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diff --git a/78352-0.txt b/78352-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4c04793 --- /dev/null +++ b/78352-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5801 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78352 *** + + + + +THE EARLY WORM + +[Illustration: When they were held up by the jam, ... I would jeer.] + + + + +THE +EARLY WORM + +BY +ROBERT BENCHLEY + +_Author of_ + +OF ALL THINGS! +LOVE CONQUERS ALL +PLUCK AND LUCK + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY +GLUYAS WILLIAMS + +[Illustration] + +NEW YORK +HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1927, +BY +HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY + +_August, 1927_ + + +PRINTED IN THE +UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + +ACKNOWLEDGMENT + + +The author wishes to thank the following periodicals for permission +to reprint the articles in this book: _Life_, _The Detroit Athletic +Club News_, _The New Yorker_, _Vanity Fair_, _College Humor_ and _The +Bell Syndicate_. Thanks are also due to John Held, Jr., for permission +to use his elegant engravings and to Carol Goodner for suggesting the +title to the book. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + A TALK TO YOUNG MEN 3 + + THE SEED OF REVOLT 9 + + PAUL REVERE’S RIDE 13 + + FASCINATING CRIMES 21 + + UPSETS 27 + + AN INTERVIEW WITH MUSSOLINI 29 + + THE “LIFE” POLAR EXPEDITION 32 + + THE SAVING-“OLD-IRONSIDES” HABIT 39 + + A GOOD OLD-FASHIONED CHRISTMAS 41 + + LIFE IN THE RITZ TENEMENT 56 + + OLD PROGRAM FROM THE BENCHLEY COLLECTION 60 + + WHAT COLLEGE DID TO ME 69 + + AN INTERVIEW WITH THEODORE DREISER 78 + + FASCINATING CRIMES 80 + + LOUIS DOT DOPE 84 + + THE RISE AND FALL OF THE CHRISTMAS CARD 88 + + THE HENNA DECADE 96 + + A PLAN TO STABILIZE THE FRANC 100 + + SEX IS OUT 106 + + UNCLE EDITH’S GHOST STORY 109 + + FASCINATING CRIMES 115 + + THE END OF THE SEASON 120 + + EXAM TIME 124 + + THROWING BACK THE EUROPEAN OFFENSIVE 127 + + AN INTERVIEW WITH VICE-PRESIDENT DAWES 134 + + THE “LIFE” POLAR EXPEDITION 137 + + A GHOST STORY 142 + + DISCOVERING WEBER AND FIELDS 148 + + WATER FOOTBALL 150 + + MORE SONGS FOR MELLER 159 + + FASCINATING CRIMES 163 + + THE “LIFE” POLAR EXPEDITION 168 + + AN INTERVIEW WITH THE COUNTESS KAROLYI 172 + + THE BOYS’ CAMP BUSINESS 174 + + AT LAST A SUBSTITUTE FOR SNOW 183 + + THE NEW WING 190 + + UNCLE CALVIN’S NO-WASTE GAMES 195 + + THE WORLD OF GRANDPA BENCHLEY 200 + + THE “LIFE” POLAR EXPEDITION 209 + + HOW TO START A SUPPER CLUB 216 + + THE NEW VILLAINY 223 + + TIME-OFF FROM THE SHOW 230 + + THE “LIFE” POLAR EXPEDITION 237 + + SPYING ON THE VEHICULAR TUNNEL 241 + + COMPILING AN AMERICAN TRAGEDY 246 + + STORM WARNINGS FOR NEW YORK 251 + + THE “LIFE” POLAR EXPEDITION 259 + + + + +THE EARLY WORM + + + + +A TALK TO YOUNG MEN + +_Graduation Address on “The Decline of Sex”_ + + +To you young men who only recently were graduated from our various +institutions of learning (laughter), I would bring a message, a message +of warning and yet, at the same time, a message of good cheer. Having +been out in the world a whole month, it is high time that you learned +something about the Facts of Life, something about how wonderfully +Nature takes care of the thousand and one things which go to make up +what some people jokingly call our “sex” life. I hardly know how to +begin. Perhaps “Dear Harry” would be as good a way as any. + +You all have doubtless seen, during your walks in the country, how +the butterflies and bees carry pollen from one flower to another? It +is very dull and you should be very glad that you are not a bee or a +butterfly, for where the fun comes in _that_ I can’t see. However, they +think that they are having a good time, which is all that is necessary, +I suppose. Some day a bee is going to get hold of a real book on the +subject, and from then on there will be mighty little pollen-toting +done or I don’t know my bees. + +Well, anyway, if you have noticed carefully how the bees carry pollen +from one flower to another (and there is no reason why you should +have noticed carefully as there is nothing to see), you will have +wondered what connection there is between this process and that of +animal reproduction. I may as well tell you right now that there is no +connection at all, and so your whole morning of bee-stalking has been +wasted. + +We now come to the animal world. Or rather, first we come to One +Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, but you don’t get off there. The +animal world is next, and off you get. And what a sight meets your +eyes! My, my! It just seems as if the whole world were topsy-turvy. + +The next time you are at your grocer’s buying gin, take a look at his +eggs. They really are some hen’s eggs, but they belong to the grocer +now, as he has bought them and is entitled to sell them. So they really +_are_ his eggs, funny as it may sound to anyone who doesn’t know. If +you will look at these eggs, you will see that each one is _almost_ +round, but not _quite_. They are more of an “egg-shape.” This may +strike you as odd at first, until you learn that this is Nature’s way +of distinguishing eggs from large golf balls. You see, Mother Nature +takes no chances. She used to, but she learned her lesson. And that is +a lesson that all of you must learn as well. It is called Old Mother +Nature’s Lesson, and begins on page 145. + +Now, these eggs have not always been like this. That stands to reason. +They once had something to do with a hen or they wouldn’t be called +hen’s eggs. If they are called duck’s eggs, that means that they had +something to do with a duck. Who can tell me what it means if they are +called “ostrich’s eggs”?... That’s right. + +But the egg is not the only thing that had something to do with a hen. +Who knows what else there was?... That’s right. + +Now the rooster is an entirely different sort of bird from the hen. +It is very proud and has a red crest on the top of his head. This red +crest is put there by Nature so that the hen can see the rooster coming +in a crowd and can hop into a taxi or make a previous engagement if she +wants to. A favorite dodge of a lot of hens when they see the red crest +of the rooster making in their direction across the barnyard is to work +up a sick headache. One of the happiest and most contented roosters I +ever saw was one who had had his red crest chewed off in a fight with a +dog. He also wore sneakers. + +But before we take up this phase of the question (for it is a +question), let us go back to the fish kingdom. Fish are probably the +worst example that you can find; in the first place, because they work +under water, and in the second, because they don’t know anything. You +won’t find one fish in a million that has enough sense to come in +when it rains. They are just stupid, that’s all, and nowhere is their +stupidity more evident than in their sex life. + +Take, for example, the carp. The carp is one of the least promising of +all the fish. He has practically no forehead and brings nothing at all +to a conversation. Now the mother carp is swimming around some fine +spring day when suddenly she decides that it would be nice to have some +children. So she makes out a deposit slip and deposits a couple million +eggs on a rock (all this goes on _under_ water, mind you, of all +places). This done, she adjusts her hat, powders her nose, and swims +away, a woman with a past. + +It is not until all this is over and done with that papa enters the +picture, and then only in an official capacity. Papa’s job is very +casual. He swims over the couple of million eggs and takes a chance +that by sheer force of personality he can induce half a dozen of them +to hatch out. The remainder either go to waste or are blacked up to +represent caviar. + +So you will see that the sex life of a fish is nothing much to brag +about. It never would present a problem in a fish community as it does +in ours. No committees ever have to be formed to regulate it, and about +the only way in which a fish can go wrong is through drink or stealing. +This makes a fish’s life highly unattractive, you will agree, for, +after a time, one would get very tired of drinking and stealing. + +We have now covered the various agencies of Nature for populating the +earth with the lesser forms of life. We have purposely omitted any +reference to the reproduction of those unicellular organisms which +reproduce by dividing themselves up into two, four, eight, etc., parts +without any outside assistance at all. This method is too silly even to +discuss. + +We now come to colors. You all know that if you mix yellow with blue +you get green. You also get green if you mix cherries and milk. (Just +kidding. Don’t pay any attention.) The derivation of one color from +the mixture of two other colors is not generally considered a sexual +phenomenon, but that is because the psychoanalysts haven’t got around +to it yet. By next season it won’t be safe to admit that you like +to paint, or you will be giving yourself away as an inhibited old +uncle-lover and debauchee. The only thing that the sex-psychologists +can’t read a sexual significance into is trap-shooting, and they are +working on that now. + +All of which brings us to the point of wondering if it _all_ isn’t a +gigantic hoax. If the specialists fall down on trap-shooting, they are +going to begin to doubt the whole structure which they have erected, +and before long there is going to be a reaction which will take the +form of an absolute negation of sex. An Austrian scientist has already +come out with the announcement that there is no such thing as a hundred +per cent male or a hundred per cent female. If this is true, it is +really a big step forward. It is going to throw a lot of people out of +work, but think of the money that will be saved! + +And so, young men, my message to you is this: Think the thing over very +carefully and examine the evidence with fair-minded detachment. And if +you decide that, within the next ten years, sex is going out of style, +make your plans accordingly. Why not be pioneers in the new movement? + + + + +THE SEED OF REVOLT + + +In the hearts of many New Yorkers there glowed a strange and savage +sense of satisfaction when fire, a few weeks ago, destroyed the wooden +staging which had encased the lower half of the new Aeolian Building +under construction at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Fifty-fourth +Street. That fire may prove to be the torch igniting a citizens’ revolt +of city-wide proportions. + +For several years now, ever since they began tearing down most of the +buildings in New York and erecting others in their places to be torn +down next year, pedestrians have been practically excluded from the use +of their sidewalks. On each corner, and in the middle of each block, +it has been necessary to tunnel through great wooden passageways, +dodging avalanches of bricks on one side and workmen darting out from +clammy recesses with wheelbarrows of mortar on the other. These workmen +have a system whereby they lie in wait in the ground floor of the new +building, each with a wheelbarrow full of unpleasant material poised +ready, until you and I are directly upon the plank which slopes across +the sidewalk to the waiting truck. Then, at a signal from the boss, +they charge out directly in your path, shouting the Fascist war cry and +scraping the buttons off your waistcoat. At the same moment a landslide +of gravel is let loose from the fifth floor crashing on top of the +flimsy structure over your head and sending through a blinding shower +of fine white powder which stirs up all that old catarrhal trouble +which the doctor has assured you will cause your death one day. + +[Illustration: They lie in wait in the ground floor of the new +building.] + +If you evolve some maneuver calculated to evade this ordeal by going +around the structure on the outside, you are confronted by a line of +trucks backed up against the curb, making it necessary for you to go +way out to the middle of the street, where you are immediately run over +in the traffic. + +For years now the supine citizens of New York have forgone the use of +their sidewalks, having first been prohibited the use of their streets, +until the fire in the new Aeolian Building chewed to pieces the wooden +shanty and boardwalk and, it is to be hoped, did irreparable damage +to dozens of wheelbarrows. It is said that the fire was caused by a +workman leaving an acetylene torch burning in the basement. Whether it +was really a workman or some nerve-racked patriot with the courage of +his convictions does not matter now. The idea has been implanted in the +minds of hundreds of citizens and it would not be surprising if, before +autumn, construction companies had evolved some other way of erecting +their buildings. + +[Illustration: Sending through a blinding shower of fine white powder.] + + + + +PAUL REVERE’S RIDE + +_How a Modest Go-Getter Did His Bit for the Juno Acid Bath Corporation_ + + +Following are the salesman’s report sheets sent into the home office in +New York by Thaddeus Olin, agent for the Juno Acid Bath Corporation. +Mr. Olin had the New England territory during the spring of 1775 and +these report sheets are dated April 16, 17, 18, and 19, of that year. + + + _April 16, 1775. + Boston._ + +Called on the following engravers this a. m.: Boston Engraving Co., E. +H. Hosstetter, Theodore Platney, Paul Revere, Benjamin B. Ashley and +Roger Durgin. + +Boston Engraving Co. are all taken care of for their acid. + +E. H. Hosstetter took three tins of acid No. 4 on trial and renewed his +old order of 7 Queen-Biters. + +Theodore Platney has gone out of business since my last trip. + +Paul Revere was not in. The man in his shop said that he was busy with +some sort of local shin-dig. Said I might catch him in tomorrow morning. + +The Benjamin Ashley people said they were satisfied with their present +product and contemplated no change. + +Roger Durgin died last March. + +Things are pretty quiet in Boston right now. + + + _April 17._ + +Called on Boston Engraving people again to see if they might not want +to try some Daisy No. 3. Mr. Lithgo was interested and said to come in +tomorrow when Mr. Lithgo, Senior, would be there. + +Paul Revere was not in. He had been in for a few minutes before the +shop opened and had left word that he would be up at Sam Adams’ in case +anyone wanted him. Went up to the Adams place, but the girl there said +that Mr. Revere and Mr. Adams had gone over to Mr. Dawes’ place on Milk +Street. Went to Dawes’ place, but the man there said Dawes and Adams +and Revere were in conference. There seems to be some sort of parade or +something they are getting up, something to do with the opening of the +new foot-bridge to Cambridge, I believe. + +Things are pretty quiet here in Boston, except for the trade from the +British fleet which is out in the harbour. + +Spent the evening looking around in the coffee houses. Everyone here +is cribbage-crazy. All they seem to think of is cribbage, cribbage, +cribbage. + + + _April 18._ + +To the Boston Engraving Company and saw Mr. Lithgo, Senior. He seemed +interested in the Daisy No. 3 acid and said to drop in again later in +the week. + +Paul Revere was out. His assistant said that he knew that Mr. Revere +was in need of a new batch of acid and had spoken to him about our +Vulcan No. 2 and said he might try some. I would have to see Mr. Revere +personally, he said, as Mr. Revere makes all purchases himself. He said +that he thought I could catch him over at the Dawes’ place. + +Tried the Dawes’ place but they said that he and Mr. Revere had gone +over to the livery stable on State Street. + +Went to the livery stable but Revere had gone. They said he had engaged +a horse for tonight for some sort of entertainment he was taking part +in. The hostler said he heard Mr. Revere say to Mr. Dawes that they +might as well go up to the North Church and see if everything was all +set; so I gather it is a church entertainment. + +Followed them up to the North Church, but there was nobody there except +the caretaker, who said that he thought I could catch Mr. Revere over +at Charlestown late that night. He described him to me so that I would +know him and said that he probably would be on horseback. As it seemed +to me to be pretty important that we land the Revere order for Vulcan +No. 2, I figured out that whatever inconvenience it might cause me to +go over to Charlestown or whatever added expense to the firm, would be +justified. + +Spent the afternoon visiting several printing establishments, but none +of them do any engraving. + +Things are pretty quiet here in Boston. + +Went over to Charlestown after supper and hung around “The Bell in +Hand” tavern looking for Mr. Revere. Met a man there who used to live +in Peapack, N. J., and we got to talking about what a funny name for +a town that was. Another man said that in Massachusetts there was +actually a place called Podunk, up near Worcester. We had some very +good cheese and talked over names of towns for a while. Then the second +man, the one who knew about Podunk, said he had to go as he had a date +with a man. After he had left I happened to bring the conversation +around to the fact that I was waiting for a Mr. Paul Revere, and the +first man told me that I had been talking to him for half an hour and +that he had just gone. + +I rushed out to the corner, but the man who keeps the watering-trough +there said that someone answering Mr. Revere’s description had just +galloped off on a horse in the direction of Medford. Well, this just +made me determined to land that order for Juno Acid Bath Corporation or +die in the attempt. So I hired a horse at the Tavern stable and started +off toward Medford. + +Just before I hit Medford I saw a man standing out in his night-shirt +in front of his house looking up the road. I asked him if he had seen +anybody who looked like Mr. Revere. He seemed pretty sore and said that +some crazy coot had just ridden by and knocked at his door and yelled +something that he couldn’t understand and that if he caught him he’d +break his back. From his description of the horse I gathered that Mr. +Revere was the man; so I galloped on. + +A lot of people in Medford Town were up and standing in front of their +houses, cursing like the one I had just seen. It seems that Mr. Revere +had gone along the roadside, knocking on doors and yelling something +which nobody understood, and then galloping on again. + +“Some god-dam drunk,” said one of the Medfordites, and they all went +back to bed. + +I wasn’t going to be cheated out of my order now, no matter what +happened, and I don’t think that Mr. Revere could have been drunk, +because while he was with us at “The Bell in Hand,” he had only four +short ales. He had a lot of cheese, though. + +Something seemed to have been the matter with him, however, because in +every town that I rode through I found people just going back to bed +after having been aroused up out of their sleep by a mysterious rider. +I didn’t tell them that it was Mr. Revere, or that it was probably some +stunt to do with the shin-dig that he and Mr. Dawes were putting on for +the North Church. I figured out that it was a little publicity stunt. + +Finally, just as I got into Lexington, I saw my man getting off his +horse at a house right alongside the Green. I rushed up and caught +him just as he was going in. I introduced myself and told him that I +represented the Juno Acid Bath Corporation of New York and asked him if +he could give me a few minutes, as I had been following him all the way +from Charlestown and had been to his office three days in succession. +He said that he was busy right at that minute, but that if I wanted +to come along with him upstairs he would talk business on the way. He +asked me if I wasn’t the man he had been talking to at “The Bell in +Hand” and I said yes, and asked him how Podunk was. This got him in +good humour and he said that we might as well sit right down then and +that he would get someone else to do what he had to do. So he called a +man-servant and told him to go right upstairs, wake up Mr. Hancock and +Mr. Adams and tell them to get up, and no fooling. “Keep after them, +Sambo,” he said, “and don’t let them roll over and go to sleep again. +It’s very important.” + +So we sat down in the living room and I got out our statement of sales +for 1774 and showed him that, in face of increased competition, Juno +had practically doubled its output. “There must be some reason for +an acid outselling its competitors three to one,” I said, “and that +reason, Mr. Revere, is that a Juno product is a guaranteed product.” +He asked me about the extra sixpence a tin and I asked him if he would +rather pay a sixpence less and get an inferior grade of acid and he +said, “No.” So I finally landed an order of three dozen tins of Vulcan +No. 2 and a dozen jars of Acme Silver Polish, as Mr. Revere is a +silversmith, also, on the side. + +Took a look around Lexington before I went back to Boston, but didn’t +see any engraving plants. Lexington is pretty quiet right now. + + Respectfully submitted, + THADDEUS OLIN. + + Attached. + _Expense Voucher_ + Juno Acid Bath Corp., New York + + Thaddeus Olin, Agent. + + Hotel in Boston 15s. + Stage fare 30s. + Meals (4 days) 28s. + Entertaining prospects £3 4s. + Horse rent. Charlestown to Lexington and return £2 6s. + ------ + Total Expense £9 3s. + + To Profit on three dozen tins of Vulcan No. 2 and 18s. + One dozen jars Acme Silver Polish 4s. + ------ + £1 2s. + + Net Loss £8 1s. + + + + +FASCINATING CRIMES + +_I. The Odd Occurrence in the Life of Dr. Meethas_ + + +Early in the evening of October 14, 1879, Dr. Attemas Meethas, a +physician of good repute in Elkhart, Indiana, went into the pantry of +his home at 11 Elm Street, ostensibly to see if there was any of that +cold roast pork left. The good doctor was given to nibbling cold roast +pork when occasion offered. + +As he passed through the living-room on his way to the pantry, he spoke +to his housekeeper, Mrs. Omphrey, and said that, if everything turned +out all right, he would be at that cold roast pork in about half a +minute (Elkhart time--an hour earlier than Eastern time). “Look out for +the pits,” Mrs. Omphrey cautioned him, and went on with her stitching. +Mrs. Omphrey, in her spare time, was a stitcher of uppers for the local +shoe-factory. + +This is the last that was seen of Dr. Attemas Meethas alive. It is +doubtful if he ever even reached the pantry, for the cold roast pork +was found untouched on a plate, and Dr. Meethas was found, three days +later, hanging from the top of the flag-pole on the roof of the +Masonic Lodge. The mystery was even more puzzling in that Dr. Meethas +was not a Mason. + +[Illustration: The revolting death of Dr. Meethas. + + --_Courtesy