier than I ever was than I can count. Or +I can just stay up here and read the newspapers. +I was reading only this morning of a bill +that’s going to be introduced in the Maine Legislature +to prohibit women from wearing high-heeled +shoes. They used to call me a fool reformer, +but I never was quite so idiotic as to +try to reform women’s dress in the slightest +particular. Trying to dictate feminine fashions +would be just about as sensible as attempting +to sweep back the ocean. The next thing they +know somebody will be trying to tack an amendment +on to the Constitution forbidding women +to wear furs in summer and low shoes and open-work<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span> +waists in winter. I see one writer calls +the anti-high-heels measure ‘Quixotic.’ That +shows all he knows about me. I was accused of +being slightly off at one time, but nobody ever +charged me with utter imbecility. And I see +that some other professional set-’em-all-rights +are going to put the ban on tobacco—if they +can. They’ll have some hard sledding. But I +was glad to observe that a judge had the sense +to turn down an application for a charter from +an anti-tobacco association. The society’s announced +object was to make the growing, manufacture, +sale and use of tobacco illegal. I held +my breath until I found what the judge did.</p> + +<p>“And what did the judge do? Opening a +fresh box of Havanas, he carefully selected a +long, slender, chocolate-colored panatela, with +a red and gold waistband, cut off the end with +his gold-mounted clipper, fished a match out of +his vest pocket, struck it on the ink-stand, applied +the blaze to the end of the cigar, blew a +fragrant cloud of incense to the ceiling in worship +of the spirit of justice and perfect impartiality, +gave a great big sigh of measureless +content, and then proceeded to write an opinion +on the subject that did my heart good to read. +In dignified, judicial terms he affectionately advised +the anti-tobacconists to go soak their venerable +heads; he reminded them that the most<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span> +admirable and wholly beneficial occupation of +the human species is minding its own business; +and intimated that so long as the court should +continue to enjoy unimpaired intellectual vigor +and be in full possession of all its faculties, it +would never authorize a movement to regulate +the personal conduct of rational adult beings +by organized idiocy.</p> + +<p>“It was an elegant set-back for the chronic +busybodies, but I haven’t much hope it will be +permanent. Mark my words, those fellows are +only getting ready to break out in some new +place. If they can’t prohibit tobacco they’ll attack +chewing gum or ice cream soda. One of +these days I expect to pick up the paper and +read: ‘New Sundae Law Proposed. Association +Opposed to Ice Cream Soda in Any Form +Applies for Charter.’ I may have made a few +mistakes that time when I was supposed to be +a little off my balance, but I never made the +same mistake twice. I tilted at those old windmills, +as they turned out to be, but I didn’t respond +to an encore. Some of your modern reformers +are continually butting their heads +against stone walls, and if their heads weren’t +so thick they couldn’t get away with it.</p> + +<p>“Folks laugh at that account of my exploits +and adventures, but they don’t stop to notice +that there are lots of fellows running around<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span> +loose who are ten times funnier than Don Quixote +ever was. For instance, I understand you +have a good many Congressmen-at-large. There +are societies already comprising some fifty-seven +and one-half varieties of butters-in, advocating +all kinds of reforms, including the prohibiting +of flowers from growing on Sunday. +The first thing we know they’ll be having each +new Congress decide whether men shall wear +their hair pompadour or brushed down (if they +have any), rule on the question of visible suspenders +in summer and settle the length of +moustaches, coats, sermons, stockings, lawns, +skirts, soft drinks and hatpins. And of course +there’ll be a law compelling all persons to wear +long faces.</p> + +<p>“Now, I may have been a bit erratic at one +time, but I never got up a Society for the Prevention +of Public Enjoyment. The trouble with +lots of your reformers is, that not satisfied +with being ‘off’ themselves, they want to drive +other folks crazy. They’re doing it. Take that +proposed state anti-snoring law out in Oklahoma. +It’s going to declare any person a public +nuisance who keeps other folks awake at night +with solos by his nasal organ. But nobody +dreams of interfering with the scoundrel who +dashes along the street in his automobile at two +A. M. with his muffler cut-out. I see you’re<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span> +surprised at my keeping tab on things down +below. There’s a reason. It gratifies me to +realize that if I were back on earth I should +have no trouble procuring a certificate of perfect +sanity after the way so many folks are +behaving. I see one man was paid $300,000 for +pounding another man who got $200,000 for letting +him do it. And the very persons who contributed +to that fund kick the loudest about the +high cost of living. And yet they used to call +me unsound! Puck said a mouthful when he +remarked: ‘What fools these mortals be.’ The +world is a place of perpetual change, and yet +lots of women continue cheerfully to give up +two dollars a curl for a ‘permanent’ Marcel +wave. Foolish men are less concerned with how +many miles they can get out of a gallon than +with how many smiles they can get out of a +quart.</p> + +<p>“But what showed me more clearly than anything +else whither you earth folks are drifting +was a sign, on my last trip, outside a butcher’s: +‘Tongue, 48 cents a pound; brains, 33 cents.’ If +tongue is getting to be worth so much more than +brains, then I’m glad I shuffled off when I did.”</p> + +<p>And as I volplaned back to earth I wondered +also why our topsy-turvy world ever considered +Don Quixote loco.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVII">XVII<br> +<span class="smaller">PHARAOH SOLVES SERVANT PROBLEM</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>All the way to King Pharaoh’s house I kept +wondering how I should enter the presence of +decayed royalty. More modern monarchs, I +knew from my reportorial experience, were frequently +regular fellows whom it was perfectly +safe to offer to shake hands with and perhaps, +after a brief acquaintance, to slap on the back +and ask for the loan of a cigarette or the +“makin’s.” But the thought of conversing +with a four-thousand-year-old personage who +had retired from the king business, yet retained +his former notions of dignity and grandeur, +filled me with awe. Imagine my astonishment, +therefore, when in response to my ring at the +front door it slowly opened about half an inch, +as if someone were trying to peek out and size +up the visitor, and then a moment later it was +thrown back and a commanding figure, who +I knew from his pictures was none other than +Pharaoh himself, stood in the doorway with a +smile of welcome.</p> + +<p>“Come right in,” he exclaimed. “I was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> +afraid at first you might be a walking delegate +of the Dish-Breakers’ Union.” And there +stood the erstwhile mighty monarch clad in a +long blue-checked apron, the kind that pins up +over the shoulders with a couple of thing-a-ma-jigs +and comes ’way down below the belt. His +sleeves were rolled up above his elbows and he +had the general appearance of a cross between +a chauffeur who had been digging in the garden +and a butler who had taken an automobile +apart and was now trying to put the pieces +back again.</p> + +<p>“Your Majesty,” I began, with a low obeisance, +but that was as far as I got with my +speech of introduction.</p> + +<p>“Come right out in the kitchen,” he interrupted +affably, “and we can have a chat while +I’m doing up my dishes. I understand you +want to interview me on the servant problem. +You’ve come to the right shop. I can talk feelingly +on the subject. In the course of forty-five +centuries of experience I’ve hit all the high +spots, from the time when I had fifteen hundred +cooks and chambermaids in the house and six +hundred charioteers in the royal garage down +to the cruel present, when I’m reduced to doing +my own work. The servant problem! I’ve +solved it. I could send you out of here so +chock full of information about it that you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span> +couldn’t walk straight. Have a smoke? Mrs. +Pharaoh objects to my smoking a pipe and washing +the china at the same time (she complained +at dinner of a decided flavor of nicotine in the +soup) but there’s no reason why you shouldn’t +light up while I’m finishing the job. Then, after +I manicure the knives and forks, massage the +sink, and take a brief and exhilarating spin +around the dining room with my new six-cylinder +carpet sweeper, I’ll have nothing to do +but fix the oatmeal for tomorrow morning, in +the jackpot or whatever you call it, put it on to +boil and I’ll be at your service.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it may seem to you like considerable +of a comedown,” said his former majesty when +we were comfortably settled in armchairs in the +library, “but during the last few days, since +I let the sole remaining servant go, I’ve been +experiencing the first real peace I’ve known in +just four thousand five hundred and sixty-two +years. Quite a long time when you come to +think of it. You ask me to define the servant +problem and then comment upon it. Let me +tell you some of our recent troubles with +‘domestic assistants.’ That’s what they want +to be called nowadays. Oh, yes, we have servants +up here. This isn’t exactly heaven, you know. +Somebody has said that voyaging on the sea +of matrimony is all right until the cook wants<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span> +to be captain. Well, our cooks have all wanted +to be commanders-in-chief with the pay, pretty +near, of active admirals. And among them +they’ve mighty near wrecked the ship. The next +to the last we got, No. 19, promised to be +the light of our existence. The light went out +one night and never came back. Her testimonials +said she was a very good cook. They must +have been referring exclusively to her moral +character. Her successor was described as +‘a perfect treasure’, but, according to the +proverb, ‘Riches take wings,’ and she was no +exception. In her case, however, it was just +as well. She claimed to have cooked ten years +for John D. Rockefeller. And it did not occur +to us until later that Mr. Rockefeller is a +chronic sufferer from dyspepsia.</p> + +<p>“This wasn’t home any more. It was getting +to be a one-night lodging house for ‘domestic +assistants.’ You mustn’t call ’em servants, +you know, not since they’ve organized. And +they certainly are sticklers for union rules, +union hours, union wages. Why, our last +laundress (excuse me, I should say ‘garment +ablutionist’), refused to wash any except +union underwear. Fact! And now I hear +they’re agitating for the three-shift or platoon +system, like the firemen, each set on duty eight +hours. Well, the other day we reached a crisis<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span> +when Cook 20 served notice that she’d quit unless +we built an addition to the garage to accommodate +her runabout, and threw in an extra +allowance for gasoline. I decided to fire the +whole bunch: the ‘upstairs girl’ (whom I’d +often consigned to the lower regions), the waitress +(who believed all things ought to come to +her while waiting), and the cook (who was +always getting everybody else into hot water, +but wouldn’t put her own hands in). So I made +a clean sweep (something we could never get +any of the servants to do) and I’ve been walking +delegate of the Husbands’ Labor Union, +and ‘kitchen police’ myself, ever since. And +it’s been as peaceful and quiet around here as +the Sahara Desert. I haven’t enjoyed myself +so much since the day the business agent of the +Children of Israel Pyramid Builders’ Union +fell off the top of Cheops and they had to dig +him out of the sand with a derrick.</p> + +<p>“There are various ways of solving the so-called +servant problem. Speaking from an +experience of roughly four thousand years, I +should say the best way is to do your own work. +It is a lot less work in the long run. But if you +are determined to have servants, then you must +adopt the modern viewpoint, treat ’em like the +high-priced specialists that they are and fix up +a regular schedule providing that the mistress<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span> +shall have at least one evening out a week and +the use of the parlor on the nights the maids +aren’t entertaining. Our last cook had ‘Wednesday’ +engraved on her visiting cards (it was +her receiving day), and when her cousin was +released from the penitentiary after serving +six months for petty larceny (he stole a Ford), +she gave him a coming-out party that kept the +neighborhood awake until three o’clock in the +morning. I read somewhere the other day that +under the modern system employers and +servants are to treat each other as equals—but +I don’t believe the servants will do it. They’re +getting too proud for that. We made the experiment +of having the cook sit with us at the dining +table, but it didn’t work out very well. We +were kept so busy waiting on her that we didn’t +get half enough to eat and she criticized the +way in which I took my soup. A better plan +would be to have all the family eat at the second +table.</p> + +<p>“But speaking of servant troubles back in +Egypt a few thousand years ago—those were +the happy days. Suppose one of the palace +cooks threatened to quit because she could get +two kopecks more a week and every Sunday out +from a lady on the next street. We just told +her to pack up without waiting to get dinner; +there were about forty-nine more cooks in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span> +the kitchen. We had so many at one time that it +took six to fry an egg. There was one disadvantage, +we had the worst soup I ever tasted—too +many cooks, you know—but there were lots +of benefits from always having plenty of help. +It’s true the kitchen on Saturday night looked +like a convention of the Policemen’s Mutual +Benefit Association, with all the cops calling on +the girls, but it made us feel quite safe from +burglars. The modern housewife is handicapped +because she can’t exert her authority. If she +has several servants she’s afraid to fire one because +the rest might quit. And if she has only +one she can’t fire her because she doesn’t know +where she’d get another. Even administering a +mild reprimand nowadays means that you’ll +have to do your own washing. It’s rather different +from the times when I was king and had +a list of penalties hung up in the kitchen as a +warning. Tough pie-crust meant three months +in jail and the cook who burnt the toast was +thrown to the crocodiles. I had three servants +standing behind my chair at dinner—and +nowadays servants won’t stand for anything. +They trembled at my slightest frown—nowadays +they give me the shake. Every time I +passed they’d salaam and chant: ‘Preserve our +gracious ruler.’ Today they’d be shouting: +‘Can the king!’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span></p> + +<p>“And so I say times haven’t merely changed; +they’re turned upside down. And the folk we +used to call servants are on top. What are we +to do? Why, if we want to be free and independent +and rich and enjoy ourselves, we’ll +beat ’em at their own game, we’ll join the +Bread Molders’ Union or become kitchen chemists +or garment ablutionists or general domestic +aides-de-camp—the real successors of +royalty. There are only two ways to solve the +servant problem: do your own work or go out +and do somebody’s else’s. I tell you—beg pardon, +I smell something burning in the kitchen.”</p> + +<p>Out we dashed, to find the helpless oatmeal +suffering a martyr’s fate. Pharaoh contemplated +the ruin for a moment and it inspired his +parting word:</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, young man, and perhaps if more +people did their own work for a while they +would learn, after all, to have some sympathy +for servants. We can’t get along without ’em. +The servant girl may be a perpetual conundrum, +but civilization isn’t ready to give +her up.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVIII">XVIII<br> +<span class="smaller">NERO DISCUSSES JAZZ</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>I shuddered as the city editor announced my +assignment. True, I had tackled departed desperadoes +and undesirable citizens whom I +feared about as much in the spirit as in the +flesh, but they were different. None of these +could be such a formidable customer to interview +as an ex-emperor who was notorious for +his callous cruelties.</p> + +<p>But duty is duty, and I donned my bullet-proof +vest, put a revolver in my hip-pocket +with a bottle of non-spirituous nerve tonic +which a kind physician prescribed for me, and +sallied forth to my waiting plane.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later I was sitting calmly in the +presence of the former imperial tyrant. The +ordeal of introduction I had so much dreaded +proved to be nothing. I had found the ex-emperor +as approachable as a presidential candidate +two months before the convention and as +willing to talk for publication as a grand opera +star who’s just lost another $10,000 necklace.</p> + +<p>Could this be the old monster I had read<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span> +about, I wondered, as overflowing with welcome +he invited me to make myself thoroughly at +home.</p> + +<p>“What do you want me to talk about?” he +asked. “Modern music and musicians? Delighted. +Then you still regard me as an expert? +I am gratified to hear it. I had feared +that some slanderous stories that were circulated +might have prejudiced you earth folk +against me.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps a few words of explanation might +not be amiss. You have heard, no doubt, about +the time when, as the popular phrase has it, I +fiddled while Rome burned? The opposition +made a good deal of that circumstance at the +next election. They said I ought to have got +out and hustled with the firemen, regardless of +the fact that I did not belong to their union. +Every man to his trade, I say. The firemen +played on the flames and I played on the violin.</p> + +<p>“Possibly, on looking back now that it is all +over, I might have made a happier selection of +the composition I performed on that occasion. +It was entitled ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning,’ +a forerunner of a popular piece which I believe +is not entirely unknown in your own country today. +But that was a mere bit of thoughtlessness.</p> + +<p>“The extent of that conflagration, also, has<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span> +been much exaggerated. It was confined to a +few old garages in the suburbs upon which, +oddly enough, I had taken out insurance only a +couple of days before. One of those remarkable +coincidences which do occasionally occur in real +life.</p> + +<p>“My political enemies tried to make a good +deal out of it, but I am glad to say they were +unable to prove anything. My candidates for +the Forum were elected by the largest majorities +on record. And if that isn’t vindication, +what is?”</p> + +<p>“Very interesting, Mr. Nero. But how did +you come to take up music as a study and attain +such remarkable proficiency?”</p> + +<p>“I took up music in the first place as a +remedy for baldness. I was troubled considerably +with falling hair and dandruff and I had +observed that all professional musicians were +endowed with flowing locks. I looked into the +subject. I talked to the court barber and to +several performers on the violin, clarionet and +bass drum, with names ending in ‘off’ and +‘sky,’ who had lately come to Rome from other +countries. One musician informed me that five +years before he had been so bald that flies trying +to skate over the shiny surface would fall +and break their legs, but he was now wearing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span> +his hair in a Dutch pompadour. He was a +skilled performer on the classic lyre.