of John Held, Jr., and Life._ +] + +Citizens of Elkhart, on being grilled, admitted having seen the +doctor hanging from the flag-pole for two days, but thought that he +was fooling and would come down soon enough when he got hungry. But +when, after three days, he made no sign of descending, other than to +drop off one shoe, a committee was formed to investigate. It was found +that their fellow-citizen, far from playing a practical joke on them, +had had one played on him, for he was quite dead, with manifold and +singular abrasions. A particularly revolting feature of the case was +that the little gold chain which the doctor wore over his right ear, +to keep his pince-nez glasses in place, was still in position. This at +once disposed of the possibility of suicide. + +Mrs. Omphrey and her uppers were held for examination, as it was +understood that she had at one time made an attempt on the doctor’s +life, on the occasion of his pushing her down when they were skating +together. But her story in the present affair was impregnable. After +the doctor had gone through the living-room on his way to the pantry, +she said that she continued stitching at her machine until nine o’clock +in the evening. She thought it a little odd that Dr. Meethas did not +return from the pantry, but figured it out that there was probably +quite a lot of cold roast pork there and that he was still busy +nibbling. At nine o’clock, however, she stopped work and started on her +rounds of the house to lock up for the night. On reaching the pantry, +she found that her employer was not there, and had not been there; +at least that he had not touched the pork. She thought nothing of it, +however, as it occurred to her that the doctor had probably remembered +an engagement and had left suddenly by the pantry window in order not +to worry her. So, after finishing the cold pork herself, she locked +the bread-box and retired for the night. The police, on investigation, +found the bread-box locked just as she had said, and so released Mrs. +Omphrey. + +When the news of Dr. Meethas’ accident reached La Porte, Amos W. +Meethas, a brother of the victim and a respected citizen of the town, +came directly to Elkhart and insisted on an investigation. He said that +his brother had accumulated quite a fortune tinting postcards on the +side, and was known to have this money hidden in a secret panel in the +hammock which hung on the back porch. The police, guided by Mr. Amos +Meethas, went to the hammock, slid the panel open and found nothing +there but some old clippings telling of Dr. Meethas’ confirmation in +1848. (He was a confirmed old bachelor.) This definitely established +robbery as the motive for the crime. The next thing to do was to +discover someone who could climb flag-poles. + +Neighbors of the doctor recalled that some weeks before a young man had +gone from door to door asking if anybody wanted his flag-pole climbed. +He said he was working his way through college climbing flag-poles +and would be grateful for any work, however small. He was remembered to +have been a short youth about six feet two or three, with hair blond on +one side and dark on the other. This much the neighbors agreed upon. + +[Illustration: Dr. Meethas--The unfortunate victim. + + --_Courtesy of John Held, Jr., and Life._ +] + +Working in South Bend at the time was a young man named Herman Trapp. +He was apprehended by the authorities, who subsequently decided that he +had no connection whatever with the tragedy. + +So the strange murder of Dr. Meethas (if indeed it _was_ a murder) +rests to this day unsolved and forgotten, which is just as well, as it +was at best a pretty dull case. + + + + +UPSETS + + +Thus far, the football season of 1927 has been one of upsets. Nothing +has turned out according to the dope. Therefore, in its remaining +weeks, we predict the following startling deviations from form: + +1. It will not rain the day of the Big Game. + +2. We shall have no more than a dozen requests for “a couple of seats.” + +3. Our own seats will be, not in the wooden stands behind the +scoreboard, but out in full view of the field. (We have to laugh even +when writing this in fun.) + +4. There will not be an intoxicated man in a rhinoceros coat directly +in front of us who jumps up at the sound of the whistle. + +5. There will not be a small man with a 13½ collar behind us who has +ideas on how the team should be run. + +6. The game will not have started while we are milling around in the +crowd at the gate. + +7. Nobody will fall down the steps. + +8. Holding tickets for two seats, we shall find that there is space +left in which two people can sit without being married to each other. + +9. We shall not be too hot above the waist and too cold below. + +10. Harvard will win and we shall see ten dollars of Donald Ogden +Stewart’s money. + + + + +AN INTERVIEW WITH MUSSOLINI + + +Mussolini seemed to be a good man to interview; so I got an interview +with him. + +“Mr. Mussolini,” I said, “as I understand your theory of government, +while it is not without its Greek foundations, it dates even farther +back, in its essence, to the Assyrian system.” + +“What?” asked Mussolini. + +“I said, as I understood your theory of government, while it is not +without its Greek foundations, it dates even farther back to the +ancient Assyrian system. Am I right?” + +“Assyrian here seen Kelly? K-E-double L-Y. That was a good song, too,” +said Il Duce. + +“A good song is right,” I replied. “And now might I ask, how did you +come by that beard?” + +“That is not a beard,” replied the Great Man. “That is my forehead. I +am smooth-shaven, as a matter of fact.” + +“So you are, so you are,” I apologized. “I was forgetting.” + +We both sat silent for a while, thinking of the old days in Syracuse +High. + +“Whatever became of her?” It was Il Kuce who broke the silence. + +“She married and went to Hingham to live,” I replied, watching him +closely. + +He went white for the fraction of a second. Then he turned to me and +said: + +“Give me your A, will you, please?” + +So I gave him my A and we played “_Yes Patineurs_” (“The Skaters”), and +very pretty, too. + +“I had almost forgotten how it went,” he said. + +“You _have_ forgotten how it went,” I corrected him. “You play awful.” + +Laughter followed this remark of mine. But I noticed that Mussolini was +not laughing. + +“But about your theory of government,” I said, hoping to bring the +roses back into those cheeks. “A lot of people try to tell me that it +is Phonician, but I always say ‘No!’” + +“What is it they say it is?” asked Il Huce, all a-tremble with +excitement. + +“Phœnician,” I repeated, putting in the “e.” + +“That’s a tough one,” he said. “You’ll have to give me a couple of +minutes on that. Phœnician, eh?... Phœnician drive up in a hack and ask +yer.” He put this forward tentatively. + +“Not so good, Il Duce,” I commented. + +His eyes filled with tears. + +“Oh, well, then,” I compromised, “have it your own way.” + +“I’ll have it with plain water, please, and a little lemon-rind.” It +was the Imperator who spoke. + +I signaled to the driver. + +“Stop the interview,” I said simply. + + + + +THE LIFE POLAR EXPEDITION + + +1 + +In spite of the fact that already three polar expeditions are well +under way in the air, _Life_ has decided that the interests of science +demand, or at any rate, ask nicely for, an expedition to be conducted +through some other medium. We have therefore decided on the bicycle. + +We realize that our expedition will have to hurry like everything on +bicycles to catch up with the Amundsen and Byrd groups, but we are +willing to make the try, and all our men are imbued with an enthusiasm +and zeal to carry the banner of _Life_ to the Pole which cannot but +result in _something_. + +Feverish preparations are now under way for the belated start of the +_Life_ bicycle expedition to the North Pole. The tardy departure has +been due to the failure of the contractors to finish the trousers-clips +in time, but everything is now in readiness and it looks as if we +might start at any minute now. The men are all eager to catch up with +Amundsen and Byrd and we all feel that, by very fast pedaling and no +fooling along the way, we can do it. + +“We _will_ do it,” Lieutenant Commander Marc Connelly said to me last +night, and that just about expresses the spirit behind the whole trip. + +“Why did you choose the bicycle?” a lot of people have asked us. “Why +_court_ danger?” + +We realize the risk that we are taking but feel that the bicycle is +the logical means for a party of our description to reach the Pole. +Three years ago it would have been impossible. But since then we have +learned so much more about the earth’s magnetism and bicycle navigation +that, with the improved technique in balancing which we have developed, +we feel that the danger is merely nominal. The farthest that we can +possibly fall, in case of an upset, is in an arc with a radius of six +feet. Now in this latitude (or in any latitude in which we are likely +to be for some time) the rate of acceleration of a falling body is +thirty-two feet per second; so you will see that it can’t hurt much. + +Furthermore, we are using the new Radley model bicycle, which combines +all the best features of the old Columbia bicycle with several modern +inventions, such as the gyro-balancer and the flash tail-light. The +gyro-balancer is a contraption attached to the saddle, by means of +which the rider is enabled to doze or shell nuts as he rides and be +assured that, unless he leans beyond an angle of forty-five degrees, +his machine will right itself automatically. If dozing, however, he +must not forget to pedal, as the gyro-balancer does not function unless +the wheel is in motion. The flash tail-light is more for looks than +anything else. It flashes red, green and vanilla. + +As at present planned, our course to the Pole will be as follows: + +Leave the _Life_ office at 598 Madison Ave., New York. Over to Fifth +Ave. and up Fifth Ave. to 120th St., skirting Mount Morris Park, +past 138th St. (Mott Haven), striking onto the Bronx River Parkway. +Up through Morrisania, Woodlawn, Mount Vernon, Bronxville, Tuckahoe, +Crestwood, Scarsdale, and Hartsdale to White Plains. From White Plains +we continue north direct into Canada and through Canada to Victoria +Island. A short carry across Melville Sound to Melville Island. Another +carry to Borden Island, followed by a short carry to Axel Heiberg Land +and a final carry to Grant Land on Ellesmere Island. Thence direct to +the Pole. + + +2 + +_En route with_ LIFE’S _Polar Expedition, passing through 125th St., +Manhattan, May 12._--After a successful hop-off from the curbing in +front of the office of _Life_ at 598 Madison Ave., New York City, we +pedalled our bicycles slowly up Madison Ave. to 59th St., where it +was discovered that Lieut.-Commander Connelly’s rear wheel was still +locked, a precaution which had been taken while the machines were +standing in the rack outside the office. This had made speed out of +the question for Lieut.-Commander Connelly, and had resulted in an +odd, dragging sensation which he was at a loss to account for until +a passerby called his attention to the locked wheel. The trouble was +immediately remedied, and the expedition proceeded at a much smarter +pace up Madison Ave. + +This little incident, at the very outset of our trip, while unimportant +in itself, just goes to show the spirit which is animating our men and +the determination in their hearts to see this thing through at any +cost. Lieut.-Commander Connelly might very well have become discouraged +when he found that his rear wheel was not revolving at all and +abandoned the thing entirely, but with characteristic bulldog grit he +kept pedalling right ahead with only one wheel and would probably have +stuck at it until the Pole was reached, do or die. It is such courage +that makes us all optimistic. + +Proceeding up Madison Ave. to 60th St., we turned the wheels at a +sharp right angle and cut across into Fifth Ave. This, while perhaps +foolhardy on the face of it, was not the madcap move that it may seem +to you sitting safely at home reading of our progress. For we had +received wireless messages from the station at 72nd St. and Madison +Ave. that at that corner there was a nasty excavation, into which we +might very well have hurtled with disastrous results had we kept on +our way up Madison. “I never before realized what a valuable service +the wireless telegraph can accomplish,” said Ensign Thermaline to me. +Ensign Thermaline was on the bicycle just ahead of me, and as he turned +to make this remark, his front wheel struck the curbing a glancing +blow, which threatened for a moment to result in a spill, but with rare +presence of mind Ensign Thermaline turned his head front again without +waiting for my corroboration of his remark (which I would have given +willingly had there been time or had the occasion been more propitious) +and, utilizing the gyro-balancer with which each of our Radley machines +is equipped, righted himself and his wheel in no time at all. It was an +exciting moment, however, and we all felt better when Ensign Thermaline +was once again headed straight north up Fifth Ave. + +All of our instruments are in excellent working order except the flash +tail-light on Lieut.-Commander Connelly’s wheel, which persists in +flashing red, a signal that he is going the other way. It should be +flashing green. This has caused a little confusion among vehicles +following in our wake, for the printed directions in the daily papers +stated that those vehicles encountering our expedition en route could +tell the direction in which we were moving by watching our flash +tail-lights, red if we were going south and green if we were going +north. Something akin to a panic was caused among the passengers on a +Fifth Ave. bus which was following close on behind Lieut.-Commander +Connelly’s wheel when he suddenly flashed red, indicating that he +was pedalling head-on for the bus. It was only when Lieut.-Commander +Connelly yelled a cheery “Mistake, mistake!” that the bus-driver could +be convinced that he ought not to turn aside and let the Connelly wheel +pass. + +We are now approaching 125th St. and the difference in the atmospheric +conditions between lower and upper Fifth Ave. is distinctly noticeable. +The traffic, while just as heavy, is a little easier to steer through. +Ensign Thermaline seems, at the moment, to be lost, but I have no doubt +that he will turn up again as soon as that big van gets out of the way +just beyond Capt. Nordney. Capt. Nordney joined the expedition at the +Heckscher Foundation at 104th St. and Fifth Ave. + +It now looks as if we might be able to make 138th St. (Mott Haven) by +night-fall, but I rather hope that we don’t as there probably wouldn’t +be any place to spend the night. I certainly have never seen, or heard +of, any hotels in that neighborhood. + + * * * * * + +_135th St., New York City, May 12._--At 5:58 p. m. today the _Life_ +Polar Expedition passed through this street, bearing N.E. by N. The +members seemed a little tired and Lieut.-Commander Connelly’s wheel +was dragging badly. Commander Benchley was sending out messages in all +directions, asking if anyone knew where they could put up for the night. + + * * * * * + +_Railroad Y. M. C. A., 140th St., New York City, May 12._--Preparations +are being made here to take care of the _Life_ Polar Expedition, which +is due to make a landing at 6:20 p. m. Searchlights are in readiness +and hot baths are being run to accommodate at least two of the party. + + + + +THE SAVING-“OLD-IRONSIDES” HABIT + + +The annual campaign to “Save ‘Old Ironsides’” is on again. Every few +years this ancient frigate is saved from some mysterious destruction, +school children are lathered up into a foam of patriotic excitement +in which they bring pennies from their banks to aid in the crisis, +speeches are made and banners unfurled, and everybody sinks back with a +sigh of relief. “Old Ironsides” has been saved again! + +And yet it hardly seems more than a couple of years before the cry goes +up again: “The enemy!” and bang! a shot whistles across the bows of +the famous ship. Then it’s “Save ‘Old Ironsides,’ boys!” and the whole +thing begins all over again. + +Oliver Wendell Holmes, who aided the first “Save ‘Old Ironsides’” +campaign by writing, “Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!” must smile +a rather wan smile as he realizes that all that he did was save “Old +Ironsides” for the fiscal year 1887-8 and that ever since then a Saving +Committee has been kept busy night and day planning future campaigns. +They say that the 1930 campaign is going to be the biggest and best yet. + +What are these malign forces that seem so persistent in their plots to +wreck the good ship “Constitution”? Sometimes it is an unsentimental +Government that threatens to junk the whole thing. At other times it +is the forces of Nature, which seem to wait until our backs are turned +after a money-raising campaign and then jump at the poor old sea-dog as +she lies in safety at Charlestown and bid fair to tear her limb from +limb. + +Whatever it is that we are constantly fighting off, would it not be +possible to raise enough money at one crack to keep “Old Ironsides” +afloat _forever_? We have a national surplus of $390,000,000. Couldn’t +we just settle this whole thing once and for all by devoting, let +us say, half of that to seeing that no more harm ever comes to this +precious relic? + +Having saved her three times, and won three legs on the trophy, might +we not be entitled to permanent possession of it? + +Or has the fact that there is a movie entitled “Old Ironsides” anything +to do with what James Russell Lowell called “The Present Crisis”? + + + + +A GOOD OLD-FASHIONED CHRISTMAS + + +Sooner or later at every Christmas party, just as things are beginning +to get good, someone shuts his eyes, puts his head back and moans +softly: “Ah, well, this isn’t like the old days. We don’t seem to have +any good old-fashioned Christmases any more.” To which the answer from +my corner of the room is: “All right! That suits me!” + +Just what they have in mind when they say “old-fashioned Christmas” you +never can pin them down to telling. “Lots of snow,” they mutter, “and +lots of food.” Yet, if you work it right, you can still get plenty of +snow and food today. Snow, at any rate. + +Then there seems to be some idea of the old-fashioned Christmas being, +of necessity, in the country. It doesn’t make any difference whether +you were raised on a farm or whether your ideas of a rural Christmas +were gleaned from pictures in old copies of “Harper’s Young People,” +you must give folks to understand that such were the surroundings in +which you spent your childhood holidays. And that, ah, me, those days +will never come again! + +Well, supposing you get your wish some time. Supposing, let us say, +your wife’s folks who live up in East Russet, Vermont, write and +ask you to come up and bring the children for a good old-fashioned +Christmas, “while we are all still together,” they add cheerily with +their flair for putting everybody in good humor. + +Hurray, hurray! Off to the country for Christmas! Pack up all the +warm clothes in the house, for you will need them up there where the +air is clean and cold. Snow-shoes? Yes, put them in, or better yet, +Daddy will carry them. What fun! Take along some sleigh-bells to +jangle in case there aren’t enough on the pung. There must be jangling +sleigh-bells. And whisky for frost-bite. Or is it snake-bite that +whisky is for? Anyway, put it in! We’re off! Good-by, all! Good-by! +JANGLE-JANGLE-JANGLE-Jangle-Jangle-Jangle-jangle-jangle-jangle-jangle- +jangle-jangle! + +In order to get to East Russet you take the Vermont Central as far as +Twitchell’s Falls and change there for Torpid River Junction, where a +spur line takes you right into Gormley. At Gormley you are met by a +buckboard which takes you back to Torpid River Junction again. By this +time a train or something has come in which will wait for the local +from Besus. While waiting for this you will have time to send your +little boy to school, so that he can finish the third grade. + +[Illustration: Esther Girl giddaps, and two suitcases fall out.] + +At East Russet Grandpa meets you with the sleigh. The bags are piled +in and Mother sits in front with Lester in her lap while Daddy takes +Junior and Ga-Ga in back with him and the luggage. Giddap, Esther Girl! + +Esther Girl giddaps, and two suitcases fall out. Heigh-ho! Out we get +and pick them up, brushing the snow off and filling our cuffs with it +as we do so. After all, there is nothing like snow for getting up one’s +cuffs. Good clean snow never hurt anyone. Which is lucky, because after +you have gone a mile or so, you discover that Ga-Ga is missing. Never +mind, she is a self-reliant little girl and will doubtless find her way +to the farm by herself. Probably she will be there waiting for you when +you arrive. + +The farm is situated on a hill about eleven hundred miles from the +center of town, just before you get into Canada. If there is a breeze +in winter, they get it. But what do they care for breezes, so long as +they have the Little Colonel oil-heater in the front room, to make +everything cozy and warm within a radius of four inches! And the big +open fireplace with the draught coming down it! Fun for everybody! + +You are just driving up to the farmhouse in the sleigh, with the +entire right leg frozen where the lap robe has slipped out. Grandma is +waiting for you at the door and you bustle in, all glowing with good +cheer. “Merry Christmas, Grandma!” Lester is cross and Junior is asleep +and has to be dragged by the hand upstairs, bumping against each step +all the way. It is so late that you decide that you all might as well +go to bed, especially as you learn that breakfast is at four-thirty. It +usually is at four, but Christmas being a holiday everyone sleeps late. + +As you reach the top of the stairs you get into a current of cold +air which has something of the quality of the temperature in a nice +well-regulated crypt. This is the Bed Room Zone, and in it the +thermometer never tops the zero mark from October fifteenth until the +middle of May. Those rooms in which no one sleeps are used to store +perishable vegetables in, and someone has to keep thumbing the tomatoes +and pears every so often to prevent their getting so hard that they +crack. + +The way to get undressed for bed in one of Grandpa’s bedrooms is as +follows: Starting from the foot of the stairs where it is warm, run +up two at a time to keep the circulation going as long as possible. +Opening the bedroom door with one hand, tear down the curtains from the +windows with the other, pick up the rugs from the floor and snatch the +spread from the top of the bureau. Pile all these on the bed, cover +with the closet door which you have wrenched from its hinges, and leap +quickly underneath. It sometimes helps to put on a pair of rubbers over +your shoes. + +And even when you are in bed, you have no guarantee of going to sleep. +Grandpa’s mattresses seem to contain the overflow from the silo, +cornhusks, baked-potato skins and long, stringy affairs which feel like +pipe cleaners. On a cold night, snuggling down into these is about like +snuggling down into a bed of damp pine cones out in the forest. + +Then there are Things abroad in the house. Shortly after you get into +bed, the stairs start snapping. Next something runs along the roof +over your head. You say to yourself: “Don’t be silly. It’s only Santa +Claus.” Then it runs along in the wall behind the head of the bed. +Santa Claus wouldn’t do that. Down the long hall which leads into +the ell of the house you can hear the wind sighing softly, with an +occasional reassuring bang of a door. + +The unmistakable sound of someone dying in great pain rises from just +below the window-sill. It is a sort of low moan, with just a touch of +strangulation in it. Perhaps Santa has fallen off the roof. Perhaps +that story you once heard about Grandpa’s house having been a hang-out +for Revolutionary smugglers is true, and one of the smugglers has come +back for his umbrella. The only place at a time like this is down under +the bedclothes. But the children become frightened and demand to be +taken home, and Grandpa has to be called to explain that it is only +Blue Bell out in the barn. Blue Bell has asthma, and on a cold night +they have to be very patient with her. + +Christmas morning dawns cloudy and cold, with the threat of plenty +more snow, and, after all, what would Christmas be without snow? You +lie in bed for one hour and a quarter trying to figure out how you +can get up without losing the covers from around you. A glance at the +water pitcher shows that it is time for them to put the red ball up for +skating. You think of the nice warm bathroom at home, and decide that +you can wait until you get back there before shaving. + +This breaking the ice in the pitcher seems to be a feature of the +early lives of all great men which they look back on with tremendous +satisfaction. “When I was a boy, I used to have to break the ice in +the pitcher every morning before I could wash,” is said with as much +pride as one might say, “When I was a boy I stood at the head of my +class.” Just what virtue there is in having to break ice in a pitcher +is not evident, unless it lies in their taking the bother to break the +ice and wash at all. Any time that I have to break ice in a pitcher +as a preliminary to washing, I go unwashed, that’s all. And Benjamin +Franklin and U. S. Grant and Rutherford B. Hayes can laugh as much as +they like. I’m nobody’s fool about a thing like that. + +[Illustration: The entire family enters, purple and chattering and +exceedingly cross.] + +Getting the children dressed is a lot of fun when you have to keep +pumping their limbs up and down to keep them from freezing out stiff. +The children love it and are just as bright and merry as little pixies +when it is time to go downstairs and say “Good morning” to Grandpa and +Grandma. The entire family enters the dining-room purple and chattering +and exceedingly cross. + +After breakfast everyone begins getting dinner. The kitchen being the +only warm place in the house may have something to do with it. But +before long there are so many potato peelings and turkey feathers and +squash seeds and floating bits of pie crust in the kitchen that the +women-folk send you and the children off into the front part of the +house to amuse yourselves and get out of the way. + +Then what a jolly time you and the kiddies and Grandpa have together! +You can either slide on the horse-hair sofa, or play “The Wayside +Chapel” on the piano (the piano has scroll-work on either side of the +music rack with yellow silk showing through), or look out the window +and see ten miles of dark gray snow. Perhaps you may even go out to +the barn and look at the horses and cows, but really, as you walk down +between the stalls, when you have seen one horse or one cow you have +seen them all. And besides, the cold in the barn has an added flavor +of damp harness leather and musty carriage upholstery which eats into +your very marrow. + +Of course, there are the presents to be distributed, but that takes +on much the same aspect as the same ceremony in the new-fashioned +Christmas, except that in the really old-fashioned Christmas the +presents weren’t so tricky. Children got mostly mittens and shoes, with +a sled thrown in sometimes for dissipation. Where a boy today is bored +by three o’clock in the afternoon with his electric grain-elevator and +miniature pond with real perch in it, the old-fashioned boy was lucky +if he got a copy of “Naval Battles of the War of 1812” and an orange. +Now this feature is often brought up in praise of the old way of doing +things. “I tell you,” says Uncle Gyp, “the children in my time never +got such presents as you get today.” And he seems proud of the fact, +as if there were some virtue accruing to him for it. If the children +of today can get electric grain-elevators and tin automobiles for +Christmas, why aren’t they that much better off than their grandfathers +who got only wristlets? Learning the value of money, which seems to be +the only argument of the stand-patters, doesn’t hold very much water +as a Christmas slogan. The value of money can be learned in just about +five minutes when the time comes, but Christmas is not the season. + +But to return to the farm, where you and the kiddies and Gramp’ are +killing time. You can either bring in wood from the woodshed, or thaw +out the pump, or read the books in the bookcase over the writing-desk. +Of the three, bringing in the wood will probably be the most fun, as +you are likely to burn yourself thawing out the pump, and the list of +reading matter on hand includes “The Life and Deeds of General Grant,” +“Our First Century,” “Andy’s Trip to Portland,” bound volumes of the +Jersey Cattle Breeders’ Gazette and “Diseases of the Horse.” Then there +are some old copies of “Round the Lamp” for the years 1850-54 and +some colored plates showing plans for the approaching World’s Fair at +Chicago. + +Thus the time passes, in one round of gayety after another, until +you are summoned to dinner. Here all caviling must cease. The dinner +lives up to the advertising. If an old-fashioned Christmas could +consist entirely of dinner without the old-fashioned bedrooms, the +old-fashioned pitcher, and the old-fashioned entertainments, we +professional pessimists wouldn’t have a turkey-leg left to stand on. +But, as has been pointed out, it is possible to get a good dinner +without going up to East Russet, Vt., or, if it isn’t, then our +civilization has been a failure. + +And the dinner only makes the aftermath seem worse. According to an +old custom of the human race, everyone overeats. Deliberately and with +considerable gusto you sit at the table and say pleasantly: “My, but I +won’t be able to walk after this. Just a little more of the dark meat, +please, Grandpa, just a dab of stuffing. Oh, dear, that’s too much!” +You haven’t the excuse of the drunkard, who becomes oblivious to his +excesses after several drinks. You know what you are doing, and yet you +make light of it and even laugh about it as long as you _can_ laugh +without splitting out a seam. + +[Illustration: Then you sit and moan.] + +And then you sit and moan. If you were having a good new-fashioned +Christmas you could go out to the movies or take a walk, or a ride, but +to be really old-fashioned you must stick close to the house, for in +the old days there were no movies and no automobiles and if you wanted +to take a walk you had to have the hired man go ahead of you with a +snow-shovel and make a tunnel. There are probably plenty of things to +do in the country today, and just as many automobiles and electric +lights as there are in the city, but you can’t call Christmas with all +these improvements “an old-fashioned Christmas.” That’s cheating. + +If you are going through with the thing right, you have got to retire +to the sitting-room after dinner and _sit_. Of course, you can go out +and play in the snow if you want to, but you know as well as I do that +this playing in the snow is all right when you are small but a bit +trying on anyone over thirty. And anyway, it always began to snow along +about three in the afternoon an old-fashioned Christmas day, with a +cheery old leaden sky overhead and a jolly old gale sweeping around +the corners of the house. + +No, you simply must sit indoors, in front of a fire if you insist, +but nevertheless with nothing much to do. The children are sleepy +and snarling. Grandpa is just sleepy. Someone tries to start the +conversation, but everyone else is too gorged with food to be able +to move the lower jaw sufficiently to articulate. It develops that +the family is in possession of the loudest-ticking clock in the world +and along about four o’clock it begins to break its own record. A +stenographic report of the proceedings would read as follows: + + “Ho-hum! I’m sleepy! I shouldn’t have eaten so much.” + + “Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock--” + + “It seems just like Sunday, doesn’t it?” + + “Look at Grandpa! He’s asleep.” + + “Here, Junior! Don’t plague Grandpa. Let him sleep.” + + “Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock--” + + “Junior! Let Grandpa alone! Do you want Mamma to take you upstairs?” + + “Ho-hum!” + + “Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock--” + +Louder and louder the clock ticks, until something snaps in your +brain and you give a sudden leap into the air with a scream, finally +descending to strangle each of the family in turn, and Grandpa as he +sleeps. Then, as you feel your end is near, all the warm things you +have ever known come back to you, in a flash. You remember the hot +Sunday subway to Coney, your trip to Mexico, the bull-fighters of Spain. + +You dash out into the snowdrifts and plunge along until you sink +exhausted. Only the fact that this article ends here keeps you from +freezing to death, with an obituary the next day reading: + +“DIED suddenly, at East Russet, Vt., of an old-fashioned Christmas.” + + + + +LIFE IN THE RITZ TENEMENT + +[A recent ruling of the Tenement House Commission places all of +New York’s new apartment-houses in the technical classification of +“tenements” for the enforcement of certain clauses of the Tenement +House Law.] + + SCENE: _The rear of Mr. Brisbane’s new apartment palace--the Ritz + Tower. It is Monday morning and the tenants are seen hanging out + their wash from the kitchen windows._ + +TWENTY-FIRST FLOOR BACK: Good morning to you, Mrs. Van Cleve! A +charming day, isn’t it? + +TWENTY-SECOND FLOOR BACK: The same to you, Mrs. Thornton-Martin. And +too charming a day to be cooped up inside like this. + +TWENTY-FIRST FLOOR: My _dear_, the killingest thing! Speaking of being +cooped up--did you hear that (_lowering the voice_) Freddie Welt was +arrested Saturday? + +TWENTY-SECOND FLOOR: The Welts on the thirty-fifth floor! My _dear_, +how frightful! What for? + +TWENTY-FIRST: Well, it seems that Freddie and some of the boys from the +Linx Club had been playing polo-- + +[Illustration: “Good morning to you, Mrs. Van Cleve!”] + +(_A delivery boy from Cartier’s clatters up the back stairway._) + +BOY: Van Buren live here? + +THIRTIETH FLOOR: Two flights up. They’re out now. You can leave the +stuff here. + +BOY: Three thousand dollars collect on it. + +THIRTIETH FLOOR: Go on up and tuck it under the door. + +TWENTY-NINTH FLOOR: I’m going to speak to the janitor about those folks +on the twenty-eighth. + +THIRTIETH FLOOR: A lot of good it will do. They’re his cousins. What +have they done now? + +TWENTY-NINTH FLOOR: All their empty champagne bottles out by the back +door where Reggie stumbles over them going to work in the morning! They +had a lot of Roumanians up there last night till four in the morning. + +THIRTIETH FLOOR: Roumanians, eh? Why don’t those people go back where +they came from if they don’t like it here? + +TWENTY-NINTH FLOOR: That’s what I’d like to know. I said to Reggie last +night, I said, “Reggie, if you were half a man you’d go down there and +tell them that if they can’t behave themselves why don’t they go over +to the Racquet Club where they belong.” + +TWENTY-EIGHTH FLOOR (_flinging open her window_): Oh, is that so? + +TWENTY-NINTH FLOOR: Yes, that’s so! + +TWENTY-EIGHTH FLOOR: Well, if you’d keep that person with the fiddle +quiet once in a while the rest of us might get some rest. + +TWENTY-NINTH FLOOR (_to the shaft in general_): She calls Jascha +Heifetz “that person with a fiddle!” + +TWENTY-EIGHTH FLOOR: Jascha Heifetz or Mischa Elman--it’s all the same +to me. Don’t he get enough money playing in concerts that he should +come around playing at people’s tenements all the time? + +THIRTY-FOURTH FLOOR (_slamming open the window_): Shut up below there, +will you! (_Throws out a pan full of alligator pear rinds._) + +THE POLICEMAN ON THE BEAT (_from below_): Come on up there, cut that +out or I’ll run yez all in! + +(_All the heads are drawn in and the windows slammed shut._) + +A VOICE ON THE STAIRS WITH BELL ACCOMPANIMENT: Oyster-forks sharpened! +Oyster-forks sharpened! + + + + +OLD PROGRAM FROM THE BENCHLEY COLLECTION + +_A Glance Backward in the Manner of the Authors of Theatrical +Reminiscences_ + + +Few, probably, of my readers, will remember the time when the old +Forrest Theater stood where the Central Park Reservoir now is. In +those days, Central Park was considered ’way downtown, or “crosstown,” +as they called it then, and one of the larks of the period was going +“down to Central Park to see the turtles.” There was a large turtle +farm in the Park at that time, run by Anderson M. Ferderber, and it +was this turtle farm, expanding and growing as the turtles became more +venturesome, which later became the Zoological Exhibit. + +I remember very well the night when it was announced at the Forrest +Theater that the building was to be torn down to make way for the new +Reservoir. It was, as I recall, H. M. Ramus (“Henry” Ramus) who made +the announcement. He was playing _Laertes_ at the time (_Laertes_ was +played with the deuces wild and a ten-cent limit) when the manager of +the theater (Arthur Semden, who later became Harrison Blashforth) +came into the dressing-room and said: “Well, boys, it’s all over. +They’re going to build the Reservoir here!” There was a silence for a +full minute--probably more, for the manager had come into the wrong +dressing-room and there was nobody there. + +At any rate, “Henry” Ramus was selected to go out and tell the +audience. He did it with infinite tact, explaining that there was no +need for alarm or panic, as the water could not possibly be let in +until the theater was down and the Reservoir constructed, but the +audience was evidently taking no chances on being drowned, for within +three minutes from the time Ramus began speaking everyone in the +theater was outdoors and in a hansom cab. Audience psychology is a +queer thing, and possibly this audience knew best. At any rate, the old +Forrest Theater is no more. + +Speaking of “Henry” Ramus, an amusing anecdote is told of Whitney +Hersh. Hersh was playing with Booth in Philadelphia at the time, and +was well known for his ability to catch cold, a characteristic which +won him many new friends but lost him several old ones. The theater +where Booth was playing in _The Queen’s Quandary, or What’s Open Can’t +Be Shut_, was the old Chestnut Street Opera House which stood at the +corner of what was then Arch, Chestnut, Spruce, Pine and Curly Maple +Streets. This theater was noted in the profession for its slanting +stage, so much so, in fact, that Booth, on hearing that they were to +play there, is said to have remarked: “The Chestnut Street, eh?” On +being assured that he had heard correctly, Booth simply smiled. He +later founded the Player’s Club. + +[Illustration: + +UP AND AWAY + +OR NOBODY KNOWS BUT NERO + +OR THREE TIMES SIX IS EIGHTEEN + +(_Choice of any two titles_) + + Jonathan Henchman, father of + Ralph Henchman and Mother + of Men, Old Yale MR. MACREADY + + Ralph Henchman, father of + Jonathan Henchman and a + rather wild young chap MR. JUNIUS BOOTH + + Jack Wyman, M.D., a doctor + who has more “patience” + than “patients” MR. EDMUND KEENE + + Professor Hawksworth, an + irascible old fellow who specializes + in bird troubles MR. HORNBLOW + + Professor Hawksworth, an + irascible old fellow who specializes + in bird troubles MR. JUNIUS BOOTH + + Meeker, a party who lives by + his wits and not much of + that. MR. JONATHAN EDWARDS + + Eugenia, daughter of Jonathan + Henchman MRS. SIDDONS + + Mlle. de Bon-Ton, a young + lady who is not above drinking + a little champagne now + and then. MISS CUSHMAN + + Eliza, maid at the Nortons. BY HERSELF + + Hamlet, Prince of Denmark MR. WILLIAM A. BRADY +] + +In _The Queen’s Quandary, or What’s Open Can’t Be Shut_, Hersh had to +play the part of _Rodney Ransome_, the father of several people. In the +second act there was a scene in which _Rodney_ had to say to _Marian_: + +“But I thought you said the Duke _had_ no moustache!” + +To which _Marian_ was supposed to reply: “I never was more serious in +all my life.” + +On the night of the opening performance Hersh was, as usual, very +nervous. He got through the first act all right, with the aid of +several promptings from his mother who was sitting in the balcony. But +when the second act came along, it was evident to the other members +of the company that Hersh could not be relied upon. This feeling +was strengthened by the fact that he was nowhere to be found. They +searched high and low for him but, like the sword of Damocles, he +had disappeared. At the curtain to the second act, however, he was +discovered sitting out front in D-113 applauding loudly and calling +out: “Hersh! We-want-Hersh!” The only way they could get him back on +the stage was a ruse which was not without its pathetic side. The +manager of the house stepped out in front of the curtain and asked if +any member of the audience would volunteer to come upon the stage and +be hypnotized. Hersh, who had always wanted to go on the stage, was one +of the first to push his way up. Once behind the footlights again his +nervousness left him and he went on with his part where he had left +off. It did not fit in with the rest of the play, but they were all so +glad to have him back in the cast again that they said nothing about it +to him, and whenever, in later years, he himself mentioned the affair, +it was always as “that time in Philadelphia when I was so nervous.”... +And that little girl was Charlotte Cushman. + +It was at this time that Stopford’s _A New Way With Old Husbands, or +The Mysterious Drummer-Boy_, was given its first performance at the +old Garrick Theater in New York. The old Garrick Theater was torn down +in 1878 to make way for the new Garrick Theater, which, in its turn, +was torn down in 1880 to make way for the old Garrick again. It is the +old, or new, Garrick which now stands at Broadway and Tenth Street on +the spot known to passers-by as “Wanamaker’s.” Thus is the silver cord +loosed and the pitcher broken at the well. + +_A New Way With Old Husbands, or The Mysterious Drummer-Boy_ was +written for Ada Rehan, but she was in Fall River at the time; so the +part was given to a young woman who had come to the theater that +morning asking if a Mr. Wasserman lived there. On being told that +it was not a private dwelling and that there was no one there named +Wasserman, she had said: + +“Well, then, does anyone here want to subscribe to the _Saturday +Evening Post_?” + +Those members of the cast who had gathered on the bare stage for +rehearsal were so impressed by the young woman’s courage that a purse +was taken up for her children in case she had any and, in case she had +no children, for her next of kin. + +“I do not want money,” she said, taking it. “All I want is a chance to +prove my ability on the stage.” + +“Can you make the sound of crashing glass?” asked Arthur Reese, the +stage manager. + +“I think so,” replied the young woman without looking up. + +Reese looked at Meany, the assistant stage manager. “She is the one we +want,” he said quietly. + +So the young woman was engaged.... Some thirty years later the Empire +Theater in New York was aglow with lights on the occasion of the +opening of _Call the Doctor_. Gay ladies, bejeweled and bejabbered, +were running back and forth in the lobby, holding court, while tall, +dark gentlemen in evening dress danced attendance. Those who couldn’t +dance sat it out. It was the metropolitan season at its height. + +Suddenly a man burst excitedly through the crowd and made his way to +the box-office. + +“This seat is ridiculous,” he exclaimed to the Treasurer of the theater +(Roger M. Wakle, at the time). “I can’t even see the stage from it.” + +“That is not so strange as it may seem to you at first,” replied Wakle, +“for the curtain is not up yet.” + +A hush fell over the crowded lobby. This was followed somewhat later +by a buzz of excitement. This, in turn, was followed by a detail of +mounted police. Men looked at women and at each other.... For that +young man was Charlotte Cushman. + +It was about this time, as I remember it (or maybe later) that the +old Augustin Daly Stock Company was at the top of its popularity and +everyone was excited over the forthcoming production of _Up and Away_. +It had been in rehearsal for several weeks when Tom Nevers asked Daly +how much longer they were going to rehearse. + +“Oh, about another week,” replied Daly, with that old hat which later +made him famous. + +You can imagine Nevers’ feelings! + +A glance at the cast assembled for this production might be of interest +in the light of subsequent events (the completion of the vehicular +tunnel and the Centennial Exposition). So anyway it is in the middle of +page 57 to look at if you want to. + +As it turned out, _Up and Away_ was never produced, as it was found to +be too much trouble. But the old Augustin Daly Stock Company will not +soon be forgotten. + +My memories of St. Louis are of the pleasantest. We played there in +Dante’s _Really Mrs. Warrington_--and _Twelfth Night_. The _St. Louis +Post-Dispatch_, on the morning following our opening, said: + +“It is quite probable that before the end of the year we shall see the +beginning of the end of the work on the McNaffen Dam. The project has +been under construction now for three years and while there can be no +suspicion thrown on the awarding of the contracts, nevertheless we must +say that the work has progressed but slowly.” + +It was while we were playing in St. Louis that the news came of the +capture of J. Wilkes Booth. A performance of _Richelieu_ was in +progress, in which I was playing _Rafferty_, and Fanny Davenport the +_Queen_. In the second act there is a scene in which _Rafferty_ says to +_La Pouce_: + + “_I can not, tho’ my tongue were free, + Repeat the message that my liege inspires, + And tho’ you ask it, were it mine, + And hope you’ll be my Valentine._” + +Following this speech, _Rafferty_ falls down and opens up a bad gash in +his forehead. + +We had come to this scene on the night I mention, when I noticed that +the audience was tittering. I could not imagine what the matter was, +and naturally thought of all kinds of things--sheep jumping over a +fence--anything. But strange as it may seem, the tittering continued, +and I have never found out, from that day to this what amused them +so.... This was in 1878. + +And now we come to the final curtain. For, after all, I sometimes think +that Life is like a stage itself. The curtain rises on our little +scene; we have our exits and our entrances, and each man in his time +plays many parts. I must work this simile up sometime. + +Life and the Theater. Who knows? _Selah._ + + + + +WHAT COLLEGE DID TO ME + +_An Outline of Education_ + + +My college education was no haphazard affair. My courses were all +selected with a very definite aim in view, with a serious purpose in +mind--no classes before eleven in the morning or after two-thirty in +the afternoon, and nothing on Saturday at all. That was my slogan. On +that rock was my education built. + +As what is known as the Classical Course involved practically no +afternoon laboratory work, whereas in the Scientific Course a man’s +time was never his own until four p. m. anyway, I went in for the +classic. But only such classics as allowed for a good sleep in the +morning. A man has his health to think of. There is such a thing as +being a studying fool. + +In my days (I was a classmate of the founder of the college) a student +could elect to take any courses in the catalogue, provided no two of +his choices came at the same hour. The only things he was not supposed +to mix were Scotch and gin. This was known as the Elective System. Now +I understand that the boys have to have, during the four years, at +least three courses beginning with the same letter. This probably makes +it very awkward for those who like to get away of a Friday afternoon +for the week-end. + +Under the Elective System my schedule was somewhat as follows: + + Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at 11:00: + + Botany 2a (The History of Flowers and Their Meaning) + + Tuesdays and Thursdays at 11:00: + + English 26 (The Social Life of the Minor Sixteenth Century Poets) + + Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at 12:00: + + Music 9 (History and Appreciation of the Clavichord) + + Tuesdays and Thursdays at 12:00: + + German 12b (Early Minnesingers--Walter von Vogelweider, Ulric + Glannsdorf and Freimann von Stremhofen. Their Songs and Times) + + Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at 1:30: + + Fine Arts 6 (Doric Columns: Their Uses, History and Various Heights) + + Tuesdays and Thursdays at 1:30: + + French 1c (Exceptions to the verb _être_) + +This was, of course, just one year’s work. The next year I followed +these courses up with supplementary courses in the history of +lace-making, Russian taxation systems before Catharine the Great, +North American glacial deposits and Early Renaissance etchers. + +[Illustration: Some of the drawings in my economics notebook were the +finest things I have ever done.] + +This gave me a general idea of the progress of civilization and a +certain practical knowledge which has stood me in good stead in +thousands of ways since my graduation. + +My system of studying was no less strict. In lecture courses I had my +notebooks so arranged that one-half of the page could be devoted to +drawings of five-pointed stars (exquisitely shaded), girls’ heads, and +tick-tack-toe. Some of the drawings in my economics notebook in the +course on Early English Trade Winds were the finest things I have ever +done. One of them was a whole tree (an oak) with every leaf in perfect +detail. Several instructors commented on my work in this field. + +These notes I would take home after the lecture, together with whatever +supplementary reading the course called for. Notes and textbooks would +then be placed on a table under a strong lamplight. Next came the +sharpening of pencils, which would take perhaps fifteen minutes. I had +some of the best sharpened pencils in college. These I placed on the +table beside the notes and books. + +At this point it was necessary to light a pipe, which involved going to +the table where the tobacco was. As it so happened, on the same table +was a poker hand, all dealt, lying in front of a vacant chair. Four +other chairs were oddly enough occupied by students, also preparing to +study. It therefore resolved itself into something of a seminar, or +group conference, on the courses under discussion. For example, the +first student would say: + +“I can’t open.” + +The second student would perhaps say the same thing. + +The third student would say: “I’ll open for fifty cents.” + +And the seminar would be on. + +At the end of the seminar, I would go back to my desk, pile the notes +and books on top of each other, put the light out, and go to bed, tired +but happy in the realization that I had not only spent the evening +busily but had helped put four of my friends through college. + +An inventory of stock acquired at college discloses the following bits +of culture and erudition which have nestled in my mind after all these +years. + + +THINGS I LEARNED FRESHMAN YEAR + + 1. Charlemagne either died or was born or did something with the Holy + Roman Empire in 800. + + 2. By placing one paper bag inside another paper bag you can carry + home a milk shake in it. + + 3. There is a double l in the middle of “parallel.” + + 4. Powder rubbed on the chin will take the place of a shave if the + room isn’t very light. + + 5. French nouns ending in “aison” are feminine. + + 6. Almost everything you need to know about a subject is in the + encyclopedia. + + 7. A tasty sandwich can be made by spreading peanut butter on raisin + bread. + + 8. A floating body displaces its own weight in the liquid in which it + floats. + + 9. A sock with a hole in the toe can be worn inside out with + comparative comfort. + + 10. The chances are against filling an inside straight. + + 11. There is a law in economics called _The Law of Diminishing + Returns_, which means that after a certain margin is reached returns + begin to diminish. This may not be correctly stated, but there _is_ a + law by that name. + + 12. You begin tuning a mandolin with A and tune the other strings + from that. + + +SOPHOMORE YEAR + + 1. A good imitation of measles rash can be effected by stabbing the + forearm with a stiff whiskbroom. + + 2. Queen Elizabeth was not above suspicion. + + 3. In Spanish you pronounce z like th. + + 4. Nine-tenths of the girls in a girls’ college are not pretty. + + 5. You can sleep undetected in a lecture course by resting the head + on the hand as if shading the eyes. + + 6. Weakness in drawing technique can be hidden by using a wash + instead of black and white line. + + 7. Quite a respectable bun can be acquired by smoking three or four + pipefuls of strong tobacco when you have no food in your stomach. + + 8. The ancient Phœnicians were really Jews, and got as far north as + England where they operated tin mines. + + 9. You can get dressed much quicker in the morning if the night + before when you are going to bed you take off your trousers and + underdrawers at once, leaving the latter inside the former. + + +JUNIOR YEAR + + 1. Emerson left his pastorate because he had some argument about + communion. + + 2. All women are untrustworthy. + + 3. Pushing your arms back as far as they will go fifty times each day + increases your chest measurement. + + 4. Marcus Aurelius had a son who turned out to be a bad boy. + + 5. Eight hours of sleep are not necessary. + + 6. Heraclitus believed that fire was the basis of all life. + + 7. A good way to keep your trousers pressed is to hang them from the + bureau drawer. + + 8. The chances are that you will never fill an inside straight. + + 9. The Republicans believe in a centralized government, the Democrats + in a de-centralized one. + + 10. It is not necessarily effeminate to drink tea. + + +SENIOR YEAR + + 1. A dinner coat looks better than full dress. + + 2. There is as yet no law determining what constitutes trespass in an + airplane. + + 3. Six hours of sleep are not necessary. + + 4. Bicarbonate of soda taken before retiring makes you feel better + the next day. + + 5. You needn’t be fully dressed if you wear a cap and gown to a + nine-o’clock recitation. + + 6. Theater tickets may be charged. + + 7. Flowers may be charged. + + 8. May is the shortest month in the year. + +The foregoing outline of my education is true enough in its way, and is +what people like to think about a college course. It has become quite +the cynical thing to admit laughingly that college did one no good. +It is part of the American Credo that all that the college student +learns is to catch punts and dance. I had to write something like that +to satisfy the editors. As a matter of fact, I learned a great deal in +college and have those four years to thank for whatever I know today. + + * * * * * + +(The above note was written to satisfy those of my instructors and +financial backers who may read this. As a matter of fact, the original +outline is true, and I had to look up the date about Charlemagne at +that.) + + + + +AN INTERVIEW WITH THEODORE DREISER + + +I found the author of “An American Tragedy” reading a large volume of +law reports. + +“Working on a new book?” I asked. + +“It’s a new book to me,” replied Dreiser. “I don’t know about you.” + +“Oh, I’m all right,” I retorted. “A little dizzy when I stand up--but +then, one doesn’t have to stand up much, does one?” + +“Does two, does three, does four,” sallied the author, up to one +hundred. + +I could see that we were treading on dangerous ground and, fearful lest +the interview be ruined, I continued, wetting my thumb: + +“Do you get around to the night clubs much?” + +“Much more than what?” asked Mr. Dreiser. + +“I didn’t say ‘much more than’ anything. I just said ‘much.’” + +“Well, you took a very funny way of saying it,” said the pioneer. And +added, “I _must_ say.” + +Things had reached an _impasse_. The storm which had been gathering for +centuries between Church and State was about to break, and with it the +temporal power of Rome. + +“Let’s get out of here!” I said, taking Dreiser by the arm. “I don’t +like the looks of things.” + +“Someone was saying that very thing to me only yesterday,” said the +author of “The Genius.” “Now who was it?” + +“George Erlich?” I suggested. + +“No,” said Dreiser. + +“Roger Hatney?” + +“No.” + +“Mrs. Federber?” + +“No, no! For God’s sake, man, try and _think_!” + +“Wentworth Whamer?” + +“No.” + +“Ernst Timmerley?” + +“That’s who it was! Ernst Timmerley! How stupid of me not to remember. +Ernst Timmerley, that’s who it was.” + +“I thought of suggesting him at first,” I said, “but it slipped my +mind.” + +“You can’t tell me that was just a coincidence,” said the author of +“Sister Carrie.” + +“Oh, I can’t, can’t I?” I retorted, not a little piqued. “Well, _it was +just a coincidence_.” + +Dreiser looked at me half quizzically. + +“You win,” he said simply. + +Outside the snow was blowing down the street like an army of fireflies, +but inside, by the fire, it was warm. + + + + +FASCINATING CRIMES + +_II. The Wallack Disappearances_ + + +Shortly after the Civil War the residents of Wallack, Connecticut, were +awakened by the barking of a dog belonging to James Lenn, a visiting +farmer. The dog was an old one, so they thought nothing of it, and went +back to sleep again. + +Later it was discovered that James Lenn was missing, and that the dog +also had disappeared, but in the opposite direction. A search of the +countryside was instituted which resulted in the finding of twenty-five +empty tins, several old brooms, enough newspapers to make a fair-sized +bale, and one old buggy top. None of these seemed to have any value as +clews in the mysterious disappearance of James Lenn. Some importance +was attached to the discovery of the buggy-top until it was found that +the missing farmer was not hiding under it. + +The police, however, were not satisfied. There had been several +violations of the State Fishing and Gaming ordinances in and around +Wallack and public censure of the police was at its height. Chief of +Police Walter M. Turbot determined to carry this case through to a +finish. Thus it was that the search for Farmer James Lenn was begun +afresh, a search which was destined to end in Innsbruck, Austria. + +In the little town of Innsbruck there had been living an old garbler +named Leon Nabgratz, a sort of town character, if such a thing were +possible. Nabgratz had never been to America, but his young nephew, +Gurling Nabgratz, son of Leon’s brother Meff, was born in that country +and had lived there all his life. Late in December, 1867, he had moved +to Wallack, Connecticut, where he was sold as a slave to one James Lenn. + +[Illustration: The principles in the famous Wallack disappearances. + + --_Courtesy of John Held, Jr., and Life._ +] + +One day, while reading the newspaper, Gurling Nabgratz came across an +item indicating that slavery had been abolished four years previously +and figured out that he was just a sap to be working for James Lenn +for nothing. He mentioned the matter to his master, but Lenn maintained +that it was only the Negro slaves who had been freed, and that Lincoln +was no longer President anyway. + +Nabgratz went away grumbling but did his chores that day as usual. +He was seen late in the evening of April 17 in the poolroom of the +village, where he is said to have made _sotto-voce_ remarks and sung +several slave songs of the ante-bellum South with such inflammatory +refrains as “We’se all gwine ter be free!” + +That night Gurling Nabgratz disappeared and was never seen again in +Wallack. + +This having preceded the disappearance of James Lenn by about two +years, nothing was thought of it at the time. During the search for +Lenn, however, the incident was recalled, and a search for Nabgratz was +instituted. This made two searches going on at once in the little town +of Wallack, and resulted in considerable hard feeling between the rival +searching-parties. The town was divided into two camps, the “Find Lenn” +faction and the “Find Nabgratz” faction, and on at least one occasion +shots were exchanged. + +In the meantime, in Innsbruck, Austria, Leon Nabgratz, the old garbler, +was quietly pursuing his way, quite unconscious of the stir that he was +causing four thousand miles away. His brother Meff had written him +about Gurling’s disappearance, but, as the old man never bothered to +read his brother’s letters, he was just as much in the dark as he had +been before. More so, in fact, because he was older. + +His surprise can well be imagined, therefore, when one day in the +spring of 1869 the police entered his house in the Schmalzgasse and +began a search for James Lenn of Wallack, Connecticut, U. S. A. In +vain Nabgratz protested that he had never heard the name of Lenn and +that, even if he had, it was not interesting to him. The arm of the +law reaching across the Atlantic was inexorable. Leon Nabgratz’s +house was searched and in it was found an old trunk of suspiciously +large proportions. In spite of the fact that this trunk was labeled +“_Weihnachtsgeschenke_” (“Christmas presents”) it was opened, and in it +were found James Lenn _and_ Gurling Nabgratz, together with a copy of +the New York _Times_ of October 12, 1868. + +The mysterious Wallack disappearances were thus explained, and Leon +Nabgratz was arrested for having in his possession a trunk with a +misleading label on it. + +Art is long and time is fleeting. + + + + +LOUIS DOT DOPE + + +On his recent return from France, Mr. Robert Benchley gave the +following statement to reporters who met him at Quarantine with bail. + +“Things in France are in a deplorable condition,” said Mr. Benchley. +“If Louis XVI keeps on as he has been going for the past few years, I +predict a revolution. I can give you no idea of the licentiousness and +waste of the French Court at Versailles or of the pitiable state of the +common people in Paris. Yes, I can too give you _some_ idea, and, what +is more, I _will_. + +“This Louis XVI is nothing but a wastrel. He drinks a great deal, too. +And he has gathered about him at Versailles (where he lives) a group +of sycophants who are just as bad as he is, according to all reports. +I am not one to retail gossip, but I could tell you some of the things +that go on out there at Versailles that would make your hair stand on +end. And, in the meantime, the people in Paris are actually starving. +You can’t get an oyster stew in Paris for love or money, and I have +seen the _canaille_ (as the log-rolling wits of the Court call the +citizenry) standing in line for hours for something, I couldn’t quite +make out what. + +“One little incident that I heard of from a pretty good source +(Carlyle: page 375) may serve to illustrate the way the wind is +blowing. It seems that Louis (as his toadiers call him) was out driving +through Paris with his--pardon me--mistress (I mention no names) when +the people began crying out for bread. The ‘lady’ in question, who can +read French and speak it but who has difficulty in understanding it +when it is spoken fast, asked what it was that they were yelling. Louis +told her that they said they had no more bread. ‘Let them eat cake +then,’ said this certain party. ‘And how about us taking a look in at +Cartier’s window?’ + +“I don’t know how true this is, but I got it from someone on the inside +and it shows pretty well the attitude of the nobles towards the common +people. + +“But there is an undercurrent of discontent which I predict will make +itself felt before many months. I happened to go to lunch with a couple +of chaps whose names, for obvious reasons, I promised not to mention in +this connection, and there was a great deal of talk about how easy it +would be to burn down the Bastille (the government jail over there). ‘A +couple of good pushes and the Bastille would fall,’ said one of them +jokingly. But behind all their joking there was a note of seriousness, +and I would recommend that you send a good man over to Paris pretty +soon to cover the story, for when it breaks it is going to be a hot +one. This is just a tip. + +“But, as I was saying, it is out there at Versailles that the big +doings go on. I took a trip out there with a letter from Whitney +Warren, but they were all out at Chantilly at the races that day and +I didn’t see anyone but the Head Guide. He said that if I wanted to +come back Sunday the fountains would be playing, but unfortunately I +had to sail on Saturday. I did get some inside dope on the situation +out there, however, and let me tell you that what goes on out there on +a good night is nobody’s business. All these people, it seems, live +right out there in the palace together and carry on some pretty rough +stuff, I gather. Drinking, gambling, necking, _everything_. A lot of +the married men are out there without their wives, and _vice versa_. +Some nights the parties don’t break up until two and three o’clock. No +wonder the taxpayers in Paris are sore. You can mark my words, there +will be a reaction. + +“I myself didn’t have time to get around much. I was over on business +and I like to keep my head clear when I have business to attend to. +Summer is when I have my fun. I did go to the theater a couple of +times, but everything was in French. And then, too, the coffee is so +bad there. The trip back was pretty rough. One day the waves were +mountain-high. It certainly seems good to be back in the U. S. A. +again.” + + + + +THE RISE AND FALL OF THE CHRISTMAS CARD + + +Twenty-five years ago (December 21, 1685, to be exact) a man named +Ferderber awoke after a week’s business trip and realized that he +hadn’t bought any Christmas presents for his relatives and friends. +Furthermore, all he had left from the business trip was eighty cents, +two theater-ticket stubs, and a right shoe. + +So he cut up some cardboard to fit envelopes and on each card wrote +some little thought for the season. Being still a trifle groggy, he +thought that it would be nice to make them rhyme although, as he +expressed it, with a modest smile, “I am no poet.” + +The one to his aunt read as follows: + + “_Just a little thought of cheer, + A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year._” + +He liked this one so well that he just copied it on all the others. +Then he got excited about the thing and drew a sprig of holly on each +card. He mailed them on Christmas Eve and discovered that he still had +twenty-eight cents left. + +This man Ferderber is now wanted in thirty-two states on the same +charge: Starting the Christmas Card Menace. His idea immediately took +hold of the public imagination and the next Christmas all his friends +and relatives sent cards to their friends and relatives, for, taking +the old lie that “it isn’t so much the gift as the spirit i.w.i.i.g.” +at its face value, they felt that people would be much better pleased +with a friendly greeting than with a nasty old gift. And, for a while, +the custom really was quite a relief. + +[Illustration: He liked this one so well he just copied it on all the +others.] + +Then the thing began to get out of hand. Big Christmas card +manufacturing concerns sprang up all over the country and factory sites +adjacent to freight sidings were at a premium. Millions and millions of +cards were printed and millions and millions of people began sending +them to each other. Along about December 15, the blight began and, like +locusts, the envelopes started drifting in from the mail. Seventy-five +thousand extra mail carriers were drafted into service and finally the +Government was forced to commandeer all males under 25 who did not have +flat feet. Even at that, all the Christmas cards couldn’t be delivered +until the first of the year, and by that time the flood of New Year’s +cards had begun, for everyone who received Christmas cards from people +to whom they had sent none rushed out and bought New Year’s cards to +send them the next week just as if that was what they had intended to +do all along. + +It became impossible to read all these cards, and finally even to open +them. Great stacks of unopened envelopes covered desks and hall tables +throughout the country. Some of the wealthier citizens had chutes built +on the outside of their houses into which the post men dumped the cards +and by means of which they were conveyed direct to the furnace. The +poorer people, unable to convert their mail matter into fuel in this +manner, unable sometimes to clear away a path from their front door to +the street, often starved to death before their provisions could be got +to them. The winter of 1927 was known as the Winter of the Red Death, +for all over the country families were snowed in with envelopes and +perished before help could be brought to them. In some towns fires were +accidentally started with results too horrible to relate. + + +UNEARTH VALUABLE SCIENTIFIC DATA + +Excavators who have recently been at work in the Middle West digging +through mounds of petrified envelopes have furnished valuable data on +the nature of these _objets d’art_. The most popular design seems to +have been that involving a fireplace with stockings hanging from it, +with the slogan, evidently satirical, “A Merry Christmas and a Happy +New Year.” Candles were also highly considered as decoration; candles +and bells. When human figures were introduced, they were of the most +unpleasant types: short, fat, bearded men dressed in red, offensively +gay little children in pajamas carrying lighted candles, stagecoaches +filled with steaming travelers, sleigh rides and coasting parties, and +street musicians annoying householders with Christmas carols. The text +was usually in Old English type, so that fortunately it was difficult, +if not impossible, to read. + +Evidently the tide began to turn when some one, perhaps a descendant +of the very Ferderber who had brought all this distress on the land, +thought of the idea of venting his personal spleen in his Christmas +cards. He thought that, since no one read them anyway, he might as well +say what he really felt, so long as he said it in Old English type. It +would be a satisfaction to him, anyway. So near the top of these mounds +of Early Twentieth Century cards we find some on this order: + +A picture of a holly wreath with a large hammer stuck through it and +the following legend: + + “_Just to Wish You the Measles. + Christmas 1931._” + +Another showed a little cottage on the brow of a snow-covered hill with +the sun setting behind it. On the cottage was a sign: “For Sale.” The +sentiment underneath was: + + “_Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Men; + Heh! Heh!