</p> + +<p>“I cannot say that the study and performance +of music had a similar effect in my case, +no appreciable change being noted in the hirsute +adornment of my dome of thought, though +my wife’s mother did refer to my musical +efforts as hair-raising—but there were other +compensations. As a result of my daily practicing +on the violin—or rather nightly, my hours +being from about one to three A. M. as a rule—the +price of real estate in the neighborhood +dropped twenty-five per cent, and I was able to +buy in some very desirable properties I had +long had my eye on—for a song. (No pun intended.) +It was about this time that some one +originated the saying concerning making Rome +howl.</p> + +<p>“I also played at the Rome Asylum for the +Insane every Saturday afternoon, and they +were just crazy to hear me. One Friday night +five of the inmates committed suicide and my +political opponents, as usual, tried to make +capital of the occurrence.</p> + +<p>“But these little things did not interfere with +my purpose to become a finished musician—even +though unkind critics said they wished I +had finished. And speaking of criticisms, there +were some that hurt me to the quick though I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span> +suppose history does not regard me as an +especially sensitive creature. One of my favorite +compositions was entitled ‘Through All +Eternity.’ I presume you are acquainted with +it. It is still popular.</p> + +<p>“I asked a young woman one day if she would +like to hear me play ‘Through All Eternity,’ +and she replied that that would be her idea +of—well, I don’t like to say it, but you doubtless +recall the classic definition of war as promulgated +by one of your most conspicuous generals. +It was a cruel saying.</p> + +<p>“But you wished for my opinions on modern +music and musicians. I don’t know that I am +qualified to judge; not if what I heard the other +night is music nowadays. A couple of the boys +who were being materialized by a friend of +Sir Oliver Lodge inveigled me into going along +and attending what the advertisements said was +a concert.</p> + +<p>“As the first number on the programme, it +was announced the orchestra would give an imitation +of ‘jazz,’ whatever that is. There was a +crash like a pantry shelf full of dishes coming +down, followed by a noise that was a combination +of a battle and a boiler shop. I thought the +roof would fall in next, and I was just preparing +to slide out when the man next to me remarked +reassuringly: ‘The agony is over.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span></p> + +<p>“There wasn’t a musical note or a hint of +harmony in the whole slam-bang from start to +finish. A couple of kids with hammers and an +old tin-pan could have achieved the same effect. +People paid two dollars and a half a seat to +hear that, when they could hire a small boy +to run a stick along a picket fence for ten cents. +They called that music, and yet the neighbors +used to kick when I played ‘Way Down Upon +the Tiber River’ and ‘There’s No Place Like +Rome’ on my violin at three o’clock in the +morning.</p> + +<p>“Then a young woman with a low dress and +high voice came out and screamed like a patient +at a painless dentist’s. One of the papers next +morning said she had a sweet voice, but ‘lacked +execution.’ She wouldn’t have lacked it very +long if she’d lived when I was Emperor. The +final number on the programme was a performance +on the ukelele by a pair of harmless +looking youths whose appearance belied their +real natures.</p> + +<p>“I have read in my ‘Pocket Chesterfield’ that +a gentleman is one who never inflicts needless +pain or suffering on others. They were not +gentlemen. In my day we occasionally used +racks and thumb-screws and other instruments +of necessary torture, but we knew nothing about +ukeleles. They had not been invented. Has<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> +your country no Society for the Prevention of +Cruelty to Audiences? But it is unnecessary +to ask.</p> + +<p>“Yet you moderns have one advantage over +us ancients when it comes to music, and I am +willing to admit it: the phonograph. It is much +more satisfactory than any human singer or +player, because you can shut it off without hurting +its feelings. It has a patent stop—something +the tenor or soprano lacks. If you get up +at a concert and request the soloist in the middle +of a song kindly to cease as her effort is making +you exceedingly nervous, you are simply reserving +a seat for yourself in the patrol wagon.</p> + +<p>“But at home with the phonograph all you’ve +got to do is to push the little lever and it quits. +You can enjoy its concerts without having to +put on a clean white shirt and an open-face vest +and a dinner coat. You can wear the same +clothes you did at breakfast or sit around in an +old bathrobe with your collar off and listen to +Mary Garden gargle. If you did that at the +grand opera house it would be sure to excite +remark.