_” + +A New Year’s card, with “Greetings” embossed at the top, read: + + “_If I don’t see you in 1933 + 1934 will be soon enough for me._” + +As soon as this fad caught on, the pendulum swung the other way. +The sentiments, beginning with the mildly abusive, gradually became +actually vicious. + +We find one, dated 1938, which says: + + “_This Christmas Eve I want you to know, + That if you don’t leave $50,000 in Box 115 before + New Year’s, I’ll sell your letters, you crook, you._” + +Another, in a wreath of mistletoe, bore the following explicit legend: + + “_Watch Your Wife._” + +It was naturally but a step from these to downright obscene +vituperation, and at this point, the reform societies stepped in. A +campaign was carried on throughout the country, which, unlike other +reform campaigns, had the backing of a majority of the public. It +was but the work of a year or so to induce the necessary two-thirds of +the state legislatures to consent to an amendment to the constitution +forbidding the manufacture and sale of Christmas cards. Naturally +this was followed by a period of widespread bootlegging, but it was +half-heartedly supported and soon collapsed. + +[Illustration: This was followed by a period of widespread bootlegging.] + +All of which is merely a historical summary of what has been done in +the past, preliminary to launching a campaign against the sale and +manufacture of all Christmas presents, with the exception of toys. What +our fathers did, we can do. + + + + +THE HENNA DECADE + +_What May Happen to Our Age When Thomas Beer Catches Up to It_ + + +1 + +They put William Anderson in jail and Suzanne Lenglen tottered into the +club-house with a heart-attack. + +There was a pistol shot in 1922 and across silver screens from +Hollywood to Lynn, Massachusetts, a resentful wraith barred attachable +curls snuggling on movie lapels. “William D. Taylor has been killed,” +a young detective announced to his lavender mother at their California +supper. And his mother smiled, for she was to hear Marion Talley before +nervous wreckers dragged to earth the old Metropolitan, like avid +vultures of architectural progress. + +On the same border of the Pacific a blue-eyed foreman said, “Not +guilty,” and Roscoe Arbuckle walked out into obese freedom, cleansed +with hyssop by two words from a drowsy jurist on a stool by his +predecessor’s desk. + + +2 + +A little boy, stooping on Central Park West, pressed cracked knuckles +into creole mud and snapped roseate marbles in what passed for straight +lines, while across the country in Dayton men slid against turbid +waters and the National Cash Register served corporate coffee to clammy +survivors. The little boy’s knuckle-pressing ceased, like young leaves +which refuse to burn. His father raised brown glove to lift soft +fedora. “Put away your marbles,” he said to the little boy, “Warren +Harding has been nominated.” + + +3 + +Through easy October the short French statesman in silk gloves forgot +the late war in onion soup for breakfast. A very large peanut crackled +in the Southern fist of Irvin Cobb and his bearded companion hailed a +brown-and-white taxi. Together they swept the folio-studded Brentano’s, +discussing Twenty-third Street. The clerk smiled. His father had been +mayor of Seattle. Would Twenty-third Street ever reach to Seattle? But +Cobb had lost the large peanut and his bearded companion had lost his +garter, and they left Brentano’s to stand in dual proximity watching +the slightly paralytic progress of a Number 8 Fifth Avenue bus. In the +distance, the verdant blob of Thorley’s hung like a mossy acorn--green +sin on a purple republic. + + +4 + +Milt Gross stood talking with Ring Lardner and another on the steps +of the American Indian Museum. He had under his arm a bulbous bundle +and this dropped incontinently to the granite pedestal as he shrugged +his shoulders. “A peckage skelps,” he said. “Heendian skelps, witt +blad.” Lardner raised a thermal eyebrow. “What of it?” he asked, and +in Chicago two young Jewish psychopathics drew up to the curb in a +Dodge looking for someone to give a ride to. That night the Alabama +delegation in the steaming reaches of Madison Square Garden threw +twenty-five dogged votes for Oscar Underwood. + + +5 + +Standing, occasionally sitting, Lutitia lay in the window seat of the +Colony Club.... A blonde reticence sat beside her. In the right hand +of the blonde reticence swirled a cup of tea. In her left, a copy of +November’s _American Mercury_. From its greenish covers H. L. Mencken +spoke impatiently of the native _Americanus_, while George Nathan dug +sadistic pins into American colleagues. Herbert Parrish disparaged the +American God and words of bile were Leland H. Jenks’s dole for the +American Constitution and its interpreters. Fiction jetted from between +these cynical rocks with gloomy disclosures of American small-town +unpleasantries. Yes, Lutitia, or rather.... + +So while Irving Berlin, a wispy figure fingering the black notes on a +piano in West 46th Street, sang “Not for just a year, but always,” the +tugboat, crazily bearing Mayor Hylan’s Welcoming Committee, pugged to +greet, with beaver boisterousness, the New Year, a rough beard swinging +low over rhinestone studs. + + + + +A PLAN TO STABILIZE THE FRANC + + +To the Members of the Paris Bourse (of whom it has been said, “Bourse +Will Be Bourse”), Monsieur Poincare, and Fellow Guests: + +I have been asked by a deputation from your delightful country to +present a plan for stabilizing the franc. I feel in this connection +like the three men who found themselves in a row-boat in the middle of +the ocean. One was a Frenchman, one an Irishman, and one a Scotchman. + +But, seriously, the problem of the franc is a vital one. And I know of +no better way to handle it than the way in which we, in my household, +have handled the problem of the American dollar, an even more vital +problem to us, as you may well imagine. There are, at this writing, +approximately twenty-five francs to each American dollar. There are +also, to each American dollar, thirty-one hungry mouths. Three times +six is eighteen and one to carry, six times seven is forty-two and one +is forty-three and four to carry, giving a result of four hundred and +sixty-one.... No, that can’t be right.... Well, anyway, the life of one +American dollar has been estimated at one-third that of a sugar lozenge +under a faucet. This estimate gives the dollar the breaks. + +Now, it was only through the most rigid household economy that we +were able to stabilize the dollar in our family. Several of the older +and more infirm members of the family died from under-nourishment and +exposure, being unable to fight for the food or bed-clothing. But +that is the Law of the Tribe, that the weaker shall give way to the +stronger and those with protective coloring survive the assaults of +the predatory land animals and the constant action of the tides. “Easy +come, easy go,” is what the old folks must remember. + +Our first move toward putting our household on a gold basis was to +make out a budget, and that is what you dear people of France must +do, too. It is much simpler for a nation to go on a budget than for +a private family, because a nation never uses real money anyway. A +nation says, “Here are twenty million francs,” or “Give me a hundred +million dollars’ worth of chips,” and, if you push right up close +to the counter and ask to _see_ it, what do you find? A couple of +theater-ticket stubs, a right-hand glove, and a piece of paper saying, +“I.O.U. $100,000,000.... A. Mellon.” There probably isn’t $125 in +actual cash in the whole United States Treasury at this very minute. +And $45 of that belongs by rights to me, on account of the Government +having disallowed my deduction for hotel expenses in my 1925 income +tax. I’ll get that back yet, you wait and see. The big bullies! + +[Illustration: Then hell breaks loose--telephone calls, registered +letters, night sweats.] + +This system of dealing in dream-dollars, which seems to be the special +prerogative of governments and large corporations, is called “Credit,” +and a pretty how-do-you-do it is, too. “Credit,” as applied to you +and me, means that we have until the fifteenth of the month to dig +up the actual gold ore with which to pay our bills. But for a large +corporation or a nation it means that, so long as the Treasurer can +sign his name, they are on Easy Street. I sign a check, in a kidding +way, and give it to Altmeyer’s Meat Market. And what does Altmeyer +do? Right away _he presents it at my bank_! And then hell breaks +loose. Telephone-calls, registered letters, night-sweats--you’d +think the whole world had gone money-mad. And I have to go and get a +printing-press and _print_ him his money in half a day. + +But let Mr. Mellon sign a check for a billion dollars and no one even +looks at the signature to see if it is genuine. It is folded up and +put in the vest-pocket and never touched again for years. Is it ever +presented for payment? Oh, no! Mr. Mellon signed it, never mind the +money! You’d think Mr. Mellon was Richard Dix or Button Gwinnett. I +could get pretty sore about the whole thing and so could you, if you +had any spunk about you. + +Now, in our family, there are four people, exclusive of the servant +(who is lame). We have only three really to figure on, however, as the +baby works. + +In France, there are of course more people than that, but none nicer. +It has been estimated that in each French sock there are fifteen +thousand francs. In the southern provinces, where they don’t wear +socks, the money is stored away in the peasants’ cheeks, or in hollow +trees. This is going to make it hard to keep exact accounts because you +can’t tell how much you have on hand. But nothing is worth while unless +you have to work for it, which is one of the least true things that +ever was said. So what I would advise would be for every French peasant +to get a little pocket notebook (the J. C. Hall Co. of Providence, R. +I., sell a neat little set for a dollar, a book for each month) and +keep a strict personal account of everything spent--and, what is more +important, everything received. + +For instance, let us take a typical French shopkeeper (and wouldn’t +I _like_ to take one, and push him into the Somme!) named Jaques +Duquesne. If we could get him to keep a personal account-book, marking +down so much for _tabac_, so much for _vin_, so much for _lavabo_, and +then, on the opposite page, received so much from sale to American +tourist, so much from non-sale to American tourist, etc., etc., then +the government officials would have a record of his financial status +not one word of which could be deciphered. + +But personal accounts are the only solution of the French situation, +just as they were the only solution to our family crisis. My own +personal account book is a joy to behold, especially if you are in the +mood for a good laugh. Sometimes I get to laughing so that I can’t +jot down the items. “Car-fare” I put down, and I haven’t ridden in a +street-car since I used to go to dancing-school. Another good item is +“Personal Improvement.” You’d be surprised at what you can crowd into +Personal Improvement. If you are anything like me practically anything +you do to yourself would be an improvement. My Personal Improvement +account is going to run into thousands of dollars a year, and I don’t +begrudge a cent of it. + +To summarize then: + + 1. The franc is the monetary unit of France. + 2. The franc is not so stable. + 3. Verbs ending in _aître_ retain the circumflex on the _i_ + whenever it is followed by _t_. + 4. And how are _you?_ + + + + +SEX IS OUT + + +According to Dr. Max Hartmann (I used to have a dentist named Dr. +Hartmann, but he was a dentist) there is no such thing as absolute sex. +If 60% of your cells are masculine, you rate as a male. If 60% are +feminine, you sit with the girls. All combinations are possible up to +99 and 1, but the 100 percenter in either sex is a myth. Dr. Hartmann +says so. + +This is going to be a big surprise to a lot of people. If the +Government should ever take it into its head to make public lists of +sex-percentages, as it now does income taxes, whole communities would +be upset and perhaps “topsy-turvy” would not be too strong a word for +what things would be. + +We are concerned in this course, however, merely with the effect of +this negation of sex on the drama. It looks from where we are sitting +(G-112-113) like the death blow to the Living Theater in this country. +And in France--well, it will simply mean that they can’t give even +Punch and Judy shows. What would be the fun in sitting through a scene +like the following? + +(The scene isn’t quite set yet; so the orchestra will play the overture +over again.) + +ROGER: Ever since that night I met you at the dance, my male percentage +has been increasing. I used to register 65%. Yesterday in Liggetts I +took a test and it was eighty-one. + +MARY: You had your heavier overcoat on. + +ROGER: Please, dear, this is no time for joking. I never was more +serious in all my life. And that means only one thing. Haven’t +you--aren’t you--do you register just the same as you did? + +MARY (_looking at her finger-nails_): No. I have gone up seven points. +But I thought it was because I had cut down on my starches. + +ROGER: Starches nothing! Can’t you see, dear? Don’t you understand what +it all means? + +MARY (_pulling away_): Why am I letting you talk to me like this? We +mustn’t. Fred will be home at any minute. + +ROGER: Fred! Hah! I suppose you know what his last test was? I suppose +he told you? + +MARY: Why--er--no. That is--of course he did. Fred tells me everything. + +ROGER: Well, then, I suppose you know that when he was examined for +life insurance last week they found that his masculine cells totaled up +to forty-seven and that included his American Legion button, too. + +MARY: Fred? Forty-seven? Why, it isn’t possible. Why, only yesterday-- + +ROGER: Never mind that! Figures don’t lie. The best that Fred can ever +be to you from now on is a sister. + +MARY: This is all so sudden. I must have time to think. Fred my sister! +It seems incredible! + +ROGER: Don’t you see, Mary dear, what the percentages tell us? (_Song +Cue_) + + +_You and I Total Up to a Hundred_ + + Oh, Love brings a message of roses, + And Love a sweet litany tells, + Of the girls I have known, and the girls who have blown, + And their respective number of cells. + + +_Cho._ + + There was Alice who rated a cool sixty-two, + She wore knickers and called me her “matey,” + There was Betty so true, with her large eyes of blue, + On a clear day she registered eighty. + There was Norma, my queen, who gave seventeen, + As her quota of masculine units, + But my heart it now yearns, on the latest returns, + (_Spoken_: Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine!) + For M-A-R-Y, my sweet Winona. + +You can see for yourself, there is going to be no fun in figuring out +sex on the back of an envelope. We might as well give the whole thing +up and go in for hockey. + + + + +UNCLE EDITH’S GHOST STORY + + +“Tell us a ghost story, Uncle Edith,” cried all the children late +Christmas afternoon when everyone was cross and sweaty. + +“Very well, then,” said Uncle Edith, “it isn’t much of a ghost story, +but you will take it--and like it,” he added, cheerfully. “And if I +hear any whispering while it is going on, I will seize the luckless +offender and baste him one. + +“Well, to begin, my father was a poor wood-chopper, and we lived in a +charcoal-burner’s hut in the middle of a large, dark forest.” + +“That is the beginning of a fairy story, you big sap,” cried little +Dolly, a fat, disagreeable child who never should have been born, “and +what we wanted was a _ghost_ story.” + +“To be sure,” cried Uncle Edith, “what a stupid old woopid I was. The +ghost story begins as follows: + +“It was late in November when my friend Warrington came up to me in the +club one night and said: ‘Craige, old man, I want you to come down to +my place in Whoopshire for the week-end. There is greffle shooting to +be done and grouse no end. What do you say?’ + +“I had been working hard that week, and the prospect pleased. And so it +was that the 3:40 out of Charing Cross found Warrington and me on our +way into Whoopshire, loaded down with guns, plenty of flints, and two +of the most beautiful snootfuls ever accumulated in Merrie England. + +“It was getting dark when we reached Breeming Downs, where Warrington’s +place was, and as we drove up the shadowy path to the door, I felt +Warrington’s hand on my arm. + +“‘Cut that out!’ I ordered, peremptorily. ‘What is this I’m getting +into?’ + +“‘Sh-h-h!’ he replied, and his grip tightened. With one sock I knocked +him clean across the seat. There are some things which I simply will +not stand for. + +“He gathered himself together and spoke. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I was a +bit unnerved. You see, there is a shadow against the pane in the guest +room window.’ + +“‘Well, what of it?’ I asked. It was my turn to look astonished. + +“Warrington lowered his voice. ‘Whenever there is a shadow against the +windowpane as I drive up with a guest, that guest is found dead in bed +the next morning--dead from fright,’ he added, significantly. + +“I looked up at the window toward which he was pointing. There, +silhouetted against the glass, was the shadow of a gigantic man. I say, +‘a man,’ but it was more the figure of a large weasel except for a +fringe of dark-red clappers that it wore suspended from its beak.” + +“How do you know they were dark red,” asked little Tom-Tit, “if it was +the shadow you saw?” + +“You shut your face,” replied Uncle Edith. “I could hardly control my +astonishment at the sight of this thing, it was so astonishing. ‘That +is in my room?’ I asked Warrington. + +“‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I am afraid that it is.’ + +“I said nothing, but got out of the automobile and collected my bags. +‘Come on,’ I announced cheerfully, ‘I’m going up and beard Mr. Ghost in +his den.’ + +“So up the dark, winding stairway we went into the resounding corridors +of the old seventeenth-century house, pausing only when we came to the +door which Warrington indicated as being the door to my room. I knocked. + +“There was a piercing scream from within as we pushed the door open. +But when we entered, we found the room empty. We searched high and low, +but could find no sign of the man with the shadow. Neither could we +discover the source of the terrible scream, although the echo of it was +still ringing in our ears. + +“‘I guess it was nothing,’ said Warrington, cheerfully. ‘Perhaps the +wind in the trees,’ he added. + +“‘But the shadow on the pane?’ I asked. + +“He pointed to a fancily carved piece of guest soap on the washstand. +‘The light was behind that,’ he said, ‘and from outside it looked like +a man.’ + +“‘To be sure,’ I said, but I could see that Warrington was as white as +a sheet. + +“‘Is there anything that you need?’ he asked. ‘Breakfast is at nine--if +you’re lucky,’ he added, jokingly. + +“‘I think that I have everything,’ I said. ‘I will do a little reading +before going to sleep, and perhaps count my laundry.... But stay,’ I +called him back, ‘you might leave that revolver which I see sticking +out of your hip pocket. I may need it more than you will.’ + +“He slapped me on the back and handed me the revolver as I had asked. +‘Don’t blow into the barrel,’ he giggled, nervously. + +“‘How many people have died of fright in this room?’ I asked, turning +over the leaves of a copy of _Town and Country_. + +“‘Seven,’ he replied. ‘Four men and three women.’ + +“‘When was the last one here?’ + +“‘Last night,’ he said. + +“‘I wonder if I might have a glass of hot water with my breakfast,’ I +said. ‘It warms your stomach.’ + +“‘Doesn’t it though?’ he agreed, and was gone. + +“Very carefully I unpacked my bag and got into bed. I placed the +revolver on the table by my pillow. Then I began reading. + +“Suddenly the door to the closet at the farther end of the room opened +slowly. It was in the shadows and so I could not make out whether +there was a figure or not. But nothing appeared. The door shut again, +however, and I could hear footfalls coming across the soft carpet +toward my bed. A chair which lay between me and the closet was upset as +if by an unseen shin, and, simultaneously, the window was slammed shut +and the shade pulled down. I looked, and there, against the shade, as +if thrown from the _outside_, was the same shadow that we had seen as +we came up the drive that afternoon.” + +“I have to go to the bathroom,” said little Roger, aged six, at this +point. + +“Well, go ahead,” said Uncle Edith. “You know where it is.” + +“I don’t want to go alone,” whined Roger. + +“Go with Roger, Arthur,” commanded Uncle Edith, “and bring me a glass +of water when you come back.” + +“And whatever was this horrible thing that was in your room, Uncle +Edith?” asked the rest of the children in unison when Roger and Arthur +had left the room. + +“I can’t tell you that,” replied Uncle Edith, “for I packed my bag and +got the 9:40 back to town.” + +“That is the lousiest ghost story I have ever heard,” said Peterkin. + +And they all agreed with him. + + + + +FASCINATING CRIMES + +_III. The Missing Floor_ + + +It has often been pointed out that murderers are given to revisiting +the scenes of their crimes. The case of Edny Pastelle is the only one +on record where the scene of the crime revisited the murderer. + +Edny Pastelle was a Basque elevator woman who ran one of the first +elevators installed in the old Fifth Avenue Hotel, which stood at the +corner of Twenty-third Street and Fifth Avenue, New York City. The +elevator was of the surrey type, and was pushed from floor to floor by +the operator, who was underneath climbing on a ladder. It was Mlle. +Pastelle’s daily task to hoist such personages as Chauncey M. Depew, +Boss Tweed and Harriet Beecher Stowe up to their rooms in the Fifth +Avenue Hotel. In fact, she is said to have been Miss Stowe’s model for +_Uncle Tom_ in the novel of that name (with the word “Cabin” added to +it). + +In the evenings, when Edny Pastelle was not on duty, she carried Punch +and Judy shows about town for whoever wanted them. As not many people +wanted them, Edny’s evenings were pretty much her own. + +[Illustration: Edny Pastelle and Max Sorgossen in the gallery of human +fiends and their victims. + + _--Courtesy of John Held, Jr., and Life._ +] + +The evening of July 7, 1891, however, is on record as being not Edny’s, +but Max Sorgossen’s. + +Max Sorgossen worked in the Eden Musée, which was situated on +Twenty-third Street just below the Fifth Avenue Hotel. His job was +to put fresh cuffs on the wax figure of Chester A. Arthur in the +Presidential Group. At five o’clock every afternoon he also took +“Ajeeb,” the mechanical chess player, out in the back yard for his +exercise. + +At five-thirty on the afternoon in question Max Sorgossen had just +knocked off work and was strolling up Twenty-third Street in search +of diversion. In the back of his mind was an idea that perhaps he +might find another mechanical chess player for “Ajeeb” and a girl for +himself and that the four of them might go down to Coney Island for the +evening, as the weather was warm. As he passed the service entrance of +the Fifth Avenue Hotel he met Edny Pastelle, who was likewise calling +it a day. (She called it a _jour_, but that is the Basque of it.) + +Edny and Max had known each other in finishing school, and so there +seemed no impropriety in his speaking to her and asking her if she knew +of a mechanical chess player for “Ajeeb” and if she would look with +favor on an evening at Coney. + +The two were seen entering a restaurant on Twenty-first Street to talk +it over at 6:10. At 9:20 the next morning guests of the hotel, on +trying to descend in the elevator, found it stuck between the first +and third floors. When the car was finally dislodged, it was found to +contain the body of Max Sorgossen. Furthermore, _the second floor, +where the elevator should have stopped, was gone_! + +Edny was arrested and the trial took place in the Court of Domestic +Relations, since she was a domestic and there had evidently been +relations, albeit unfriendly. The prosecuting attorney was a young +lawyer named William T. Jerome, later William Travers Jerome. Following +is a transcript of the cross-examination: + + _Q._ What did you do after Sorgossen spoke to you on Twenty-third + Street? + + _A._ Pardon. + + _Q._ What did you do after Sorgossen spoke to you on Twenty-third + Street? + + _A._ Plenty. + + _Q._ Very good, Mr. Bones. And now tell me, why _is_ a man with a + silk hat on like Mary Queen of Scots? + + _A._ What Scots? + + _Q._ I’m asking _you_. + + _A._ Animal, vegetable or mineral? + + _Q._ Mineral. + + _A._ The tidy on the back of that chair? + + _Q._ No. + + _A._ Cyrus W. Field? + + _Q._ Give up? + + _A._ Three spades. + + _Q._ Double three spades. + +At this point, counsel for the defense objected and the case was thrown +out into a higher court, where Edny Pastelle was acquitted, or whatever +you call it. + +It was some thirty years later that the missing second floor of the +old Fifth Avenue Hotel was discovered. A workman laying wagers on the +sixteenth floor of the Fifth Avenue Building (erected on the site of +the old Fifth Avenue Hotel) came across a floor which was neither the +fifteenth, sixteenth nor seventeenth. The police were called in and, +after several weeks of investigation and grilling, it was identified +as the missing floor of the old hotel, the floor at which the little +romance of Edny Pastelle had come to such an abrupt end. How it came to +be on the sixteenth floor of the Fifth Avenue Building nobody knows. +Perhaps Max Sorgossen could tell. + + + + +THE END OF THE SEASON + + The William K. Vanderbilt mansion at Fifty-second Street and Fifth + Avenue is, according to report, not to be torn down, but will be + transported bodily to Long Island where it will be re-erected as a + country home. The same fate is also reported to await the Cornelius + Vanderbilt “château” at Fifty-seventh Street and Fifth Avenue which + was sold last Spring for $7,100,000. Both mansions are, it is said, + to be moved to Long Island and re-assembled by purchasers as yet + unnamed. + + --_News Item._ + + +SCENE + +Fifth Avenue between Fifty-second and Fifty-seventh Streets 3 a. m. + + +CHARACTERS + + Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt’s House. + Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt’s House. + + * * * * * + +MRS. W. K.’S HOUSE: You-hoo! + +MRS. CORNELIUS’ HOUSE: You-hoo! + +MRS. W. K.’S HOUSE: Are you awake? + +MRS. C.’S HOUSE: Am I awake? I should say I am. We’re moving down to +the country tomorrow, you know. + +MRS. W. K.’S HOUSE: We move down next week. How are you going down? + +MRS. C.’S HOUSE: The Herman W. Oberholzer Wrecking Company, I think--if +it’s pleasant. The men said they would be here at seven. _Imagine!_ The +front steps are going down first; so there will be something there when +we get there. The little towers are crazy to go down with the front +steps, but I don’t think I’ll let them. I think they ought to stay and +go down with the rest of the house. You’re all going down together, +aren’t you? + +MRS. W. K.’S HOUSE: Oh, I suppose so. I dread the whole thing and will +be glad when it’s over. We’ve had all those impossible people tramping +through the house all week--charity, you know. Some days it just seemed +as if I couldn’t stand it. One man actually wanted to take a bath in +the marble tub! My dear, I was _furious_! I think that when we do get +to the country, I’ll just go to bed and stay there. + +MRS. C.’S HOUSE: Why don’t you hurry up and come down with us tomorrow? +The Oberholzer people are awfully nice and I’m sure there’d be room. + +MRS. W. K.’S HOUSE: Oh, I don’t know. I’m so tired I just can’t think. + +MRS. C.’S HOUSE: My dear, you could do it just as easily as not. Just +throw together the things you’ll need--the Blashfield murals and the +Caen stair-case--and have them ready at seven-thirty. Then, just as +soon as we are all on the truck, I’ll tell the Oberholzer men to come +right over and get you and we can all go down together. + +MRS. W. K.’S HOUSE: Oh, dear, I’ve half a mind to do it; I do so want +to get out of the city. Somehow I’ve been awfully depressed about +things lately. New York isn’t what it used to be. And then the selling +of the lot and everything, and all these big business buildings coming +into the neighborhood. A thirty-three story one here, you know. + +MRS. C.’S HOUSE: My dear, what do you think of _us_! A forty-two story +_hotel_, if you please! We got rather used to the Plaza, but I’m glad +that I sha’n’t be here to see this new thing. + +MRS. W. K.’S HOUSE: Do you know, I think I’ll just _tear_ and get ready +to go down with you in the morning. We have practically no front-steps, +you know, and we can just sort of camp out down there until the roof +and other things come down. Seven-thirty, you say? + +MRS. C.’S HOUSE: That’s what the wrecking people said, I suppose that +means eight or half-past. We’ll have to eat luncheon on the way. We’ll +have plenty of chicken for you. + +MRS. W. K.’S HOUSE: My dear, don’t be silly. I’ll bring the sandwiches, +and perhaps when they tear the cellar up they may find enough champagne +for just the two of us. + +MRS. C.’S HOUSE: That will be _divine_! Seven-thirty, then. + +MRS. W. K.’S HOUSE: Good night, my dear. And don’t forget, I’m bringing +the sandwiches! + + + + +EXAM TIME + + +What ought to be the last word in our national craze for examinations +and tests is found in the announcement of an aged man in North Carolina +that he is ready to take the “Charlie Ross Test.” + +“The Charlie Ross Test” seems to have for its object the examination +of the candidate to see whether or not he is the Charlie Ross who was +kidnaped, as a little boy, from his home in Germantown, Pa., in 1873. +The successful candidate is to receive an embossed certificate with the +name “Charlie Ross” in Old English type at the top. He is also allowed +to say, “I am Charlie Ross,” when introducing himself to people. + +Candidates in the Charlie Ross Test are given two hours in which to +complete the examination, and a choice of seven questions out of ten. +Question No. 4, however (“Are you white or black?”), must be answered, +as the Charlie Ross who was kidnaped was known to have been white. + +Mr. Julius Dellinger, the present contestant, has been cramming for the +test for over six months, and feels fairly confident that he will pass +with flying colors. A question of ruling came up last week, when it was +discovered that Mr. Dellinger had been tutoring on the side with a man +supposed to have been the original Charlie Ross’s uncle, but it was +decided to allow this provided that the candidate does not take notes +into the examination-room with him. + +“What will you do if you win?” Mr. Dellinger was asked. + +“I will be just the happiest man in the world,” was the reply. “First +of all, I will have stationery made with ‘C. R.’ on it, and then I will +look up all my new relatives in the Ross family and perhaps visit them +for a while.” + +“When you have passed the Charlie Ross Test, do you expect to take the +Ambrose Bierce Test?” the reporter asked. + +“I looked into the Ambrose Bierce Test before I decided on the Charlie +Ross one,” Mr. Dellinger said, “but as Bierce was quite well on in +years when he disappeared in Mexico, it would be rather a tough +examination to take. So many people knew what Bierce looked like, and +then, too, there would always be the possibility that I might _not_ be +Bierce after all. It would be very humiliating to get up before the +Board of Regents and discover that you were Charlie Ross when you were +taking the Ambrose Bierce examination, or vice versa.” + +“Had you ever thought that perhaps you might be the Man with the Iron +Mask?” Mr. Dellinger was asked. + +“Well, that would hardly be possible,” he said with a smile, “as +the Man with the Iron Mask lived in the seventeenth century and +spoke French. I speak no French. Still,” he added with a touch of +wistfulness, “I might learn.” + +“Aside from the language,” the reporter suggested, “it ought to be an +easier test than either the Ross or Bierce one, for no one knows what +the Man with the Iron Mask looked like.” + +Mr. Dellinger thought for a minute. Then a look of determination came +into his eyes. “I’ll send for a set of last year’s examination papers +tomorrow,” he said. And into his bearing there crept something of the +grand manner, a slightly imperious gesture with the hand, a courtly +toss to the head. For the Man with the Iron Mask was said by some to +have been the son of Cardinal Mazarin and Anne of Austria. + +With a low bow the reporter withdrew. + + + + +THROWING BACK THE EUROPEAN OFFENSIVE + + +This is probably the hardest time of year for for those of us who +didn’t go to Europe last summer. It was bad enough when the others were +packing and outlining their trips for you. It was pretty bad when the +postcards from Lausanne and Venice began coming in. But now, in the +fall, when the travelers are returning with their Marco Polo travelogs, +now is when we must be brave and give a cheer for the early frost. + +There are several ways to combat this menace of returning travelers. +The one that I have found most effective is based on the old football +theory that a strong offense is the best defense. I rush them right off +their feet, before they can get started. + +In carrying out this system, it is well to remember that very few +travelers know anything more about the places they have visited than +the names of one hotel, two points of interest, and perhaps one street. +You can bluff them into insensibility by making up a name and asking +them if they saw that when they were in Florence. My whole strategy +is based on my ability to make up names. You can do it, too, with +practice. + +Thus, let us say that I am confronted by Mrs. Reetaly who has just +returned from a frantic tour of Spain, southern France, and the Ritz +Hotel, Paris. You are inextricably cornered with her at a tea, or beer +night, or something. Following is a transcript of the conversation. +(Note the gathering power of my offense.) + +MRS. R.: Well, we have just returned from Europe, and everything seems +so strange here. I simply can’t get used to our money. + +MR. B.: I never see enough of it to get used to it myself. (_Just a +pleasantry._) + +MRS. R.: When we were in Madrid, I just gave up trying to figure out +the Spanish money. You see, they have _pesetas_ and-- + +MR. B.: A very easy way to remember Spanish money is to count ten +_segradas_ to one _mesa_, ten _mesas_ to one _rintilla_ and twenty +_rintillas_ to one _peseta_. + +MRS. R.: Oh, you have been to Spain? Did you go to Toledo? + +MR. B.: Well, of course, Toledo is just the beginning. You pushed on to +Mastilejo, of course? + +MRS. R.: Why--er--no. We were in quite a hurry to get to Granada and-- + +MR. B.: You didn’t see Mastilejo? That’s too bad. Mastilejo is Toledo +multiplied by a hundred. Such mountains! Such coloring! Leaving +Mastilejo, one ascends by easy stages to the ridge behind the town from +which is obtained an incomparable view of the entire Bobadilla Valley. +It was here that, in 1476, the Moors-- + +[Illustration: “Unless you have seen Tuna, you haven’t seen Spain.”] + +MRS. R.: The Moorish relics in Granada-- + +MR. B.: The Moorish relics in Granada are like something you buy from +Sears-Roebuck compared to the remains in Tuna. You saw Tuna, of course? + +MRS. R.: Well, no (_lying her head off_), we were going there, but +Harry thought that it would just be repeating what-- + +MR. B.: The biggest mistake of your life, Mrs. Reetaly, the biggest +mistake of your life! Unless you have seen Tuna, you haven’t seen Spain. + +MRS. R.: But Carcassonne-- + +MR. B.: Ah, Carcassonne! Now you’re talking! Did you ever see anything +to beat that old diamond mill in the _Vielle Ville_? Would they let you +go through it when you were there? + +MRS. R.: Why, I don’t think that we saw any old diamond mill. We saw an +old-- + +MR. B.: I know what you’re going to say! You saw the old wheat sifter. +Isn’t that fascinating? Did you talk with the old courier there? + +MRS. R.: Why, I don’t remember-- + +MR. B.: And the hole in the wall where Louis the Neurotic escaped from +the Saracens? + +MRS. R.: Yes, wasn’t that--? (_Very weak._) + +MR. B.: And the stream where they found the sword and buckler of the +Man with the Iron Abdomen? + +MRS. R. (_edging away_): Yes, indeed. + +MR. B.: And old Vastelles? You visited Vastelles, surely?... Mrs. +Reetaly, come back here, please! I just love talking over these dear +places with someone who has just been there.... May I call on you some +day soon and we’ll just have a feast of reminiscence?... Thank you. How +about tomorrow? + +And from that day to this, I am never bothered by Mrs. Reetaly’s +European trip, and you needn’t be, either, if you will only study the +above plan carefully. + +The other method is based on just the opposite theory--that of no +offense, or defense, at all. It is known as “dumb submission,” and +should be tried only by very phlegmatic people who can deaden their +sensibilities so that they don’t even hear the first ten minutes of the +traveler’s harangue. The idea is to let them proceed at will for a time +and then give unmistakable evidence of not having heard a word they +have said. Let us say that Mr. Thwomly has accosted me on the train. + +MR. T.: It certainly seems funny to be riding in trains like this +again. We have been all summer in France, you know, and those +French trains are all divided up into compartments. You get into a +compartment--_compartimon_, they call them--and there you are with +three or five other people, all cooped up together. On the way from +Paris to Marseilles we had a funny experience. I was sitting next to a +Frenchman who was getting off at Lyons--Lyons is about half way between +Paris and Marseilles--and he was dozing when we got in. So I-- + +MR. B.: Did you get to France at all when you were away? + +MR. T.: This was in _France_ that I’m telling you about. On the way +from Paris to Marseilles. We got into a railway carriage-- + +[Illustration: “Did you get to France at all when you were away?”] + +MR. B.: The railway carriages there aren’t like ours here, are they? +I’ve seen pictures of them, and they seem to be more like compartments +of some sort. + +MR. T. (_a little discouraged_): That was a French railway carriage I +was just describing to you. I sat next to a man-- + +MR. B.: A Frenchman? + +MR. T.: Sure, a Frenchman. That’s the _point_. + +MR. B.: Oh, I see. + +MR. T.: Well, the Frenchman was asleep, and when we got in I stumbled +over his feet. So he woke up and said something in French, which I +couldn’t understand, and I excused myself in English, which _he_ +couldn’t understand, but I saw by his ticket that he was going only as +far as Lyons-- + +MR. B.: You were across the border into France, then? + +MR. T. (_giving the whole thing up as a bad job_): And what did _you_ +do this summer? + +Whichever way you pick to defend yourself against the assaults of +people who want to tell you about Europe, don’t forget that it was I +who told you how. I’m going to Europe myself next year, and if you +try to pull either of these systems on _me_ when I get back, I will +recognize them at once, and it will just go all the harder with you. +But, of course, _I_ will have something to tell that will be worth +hearing. + + + + +AN INTERVIEW WITH VICE-PRESIDENT DAWES + + +Interviewing Vice-Presidents is always a ticklish business, unless you +happen to find one who isn’t ticklish. + +So I took General Dawes into my confidence right at the start. + +“General Dawes,” I said, “what is your feeling about the Senate?” + +“You mean the Roman Senate, do you not?” asked the grizzled warrior. + +“Well, yes, now that you speak of it,” I replied. Here was a chance to +have some fun at the expense of Catiline. + +“The Senate is all right,” said General Dawes. “It is the tribunes of +the people that cause all the trouble. They and the lictors.” + +“How would you lictor have a glass of beer?” I asked the Vice-President. + +Well, that got us to giggling, as you may very well imagine. First I +would hit him, and then he would hit me. + +“If the Senate rules were to be changed, so that for ‘quorum’ it should +read ‘jorum,’ what would you think?” I asked him, spitting out two +teeth (good ones, too). + +“‘Jorum’ instead of ‘quorum’?” he asked, stalling for time. “What would +I think?” + +“You heard me, Mr. Vice-President,” I retorted. + +“I should say, suh--” he began. + +“I didn’t know that you were from the South,” I interrupted. + +“I’m not. That was just something caught in my throat.” + +At this point, General Dawes looked out the window. “Where are we?” +he asked, peering into the darkness. “Is this New Haven we are coming +into, porter?” + +But the porter was just as much puzzled as General Dawes was, being a +Southern Pacific porter on his first trip on the N. Y., N. H. & H. R. R. + +“I could tell with a bit of litmus paper,” he said. + +Quickly I clapped my hand over General Dawes’ mouth. + +“Do you ever wonder, Mr. Vice-President,” I asked him, “just what life +is all about?” + +“_Do_ I?” said General Dawes from behind my palm. “That’s all I ever +wonder about.” + +“Wasn’t it Voltaire who asked ‘_Que suis-je, ou suis-je, ou vais-je, et +d’ou suis-je tiré?_’” + +“That all sounds very silly,” retorted the General in a rage. “And +besides, there should be an accent over all those ‘u’s’.” + +“The General did not have his nap today,” I explained to the conductor. +“He is cross.” + +“This is my street anyway,” said the Vice-President, hopping up and +getting into his middy-blouse. And, without a word, he was gone. + + + + +THE _LIFE_ POLAR EXPEDITION + + +_En route with “Life’s” Bicycle Expedition to the North Pole.--May 17._ + +We are now just between Woodlawn and Mt. Vernon, at a point where there +seems to be some sort of road-digging going on. This means that we +shall have to sit down and wait for them to finish, or else go back and +take a roundabout route. We are just a little discouraged. + +“Chief,” Lieut.-Commander Connelly said to me as we were pedalling +through Morrisania (168th Street), “do you ever have any doubts about +our catching up with the others--Amundsen and Byrd, I mean?” + +I felt a strange little chill creep around my heart. Was this mutiny? + +“Have you heard any of the men talking?” I asked, without looking at +him. + +“Well, no, not exactly,” he replied, “but Ensign Thermaline asked me +yesterday how long I figured out that it would be before we sighted one +of the other expeditions.” + +“You can tell Ensign Thermaline,” I said, “that if he will keep his +feet pedalling ’round and ’round just as fast as he can and maintain +his balance, the rest of us will do the same.” + +Lieut.