</p> + +<p>“And now you must excuse me, young man. +I’ve promised to play tonight at the Mount +Olympus firemen’s ball and I must have a little +time to rehearse my piece—‘I’m a Roman in the +Gloamin’.’ Perhaps you know it? By the way,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span> +are you a musician yourself? But you must be. +Everybody is, more or less.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. I can’t play anything.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you must be mistaken. Are you married?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Then to preserve the domestic harmony, you +must be used to playing second fiddle.”</p> + +<p>As I staggered down the stairs I felt that I +had richly earned a Nero—I mean a hero, +medal.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIX">XIX<br> +<span class="smaller">LORD BACON MUSES ON CIPHERS</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“I’ll tell you one bet you’ve overlooked in +your ramblings around with shades,” remarked +the city editor, “and that’s the chance to get +the right answer to that Shakespeare-Bacon +controversy. I was reminded of it last night +when I happened across that old story of the +woman who said to her husband: ‘When I get +to heaven I’m going to ask Shakespeare if he +really wrote those plays.’ ‘But suppose +Shakespeare isn’t there?’ returned her husband. +‘Then you can ask him,’ she replied. +Have you heard any of the spooks discussing +the question?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve never even heard it mentioned,” I responded. +“You may remember I had a chat +with Mr. Shakespeare himself some time ago on +the subject of the movies, but there was something +in his attitude that kept me from asking +what might have been embarrassing questions. +And besides, as is quite common with these +shades of the mighty, when they once get +started talking it’s pretty hard to get a word in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span> +edgewise. I believe it would be better to tackle +Lord Bacon and see what he has to say about it. +If he has a grievance he’s a lot more likely to +talk than the man who’s generally accepted as +the author of Shakespeare’s works.”</p> + +<p>I approached the eminent Lord Chancellor, +jurist and philosopher with considerable trepidation, +but like all the truly great his modesty +and affability quickly put me at my ease.</p> + +<p>“You wish to know who was the real author +of the works attributed to Shakespeare, eh?” +he replied, with a smile of amusement. “So +they’re beginning to raise the question down on +earth, are they? I thought those ciphers might +puzzle ’em for a few hundred years yet. Well, +and who do they think wrote ’em?”</p> + +<p>“Some persons say you did, Lord Bacon, and +others attribute the authorship to the Earl of +Dudley and other of your contemporaries. A +Detroit man got permission to dig in the bed of +the river Wye for the head of the Earl, which +was supposed to be buried there, together with +a box of manuscripts that would prove him to +be the real Shakespeare.”</p> + +<p>“Hum, hum,” mused his lordship. “I guess +somebody else lost his head that time. Well, +all you tell me is extremely interesting, I’m +sure. And I presume even Will Shakespeare +has his partisans, too, who insist still that the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span> +uneducated village lad from Stratford who used +to hold horses in front of the London theaters +for a living—and then served his term as a +‘chaser’ on the stage during the supper hour in +vaudeville—that this strolling actor was actually +the author of the immortal plays bearing +his name?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, your lordship, Shakespeare would +probably win by a large majority, if the matter +were left to a popular vote.”</p> + +<p>“Excuse me if I smile. The thought is highly +amusing. I don’t believe I am quite ready, as +yet, to present any formal claim to the authorship, +but if I were free to speak I could— But, +pshaw! What’s the difference? There are +plenty of similar cases of masquerading authors +in even later English literature which no mortal +has yet discovered. By the way, has any question +been raised, to date, about the so-called +Dickens novels? There hasn’t? Everybody +takes it for granted that they were written by +Charles Dickens, the young, untrained reporter, +who never had any education after he was +twelve years of age, who worked in a blacking +factory when he was ten? Well, well. You +surprise me. Has nobody found any ciphers yet +in his work? Not a one? Well, then look out +for a sensation one of these days. Ciphers have +always been my hobby, but long before I found<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span> +any cryptic corroboration for my theory in +Dickens’ works I was pretty sure who