-Commander Connelly looked at me with tears in his eyes. “Aye, +aye, sir,” was all that he said, but it spoke volumes. + +From Mott Haven, where we spent the night, we have pedalled due north +over the Grand Concourse, stopping only once at a repair shop to get +a new thumb-piece for Ensign Thermaline’s bell. Ensign Thermaline had +been using the bell almost constantly since leaving 57th Street, being +one of the most cautious pilots in the expedition. + +A peculiarity of the country which we all have noticed since crossing +over the Harlem River is the rows upon rows of large apartment houses +which have sprung up along the route. At first none of us spoke of +it, but finally Lieut.-Commander Connelly could keep his thoughts to +himself no longer. “Have you noticed the large number of apartment +houses along the way?” he asked. We all admitted that we had. + +In front of one of these apartment houses an interesting sight met our +eyes. A little boy was seen riding along in what looked like a very +small automobile and it was in effect really an automobile except +that it was propelled by the little boy’s feet, which were in direct +contact with the sidewalk. Some members of the expedition were in favor +of stopping and getting the little boy to join, but wiser counsel +prevailed and we decided that it would take him too long to get his +winter things packed and that we ought not to incur any more delays +than we should run into in the natural course of events. “He would have +been cute, though,” said Lieut-Commander Connelly wistfully. + +Just the other side of Williamsbridge we ran into an obstacle which for +a while threatened to hold us up indefinitely. Right in our path we +came to a high wall surrounding a reservoir. We sent Ensign Thermaline +up to take soundings and he returned, making a long face, and reporting +that the reservoir was practically ten feet deep. + +“What a place to build a reservoir anyway!” I said, and the other +joined me in my disgust. + +Fording the darned thing being out of the question, we decided that it +would be better to take one of the roads which seemed to lead around +it. We chose the one to the left because left is Lieut.-Commander +Connelly’s favorite direction. And Dame Fortune was with us in our +choice, for it led, after a while, right into the Bronx River Parkway, +which was _just_ where we wanted to be. Had we taken the road to the +right, there is no telling where we should have ended up.[1] + +It was in passing Woodlawn Cemetery that we got into the discussion +which is still raging as we sit by the roadside before Mt. Vernon. +The sight of the miles and miles of monuments in Woodlawn depressed +Lieut.-Commander Connelly and set him thinking. + +“Man’s span is _so_ short,” he said, drawing up alongside my “bike” (as +we call our wheels). “Man’s span is so short that it seems hardly worth +all the fuss and pother of trying, doesn’t it?” he whispered. + +“I think that word is ‘bother,’” I said. + +“Which word?” he asked. + +“The word you called ‘pother,’” I replied, a little cruelly, I am +afraid. + +“Are you _sure_?” he asked. + +“As sure as one can be of anything in this old world,” I said. + +“That’s just it,” the lieutenant-commander returned, “what _can_ one +be sure of? We are born, grow up, make our little plans--and what sad, +brave little plans they are, too--and then just as we think we are +succeeding”--the young explorer stopped and looked at the rows of +tombstones on our left. + +“I know, Lieutenant-Commander,” I said, sympathetically. “You don’t +have to say it.” + +And so we rode on in silence, until we reached this sort of digging-up +they are doing in the road. Then I said: “Oh, the devil!” And at this +rather pat climax to a discussion on philosophy, we both laughed. + +But if we are held up very long here it will be no laughing matter, for +in the papers we read that Amundsen is already on his way to the Pole +from Spitsbergen. + +(_The brave boys of the “Life” Polar Expedition are pedalling furiously +in a northerly direction and expect to reach Mt. Vernon any day now. +Another despatch from Commander Benchley will appear next week._) + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] The right road also leads to the Bronx River Parkway.--EDITOR. + + + + +A GHOST STORY + +(_As Sherwood Anderson Would Write It If He Weren’t Prevented_) + + +1 + +David Perk sat on the edge of his bed. It was nearly midnight and in +a few minutes the ghost would come. The ghost would come, all right, +all right. Why not? Milt Neevis had seen it here in this very room, +and Milt got drunk every Thursday night and rolled in the bran-mash +they had fixed for the horses out in Rob McCarver’s barn. And Milt knew +women, too. When Spring came to Panis Junction, and the soft smell of +honeysuckle drifted into town over Ernest Tamson’s tannery down by the +tracks, Milt used to sneak out at eleven o’clock every night and go in +swimming alone in the Women’s Public Baths. Naked. Milt knew women all +right. Lordy! + +And Milt Neevis had told David Perk that at midnight the ghost would be +sure to come. And what’s more, it might be a female ghost, Milt said. +Male and female. Hot dickety-dog! + + +2 + +David Perk was sitting on the edge of his bed waiting for the ghost. +Why should he--David Perk--be afraid? Why should anyone be afraid? Why +should you be afraid? Why should I be afraid? Sex was sex, wasn’t it? +That night in Chicago. Why had he left Ella? Ella had been his first +wife and every Friday night she used to bake potatoes and cut them open +to put butter in them. David had liked to see her cut open the baked +potatoes. Perhaps it hurt them to be cut open. Why not? Potatoes had +sex, just the same as you and me or old Milt Neevis rolling in the +bran-mash out in Rob McCarver’s barn. Male potatoes. Female potatoes. +Cut them open and put butter in them. And paprika. Ella had cut them +open and put butter in them that night back in Chicago. And David had +left her. Not because she did that. David had liked that. It had made +him feel all queer all over. Lordy! Ella would never understand how it +made him feel. So he had left her. Male potatoes in the same dish with +female potatoes. Milt Neevis swimming alone naked in the Women’s Public +Baths on a Spring night. Slicky-slicky! + + +3 + +David Perk sitting on the edge of his bed waiting for the ghost. +Perhaps a girl ghost. He was a man, wasn’t he? Secretary Stanton of +Lincoln’s cabinet had been a man, hadn’t he? Why Stanton? Well, why +not Stanton? He, David Perk, had never seen Stanton, had he? Nor G. A. +Henty. Nor Cyrus W. Field. All men, weren’t they? And what were men +made for if not for women? + + “_Hill-dill, come over the hill, + Or else I’ll catch you standing still._” + +That night in Detroit. When he had left Irma. Irma had been his second +wife. Irma had large bones and cried easily. One night in the Spring +she and David had gone out into the fields and pulled up all the grass. +A mare and a stallion pulling up grass in the fields and chewing it. +They had chewed grass all night. Big sensation. Grass between your +teeth. Green, sharp grass. Big male moon in the sky looking for its +mate. Little female stars skipping about looking for their mates. Never +finding them. David never finding anyone. Twenty-three! Skidoo! + + +4 + +That night in Boston when David had met Theresa. Theresa was his third +wife. The State House dome in the moonlight. Niggers singing on the +Common. Niggers who had been freed. Irishmen singing on the Common. +Sailors with girls on their laps on the benches. Spooning. Tremont +Street. Boylston Street. Trolley cars. English sparrows with Spring +in their veins. Men and women. Boys and girls. Male babies and female +babies. Sex! America! + +And here was he, David Perk, sitting--all hot and bothered--on the edge +of his bed waiting for the ghost to come. And old Milt Neevis down in +Rob McCarver’s barn rolling in the bran-mash. + + +5 + +Downstairs Edith was asleep. Edith was David Perk’s fourth wife. Edith +slept on her right side with the right arm stretched out behind her and +her left hand under her cheek. And after that--what? After _what_ what? +What did it matter what? Here was the ghost. The ghost that Milt Neevis +had told him about. And Milt had said it might be a female! + +David felt all queer. He felt as he had felt that night in Toronto when +he had left Marian, his fifth wife. “All alone by the telephone waiting +for a ring, a ting-a-ling.” Things hadn’t gone right--for him and +Marian--not right at all. + + “_Higgledy-piggledy, my black hen. + She lays eggs for gentlemen._” + +Eggs for gentlemen, eh? Lord, what a time! But what was a fellow to do? +What had she been thinking about? What had he--David--been thinking +about? Chinks jabbering in their laundry. Chinks jabbering out in front +of their laundry. The War. The Red Cross. The Fifth Liberty Loan. Was +he--David--afraid? Was he--or was she--jealous of her? Not by a damn +sight. Well, he and Irma had certainly messed things up. And he smiled +to himself. Would the ghost know? Would she understand what Irma hadn’t +understood? What Marian hadn’t understood? What Edith--downstairs +sleeping this very minute with her right arm stretched out behind +her--wasn’t understanding? How come? + + +6 + +It was Spring outside and the warm breeze over the lilac bushes carried +the smell of Ernest Tamson’s tannery to David. Did the ghost smell it +too? “Come in.” David was out of bed now, standing beside the ghost. +She was a woman all right. And David was a man. God’s man. Flames in +her eyes--deep red flames--deep blue flames. The old oaken bucket. The +iron-bound bucket. The moss-covered bucket. Heigh-ho! Old Black Joe! + +David was packing his grip. His two military brushes. One male. The +other female. Male and female created He them. Why be ashamed of it? +The ghost was looking at David with a queer look in her eyes. She knows +what’s what, old man. Sure thing. She wants me to go with her. Why +not? Male and Female created He them. And the evening and the morning +were the sixth day. “And ’twas from Aunt Dinah’s quilting party, I was +seeing Nelly home.” + + +7 + +David Perk and the girl ghost were leaving the house. He felt her close +to him. It was! It wasn’t! It was! He knew that she was thinking the +long, long thoughts of a woman. And he--David--was thinking the long, +long thoughts of a man. They were across Nalbro Harris’ backyard now. +Now they were on the train for Chicago. Mr. and Mrs. David Perk. And +back in the gray house Edith was sleeping with her right arm stretched +out behind her and her left hand under her cheek. On her right side. +Well, toodle-oo! + + + + +DISCOVERING WEBER AND FIELDS + +_If There Had Been Erudite Criticism in the Nineties_ + + +From the lowly precincts of the music halls has arisen a new pair of +pragmatists. The names that appear on the bills are Weber and Fields, +but the hands are the hands of William James. And so and so and so and +so. + +The method of these zanies is eclectic. From Zeno the Stoic they have +taken the doctrine of “six-times-six-is-thirty-six.” From Anaxagoras +the theory that the Whole is less than any of its parts. From Francis +Bacon the denial of Truth as a substantive. From L. G. B. three dozen +woolen stockings and a crate of oranges. + +Take for example the scene where _Mike_ and _Meyer_ are discussing +occupations (in itself pure dialectics): + + MEYER: Vot are you doing? + + MIKE: Voiking in a nut factory. + + MEYER: Doing vot? + + MIKE: Nutting. + + MEYER: Sure--but vot are you _doing_? + + MIKE: Nutting. + + MEYER: I know, but vot voik are you doing? + + MIKE: Nutting, I tole you. + + MEYER (_poking his finger in Mike’s eye_): Ou-u-u-u, how I lofe you! + +Here we have the new philosophy of the subconscious, the stirrings of +a new American humor which derives from the modern German school of +_Merkwürdigkeit_, or _Es-giebt-also-es-ist_. In the American mind is +being born, through the medium of the music hall, a consciousness of +national social satire which bids fair to revolutionize thought on +this side of the Atlantic. Could a better example be found than the +following dialogue between these two super-clowns in their latest show: + + MIKE (_referring to off-stage noises_): A soldier has been shot. + + MEYER: Vere vos he shot? + + MIKE: In de eggcitement! + +Here, in these words, lies America. The America of today, with its +flaring gas lights, its thundering cable cars, the clatter of its +hansoms, and the deafening whistle of its peanut stands. The young, +vibrant spirit of America, locked in the message of two clowns! And, +with the coming of jazz, twenty years from now, we shall see the full +expression of the young nation’s strivings toward the Greater Smooch. + + + + +WATER FOOTBALL + +_Suggestions to the Rules Committee for Making Use of Rain_ + + +Whatever it is that the football rules committee does during that week +in the spring that it spends in New York (and you can’t tell me that +a group of healthy men can stay in a New York hotel room all the time +and think of nothing but football, football, football) it certainly +makes no provision for rain on the day of a big game. And anyone who +has sat through four two-hour periods in a downpour will tell you that +football, as it is played today, is essentially a fair-weather sport. + +I had a cousin who went to the Harvard-Yale game last year and +contracted gelatin-trouble, owing to the sizing in his fur coat having +soaked through into his spine and gone the rounds of his entire system. +He sat in a large puddle (one of the largest in the Yale Bowl, he tells +me, and you know what a big place the Yale Bowl is) and along about six +o’clock, on the way home in the machine, he felt a queer sort of spinal +disintegration. “As if I were going to pieces,” is the way he expressed +it. He thought nothing of it until his arms and legs began to come off +and then he went somewhere and lay down. Whatever it was that finally +became of him, the point is that watching football in the rain is no +darned fun and the least that the rules committee can do is to make +some regulations covering a situation that so frequently exists. + +For instance, when it is found that the field is going to be knee-deep +in mud and water, there ought to be some way of changing the nature of +the game entirely, so that the very elements which would, under the +old rules, work toward a spoiling of the game, might be turned into +favorable factors for all concerned. + +Thus we might have a play (to be called “left half around the sandbar”) +in which, at the signal, the left halfback takes the ball from the +quarter, tosses it into a dory, shoves off, and rows around right end. +His interference, also in dories, could ward off tacklers by splashing +water in their faces, use of the oars as clubs to be called illegal. To +meet this play, it would be the function of the defensive backs to row +through and, if possible, force the man with the ball in his boat to +row onto a sandbar or else create such a wash that it upsets him. + +Or, there might be an entirely different ball used during a rain +storm--a large, red rubber ball such as some nuisance always has at +the beach in the summer. This could be tossed back and forth, the +players screaming with excitement the while, until one side or the +other gets tired. With this type of ball, a very neat trick play +could be utilized, the “U-56, or concealed ball play” in which the +quarterback, immediately on receiving the pass, would shove the ball +under the surface of the water, sit on it, and paddle himself around +left end or through left tackle, if a hole could be opened up for him. +The fun here would be for the defense to drown the runner. + +Of course, the rain is not always sufficiently heavy to make the water +deep enough for the two plays outlined above. Sometimes it merely +drizzles and there is nothing but mud on the field. This would call for +an entirely new list of plays. Under these conditions, the old Carlisle +Indian trick could be revived, each of the backs scooping up an armful +of mud and running with it, the defense being unable to tell in which +armful the ball is hidden. Or, as an alternate play, the backfield +could daub their faces with mud to look like a negro quartette and +could start humming old plantation melodies. Then, while the defense +stopped and listened, enchanted, the right end could pick up the +leather and slide down the field with it. + +The big spectacular play, however, for a muddy day is the “sappers’ +wedge” or “East Side subway.” In this trick, the linemen throw up +breastworks of mud in front of the line of scrimmage. When the ball is +put into play, the backs burrow down into the soft ground and tunnel +themselves under the line, digging out on the other side for a gain +of perhaps five yards. This play can be used effectively when within +five yards of the goal, as the back carrying the ball has made, _ipso +facto_, a touchdown. + +This outline of aquatic football has, however, not taken the spectators +into account. Who ever does? But there they are, millions and millions +of them, and something must be done for _them_ on a rainy day. + +Since there is always someone in front of you who has an umbrella up, +you might as well give up any idea you may have had of watching the +game. Don’t torture yourself by trying to peek around the umbrella, +catching sight of the beginning of a play and never knowing until +you hear the cheering whether or not it succeeded. In this way lies +madness. Just give up trying to spy on the field maneuvers and get your +neighbors to enter into a few little games with you to pass the time +away. + +There is, for example, the game of “Neck Cisterns.” In this game, all +the people sitting in a row open out the collars of their coats in the +back, sitting hunched forward so as to make the opening as big as +possible. The idea is to see who can catch the most rain water down the +back of the neck. Drippings from an umbrella are not allowed. The water +must come directly down and into the collar. The winner is the one +whose collar runs over first. + +This may seem like a very simple game to play, and one dependent +entirely on the capacity of the coat of the contestant. This is not +so. A great deal of skill can be brought into playing it by adjusting +the angle of the body to meet the angle of the rain at a point where +the maximum amount of water will drive into the collar. An old hand at +“Neck Cisterns” can fill his coat up to overflowing before a beginner +has got even his shoulder blades wet. + +Another similar game is that of “Brimming.” The players in this turn +the brims of their hats up so as to catch the rain water. At a given +signal, the brims are suddenly turned down and the heads thrust +forward, the idea being to project the deluge of water as far out as +possible. The one hitting the person farthest in front wins and is +the champion “brimmer” of the section. During the final period of the +football game, the champion “brimmers” from each section meet and play +off the finals. + +Of course, one of the chief features of watching a contest in the rain +is the wet seat. You hop up in your excitement at seeing the boys pull +off a forward pass (which is grounded) and, by the time you have got +around to sitting down again, the place which you have been keeping dry +up until the forward pass is now a tiny lily pond with swan boats in +it. Into this you sink back exhausted from your cheering, and in it you +sit for the rest of the game while, starting from the pond as a base, +a series of chills race up your spine to a spot directly behind your +ears, where they break ranks. + +[Illustration: The one hitting the person farthest in front wins.] + +One of the most interesting by-products of watching a football game in +the rain occurred in Lawrence, Massachusetts, in 1919. It had rained +all during the first three periods of the game and everyone was sitting +in individual pools, giving the matter no more thought. Several hundred +of them had been fighting a brave fight against the cold and damp by +means of that greatest little cold and damp fighter of them all, the +pocket flask, and these brothers didn’t even _know_ that they were +sitting in water. They knew that they were sitting pretty and it didn’t +make any difference to them where. Suddenly, at the beginning of the +fourth period, the weather changed and grew much colder. There was a +great deal of time out and dull playing, and no one felt called upon to +hop up for quite some time. As a matter of fact, the game ended with +the ball in mid-field and a lot of substitutes running in to get their +letter. When the whistle blew, the fans started to get up to go home, +but found that they were frozen to the stands. The entire Lawrence fire +department came with axes and worked until eleven that night chopping +the people out. A couple of old grads, who had very poor seats down in +the corner behind the goal posts, were overlooked and had to stay there +until spring. + +[Illustration: ... found they were frozen to the stands.] + +In order to avoid a recurrence of this unfortunate accident, and in +general to keep the seats dry, it has been suggested that the rules +committee make it illegal for any spectator to jump to his feet during +a game. This would apply even when two rival rooters started a fist +fight in the stand. Coincident with the passage of this rule, similar +prohibitions might be put on a man’s falling when dropped out of a +window, and on the earth’s rotating on its axis. + + + + +MORE SONGS FOR MELLER + + +As Señorita Raquel Meller sings entirely in Spanish, it is again +explained, the management prints little synopses of the songs on the +program, telling what each is all about and why she is behaving the way +she is. They make delightful reading during those periods when Señorita +Meller is changing mantillas, and, in case she should run out of songs +before she runs out of mantillas, we offer a few new synopses for her +repertoire. + + +(1) ¿VOY BIEN? + +(AM I GOING IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION?) + +When the acorns begin dropping in Spain there is an old legend that +for every acorn which drops there is a baby born in Valencia. This +is so silly that no one pays any attention to it now, not even the +gamekeeper’s daughter, who would pay attention to anything. She goes +from house to house, ringing doorbells and then running away. She hopes +that some day she will ring the right doorbell and will trip and fall, +so that Prince Charming will catch her. So far, no one has even come +to the door. Poor Pepita! if that is her name. + + +(2) CAMISETAS DE FLANELA + +(FLANNEL VESTS) + +Princess Rosamonda goes nightly to the Puerta del Sol to see if the +early morning edition of the papers is out yet. If it isn’t she hangs +around humming to herself. If it is, she hangs around humming just the +same. One