really +wrote them. Can you think of a certain great +statesman, like myself, but who flourished in +the Victorian era, a dignified, austere personage +who might not like to be known as the +author of humorous works, but who might have +got Dickens to lend his name for the purpose? +You can’t? Try again. Well, I’ll make a suggestion: +William E. Gladstone. Don’t smile. +Wait until you hear the proofs. Gladstone had +a contemporary and rival, Disraeli, who published +novels under a pen name. Later Disraeli +used his own name and the fact did not help his +reputation as a statesman. Each of the principal +so-called Dickens novels deals with some +great proposed reform, such as the abolition of +imprisonment for debt, the improvement of +penal institutions and poor-houses, removal of +delays in the law, the cutting of red tape in +government offices, the wiping-out of the +wretched Yorkshire schools.</p> + +<p>“Gladstone was a born reformer. For a +long time I was pretty sure that Dickens could +not have written these books, but I never associated +them with Gladstone until one day I happened +to hit upon a cipher—as conclusive a +one, I think, as any that have been discovered +in the works of Shakespeare. Just before this<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span> +I heard of the finding of the manuscript +of a letter written by Gladstone to his firm +of publishers, relating to the use of the name +‘Murdstone’ as one of the chief characters in +‘David Copperfield.’ After writing a number of +novels Gladstone evidently felt that he would +like to leave some more obvious clue to their +real authorship than a cipher, and apparently +his intention had been to call this character +‘Mirthstone,’ a sort of pun upon his own name. +But his publishers must have objected to the +device as too transparent, for we find him replying: +‘Very well. Then Murdstone let it be.’ +Another clue was afforded by the name of the +‘literary man with a wooden leg’ in ‘Our Mutual +Friend,’—Silas Wegg. Here we have the +initials in full in their regular order, ‘W. E. G.’</p> + +<p>“And now,” continued Lord Bacon, “we +come to the real cipher, buried in the first of his +longer stories, the ‘Pickwick Papers.’ I call it +the Ivy Green Cipher. Why this poem of three +stanzas was inserted in this book has long puzzled +students of Dickens. The ostensible excuse +for its introduction was its recitation at an +evening party at Manor Farm, Dingley Dell, by +the aged clergyman of the place, name not +given, who posed as its author. But the poem +has absolutely nothing to do with the plot of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span> +the story. Just write these first five lines, as I +dictate, will you?</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">‘Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That creepeth o’er ruins old,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of right choice food are his meals I ween,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">In his cell so lone and cold.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed—’</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“Now, kindly take your pencil and write +down the first letter of the first line’s last word, +the second letter of the second line’s last word, +the third letter of the third line’s third word +from the last (a not uncommon variant in +ciphers of this character) and the fourth letter +of the fourth line’s last word. Those four letters, +in this order, spell GLAD. Now glance +along the next line for the word that would +form the second syllable of a proper name. The +next to the last word is STONE. And there +you have the conclusive clue to the authorship +of the Dickens novels!”</p> + +<p>“That seems to be a clincher, your lordship,” +I said, “and I am sure your theory will create +a sensation down below when the earth-dwellers +hear of it. But will you not tell me whether you +are the author of ‘Hamlet’ and the other immortal +plays?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span></p> + +<p>“You may remember,” he replied with an +enigmatic smile, “Sir Walter Scott’s answer to +the lady who asked whether he wrote the +‘Waverly Novels,’ when they were appearing anonymously? +‘I did not write them,’ he rejoined, +‘but if I did I would not tell you.’ Some very +curious circumstances were connected with the +writing of the works called Shakespeare’s, and +one day the world may learn of them. What’s +in a name? A rose by any other name would +still cost twenty-four dollars a dozen on Fifth +Avenue.”</p> + +<p>Then his lordship bowed me into my waiting +astral plane. +</p> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75226 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75226-h/images/cover.jpg b/75226-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e796817 --- /dev/null +++ b/75226-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/75226-h/images/crest.jpg b/75226-h/images/crest.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..19cb997 --- /dev/null +++ b/75226-h/images/crest.jpg |