night she encounters a young matador who is returning from +dancing school. The finches are singing and there is Love in the air. +Princess Rosamonda ends up in the Police Station. + + +(3) LA GUIA + +(THE TIME-TABLE) + +It is the day of the bull fight in Madrid. Everyone is cock-eyed. The +bull has slipped out by the back entrance to the arena and has gone +home, disgusted. Nobody notices that the bull has gone except Nina, +a peasant girl who has come to town that day to sell her father. She +looks with horror at the place in the Royal Box where the bull ought to +be sitting and sees there instead her algebra teacher whom she had told +that she was staying at home on account of a sick headache. You can +imagine her feelings! + + +(4) NO PUEDO COMER ESO + +(I CAN NOT EAT THAT!) + +A merry song of the Alhambra--of the Alhambra in the moonlight--of a +girl who danced over the wall and sprained her ankle. Lititia is the +ward of grouchy old Pampino, President of the First National Banco. +She has never been allowed further away than the edge of the piazza +because she teases people so. Her lover has come to see her and finds +that she is fast asleep. He considers that for once he has the breaks, +and tiptoes away without waking her up. Along about eleven o’clock she +awakes, and is sore as all get-out. + + +(5) LA LAVANDERA + +(THE LAUNDRYMAN) + +A coquette, pretending to be very angry, bites off the hand of her +lover up to the wrist. Ah, naughty Cirinda! Such antics! However does +she think she can do her lessons if she gives up all her time to +love-making? But Cirinda does not care. Heedless, heedless Cirinda! + + +(6) ABRA VD. ESA VENTANA + +(OPEN THAT WINDOW) + +The lament of a mother whose oldest son is too young to vote. She walks +the streets singing: “My son can not vote! My son is not old enough!” +There seems to be nothing that can be done about it. + + + + +FASCINATING CRIMES + +_IV. The Lynn Horse-Car Murders_ + + +Early in the morning of August 7th, 1896, a laborer named George +Raccid, while passing the old street-car barns at Fleeming and Main +Streets, Lynn, Massachusetts, noticed a crowd of conductors and drivers +(horse-cars were all the rage in 1896) standing about a car in the +doorway to the barn. Mr. Raccid was too hurried to stop and see what +the excitement was, and so it was not until the following Wednesday, +when the bi-weekly paper came out, that he learned that a murder had +been committed in the car-barn. And at this point, Mr. Raccid drops out +of our story. + +The murder in question was a particularly odd one. In the first place, +it was the victim who did the killing. And in the second, the killing +occurred in a horse-car, an odd conveyance at best. And finally, the +murderer had sought to conceal his handiwork by cramming his victim +into the little stove in the middle of the car, a feat practically +impossible without the aid of scissors and a good eye for snipping. + +The horse-car in which the murder occurred was one of the older types, +even for a horse-car. It was known in the trade as one of the “chummy +roadster” models and was operated by one man only. This man drove the +horses, stoked the fire, and collected the fares. He also held the +flooring of the car together with one foot braced against a “master” +plank. On his day off he read quite a lot. + +[Illustration: The murder car and its driver, Swelf Yoffsen. + + --_Courtesy of John Held, Jr., and Life._ +] + +The driver of the murder-car was named Swelf Yoffsen, a Swedish +murder-car driver. He had come to this country four years before, but, +not liking it here, had returned to Sweden. It is not known how he +happened to be back in Lynn at this late date. + +If we have neglected to state the name of the victim thus far, it +is because nobody seemed able to identify him. Some said that he was +Charlie Ross, who had disappeared shortly before. Others (the witty +ones) said it was Lon Chaney. A vote taken among all those present +designated him as the one least likely to succeed. + +An interesting feature of this crime was that it was the sixth of a +series of similar crimes, all of which had occurred in Swelf Yoffsen’s +horse-car. In the other five cases, the victims had been found +inadequately packed in the stove at the end of the run, but as Yoffsen, +on being questioned, had denied all knowledge of how they got there, +the matter had been dropped. After the discovery of the sixth murder, +however, Yoffsen was held on a technical charge of homicide. + +The trial was one of the social events of the Lynn Mi-Careme season. +Yoffsen, on the stand, admitted that the victim was a passenger in his +car; in fact, that he was the only passenger. He had got on at the +end of the line and had tried to induce Yoffsen to keep on going in +the same direction, even though the tracks stopped there. He wanted +to see a man in Maine, he had said. But Yoffsen, according to his own +story, had refused and had turned his horses around and started for +Lynn again. The next he saw of him, people were trying to get him out +of the stove. It was Yoffsen’s theory that the man, in an attempt to +get warm, had tried to crowd his way into the stove and had smothered. +On being reminded that the affair took place during a very hot week in +August, Yoffsen said that no matter how hot it got during the day in +Lynn, the nights were always cool. + +Attorney Hammis, for the State, traced the movements of Yoffsen on the +morning of the murder and said that they checked up with his movements +on the occasions of the five other murders. He showed that Yoffsen, +on each occasion, had stopped the horse-car at a particularly lonely +spot and asked the occupants if they minded making a little detour, +as there was a bad stretch of track ahead. He had then driven his +horses across a cornfield and up a nearby hill on the top of which, in +the midst of a clump of bayberry bushes, stood a deserted house. He +pointed out that on four out of the six occasions Yoffsen had driven +his horses right into the house and asked the passengers (when there +were any, other than his victim) if they would step into the front +room for a few minutes, giving them some magazines to read while they +waited. According to the testimony of seven of these passengers, after +about fifteen minutes Yoffsen had appeared and yelled “All aboard!” +in a cheery voice and everyone had piled back into the horse-car and +away they had gone, over the cornfield and down the hill to Lynn. It +was noted that on each occasion, one of the passengers was missing, and +that, oddly enough, this very passenger was always the one to be found +in the stove on the way back. + +It was the State’s contention that Yoffsen killed his victims for their +insurance, _which is double when the deceased has met his death in a +common carrier_. + +On April 14th, the ninth day of the trial, the jury went out and +shortly after asked for a drink of water. After eighteen hours of +deliberation they returned with a verdict of guilty, but added that, +as it was not sure whether Yoffsen had actually killed his victims +_in_ the car or had killed them outside and _then_ stuffed them in the +stove, he was not entitled to the double insurance. + +When they went to inform Yoffsen of the verdict, he was nowhere to be +found. + + + + +THE _LIFE_ POLAR EXPEDITION + +_En route with “Life’s” Bicycle Polar Expedition.--May 24._ + + +We chose this route northward, through Mt. Vernon, Tuckahoe and +Scarsdale, because we figured out that it might be pleasant to stop off +at my house in Scarsdale for maybe a bite to eat, or, in case there was +not time for that, at any rate to let the boys see our bicycles. But I +guess now that we would have done better to take the Hudson River road. + +We reached Scarsdale late yesterday afternoon, intending to put in +at my side-yard, get a drink of cool water and perhaps a pocketful +of Rosa’s cookies, show my two boys how the gyro-balancer works, and +then push on to White Plains for the night. The cool-water-and-cookies +part of the plan worked out to the dot, but in demonstrating the +gyro-balancer to the boys we ran into a snag which has held us up for +an entire day. + +It was really due to the kind-heartedness of Lieut.-Commander +Connelly that the whole thing happened. He insisted on removing his +gyro-balancer from the frame of his “bike” in order to show Nathaniel, +my older boy, just how it worked, and, as he did so, he laid the loose +nuts on a piece of paper on the ground. Robert, my younger boy (who is +only six and so mustn’t be blamed too much), claims that he didn’t go +near the paper or the nuts. And he probably doesn’t realize that he +did. But one of the nuts was found over a nail on a boat that he was +working on a few feet away, and the other had disappeared completely. + +A search was immediately instituted which covered every square inch of +the lawn and extended into the street--those things roll so. But when +darkness came we were no nearer to finding it than we had been at the +beginning, and it was necessary to telephone back into New York for an +extra nut, which they said they would send out the first thing in the +morning. It is now 4:17 in the afternoon and the man hasn’t come yet. +We are very discouraged. + +It was while we were searching for the nut that a neighbor came up and +asked us if we had heard anything about the Byrd expedition’s having +flown over the Pole. I got him aside out of earshot of the other men +and asked him if he was sure. He said no, but that he had seen a +cartoon in some paper which seemed to have reference to a successful +flight by Byrd. I, however, laughed his fears away and went back to +the search. Even if Byrd _does_ beat us to it, his victory will have +been by flying-machine, while ours will be by bicycle--two entirely +different things. + +The trip from Mt. Vernon to Scarsdale was one of great beauty and was +accomplished without a mishap. The route led along the Bronx River +Parkway, through woods and across streams, which made up in a way for +the rough time we had in the traffic in New York City. + +While passing through Tuckahoe, Lieut.-Commander Connelly saw a scarlet +tanager perched on a bush overhanging the stream. Thinking that it +might be interesting to have it for our collection of flora and fauna +which we are making for the Museum, we dismounted and crept up very +quietly beside it, thinking to bag it before it could collect its wits. +But it heard us coming and flew away. + +There is a particularly odd family of ferns which grows along the bank +of the Bronx River, and, ferns not being as agile as birds, we were +able to pick great quantities of it. I wish that some of my readers +could tell me what the name of it is. It is green, like other ferns, +but it seems to have a sort of flower which looks like a carnation. +The blossom was still in bud and so we were unable to tell exactly +what it does look like, but I should say that a carnation would just +about fit it. Any naturalist who happens to have run across this fern, +and who knows what it is, would relieve our minds considerably if he, +or she, would write to the _Life_ Polar Expedition, General Delivery, +White Plains, N. Y., and tell us. Just a regular fern, with a carnation +blossom. + +We are now going out into the side-yard again with a flashlight to take +another look for the missing nut, as evidently the man from town isn’t +going to bring out that extra one today, and we _must_ get started +early tomorrow morning. + +Every cloud, they say, has a silver lining, and, as a result of our +being held up here in Scarsdale like this, we have been able to have +some of Rosa’s excellent baked-beans. I find it almost impossible to +get _real_ New England baked-beans in this region, unless you tell +someone just how they should be done. In the first place, it must be +a California pea-bean that is used, and these should be put to soak +the night before and then baked in a slow fire all the next day. If we +had got away when we expected, the beans would not have been ready. So +perhaps we were a little harsh with Bobbie. + + + + +AN INTERVIEW WITH THE COUNTESS KAROLYI + + +An interview with Countess Karolyi was very difficult to get, as she is +not allowed to enter this country and I am not allowed to leave it. So +we met at the drug store on the corner. + +The Countess being Hungarian, it seemed that the least I could do would +be to conduct the interview in her native tongue. It certainly wasn’t +the _best_ I could do. + +“_Hogy szercted americat?_” I began, as a feeler. It wasn’t much, as +feelers go, but I am not very strong. + +“_Közönöm nomigon nagyon_,” she replied, blushing prettily. I had not +looked for this frankness. I glanced out over the blue Mediterranean, +obviously waiting for her to break the silence. I had not long to wait. + +“_Asz önök epülitegi igon maghsak_,” she said, so low that I could +hardly hear her. It was like a bombshell. + +I wheeled and confronted her. + +“_Gindolja hogy a Ni holgye ink szójeck talán?_” The situation +demanded it. I have no apologies to offer. + +Fortunately for the interview, the bell in the monastery tolled eleven +at just this moment. There was one extra stroke--for the war tax. + +“_Hánz ora?_” I asked, more for something to say than anything else. + +Countess Karolyi glanced over her shoulder apprehensively. I had +evidently confused her. + +“_Tisz peresel mult öt_,” was all that she could reply. But it was +enough. I had fainted. + +“Do you mind if we speak English from now on?” she said when I had +opened my eyes. “You speak Hungarian so fast that it is difficult to +follow you.” + +I smiled. “Look!” I said, pointing to the courtyard below. They were +changing the guard, a ceremony which consisted of putting a false beard +and blue glasses on the watchman. It certainly changed him, except that +his nose gave him away. + +“_Maqyen szcretez Te enzom?_” I asked. It was a silly thing to say, but +it seemed pat at the moment. Now I realize that it was mike. + +Her reply was characteristic. “_Nom magyen_,” she said and hid her face. + +We reached home at eight o’clock, tired but happy, and all agreed that +it had been the most interesting hike the Club had taken thus far. + + + + +THE BOYS’ CAMP BUSINESS + + +There seems to be an idea prevalent among parents that a good way to +solve the summer problem for the boy is to send him to a boys’ camp. At +any rate, the idea seems to be prevalent in the advertising pages of +the magazines. + +If all the summer camps for boys and girls turn out the sterling +citizens-in-embryo that they claim to do, the future of this country +is as safe as if it were in the hands of a governing board consisting +of the Twelve Apostles. From the folders and advertisements, we learn +that “Camp Womagansett--in the foothills of the White Mountains” sends +yearly into the world a bevy of “strong, manly boys, ready for the +duties of citizenship and equipped to face life with a clear eye and +a keen mind.” It doesn’t say anything about their digestions, but I +suppose they are in tiptop shape, too. + +The outlook for the next generation of mothers is no less dazzling. +“Camp Wawilla for Girls,” we learn, pays particular attention to the +spiritual development of Tomorrow’s Women and compared to the civic +activities of the majority of alumnæ of Wawilla, those of Florence +Nightingale or Frances Willard would have to be listed under the head +of “Junior Girls’ Work.” + +[Illustration: Holding you under water until you are as good as +drowned.] + +Now this is all very splendid, and it is comforting to think that +when every boy and girl goes to Womagansett or Wawilla there will be +no more Younger Generation problem and probably no crime waves worth +mentioning. But there are several other features that go hand in hand +with sending the boy to camp which I would like to take up from the +parents’ point of view, if I may. I will limit myself to twenty minutes. + +In the first place, when your boy comes home from camp he is what is +known in the circular as “manly and independent.” This means that +when you go swimming with him he pushes you off the raft and jumps +on your shoulders, holding you under water until you are as good as +drowned--better, in fact. Before he went to camp, you used to take +a kindly interest in his swimming and tell him to “take your time, +take it easy,” with a feeling of superiority which, while it may have +had no foundation in your own natatorial prowess, nevertheless was +one of the few points of pride left to you in your obese middle-age. +After watching one of those brown heroes in one-piece suits and rubber +helmets dive off a tower and swim under water to the raft and back, +there was a sort of balm in being able to turn to your son and show +him how to do the crawl stroke, even though you yourself weren’t one of +the seven foremost crawl experts in the country. You could do it better +than your son could, and that was something. + +[Illustration: “Now watch Daddy. See? Hands like this, bend your knees. +See?”] + +It was also very comforting to be able to stand on the springboard and +say: “Now watch Daddy. See? Hands like this, bend your knees. See?” The +fact that such exhibitions usually culminated in your landing heavily +on the area bounded by the knees and the chest was embarrassing, +perhaps, but at that you weren’t quite so bad as the boy when he tried +the same thing. + +But after a summer at camp, the “manly, independent” boy comes back and +makes you look like Horace Greeley in his later years. “Do this one, +Dad!” he says, turning a double flip off the springboard and cutting +into the water like a knife blade. If you try it, you sprain your back. +If you don’t try it, your self-respect and prestige are shattered. The +best thing to do is not to hear him. You can do this by disappearing +under the surface every time it looks as if he were going to pull a +new one. After a while, however, this ruse gets you pretty soggy and +waterlogged and you might better just go in and get dressed as rapidly +as possible. + +The worst phase of this new-found “independence” is the romping +instinct that seems to be developed to a high state of obnoxiousness +at all boys’ camps. I went to camp when I was a boy, but I don’t +remember being as unpleasant about my fun as boys today seem to be. I +have done many mean things in my time. I have tortured flies and kicked +crutches out from under cripples’ arms. But I have never, so help me, +Confucius, pushed anybody off a raft or come up behind anyone in the +water and jumped up on his shoulders. And I don’t think that Lincoln +ever did, either. + +There is evidently a course in raft pushing and back jumping in boys’ +camps today. Those photographs that you see in the camp advertisements, +if you examine them closely, will disclose, in nine cases out of ten, +a lot of boys pushing each other off rafts. You can’t see the ones who +are jumping on others’ shoulders, as they are under water. But I want +to serve notice right now that the next boy who pushes me off a raft +when I am not looking, or tries to play leapfrog over me in ten feet of +water, is going to be made practically useless as Tomorrow’s Citizen, +and I am going to do it myself, too. If it happens to be my own son, it +will just make the affair the sadder. + +Another thing that these manly boys learn at camp is a savage habit +of getting up at sunrise. The normal, healthy boy should be a very +late sleeper. Who does not remember in his own normal, healthy boyhood +having to be called three, four, or even five times in the morning +before it seemed sensible to get up? One of the happiest memories of +childhood is that of the maternal voice calling up from downstairs, +fading away into silence, and the realization that it would be possibly +fifteen minutes before it called again. + +[Illustration: You’d be surprised at the sound two bicycle wheels can +make on a gravel path.] + +All this is denied to the boy who goes to a summer camp. When he comes +home, he is so steeped in the pernicious practice of early rising +that he can’t shake it off. Along about six o’clock in the morning he +begins dropping shoes and fixing up a new stand for the radio in his +room. Then he goes out into the back yard and practices tennis shots up +against the house. Then he runs over a few whistling arrangements of +popular songs and rides his bicycle up and down the gravel path. You +would be surprised at the sound two bicycle wheels can make on a gravel +path at six-thirty in the morning. A forest fire might make the same +crackling sound, but you probably wouldn’t be having a forest fire out +in your yard at six-thirty in the morning. Not if you had any sense, +you wouldn’t. + +Just what the boys do at camp when they get up at six is a mystery. +They seem to have some sort of setting-up exercises and a swim--more +pushing each other off the raft--but they could do that by getting up +at eight and still have a good long day ahead of them. I never knew +anyone yet who got up at six who did anything more useful between that +time and breakfast than banging a tennis ball up against the side of +the house, waiting for the civilized members of the party to get up. We +have to do enough waiting in this life without getting up early to wait +for breakfast. + +Next summer I have a good mind to run a boys’ camp of my own. It +will be on Lake Chabonagogchabonagogchabonagungamog--yes, there +is, too, in Webster, Massachusetts--and I will call it Camp +Chabonagogchabonagogchabonagungamog for Manly Boys. And by the word +“manly,” I will mean “like men.” In other words, everyone shall sleep +just as long as he wants, and when he does get up there will be no +depleting “setting-up” exercises. The day will be spent just as the +individual camper gosh-darned pleases. No organized “hikes”--I’d like a +word on the “hike” problem some day, too--no camp spirit, no talk about +Tomorrow’s Manhood, and _no pushing people off rafts_. + + + + +AT LAST A SUBSTITUTE FOR SNOW + + +While rummaging through my desk-drawer the other night I came upon a +lot of old snow. I do not know how long it had been there. Possibly it +was a memento of some college prank long forgotten. But it suddenly +struck me what a funny thing snow is, in a way, and how little need +there really is for it in the world. + +And then I said to myself, “I wonder if it would not be possible to +work up some sort of mock snow, a substitute which would satisfy the +snow people and yet cause just as much trouble as real snow.” And that, +my dears, is how I came to invent “Sno.” + +As you know, real snow is a compound of hydrogen, oxygen, soot, and +some bleaching agent. (There is a good bleaching agent who has an +office in Room 476, Mechanics’ Bank Building. He was formerly General +Passenger Agent for the Boston and Maine, but decided that bleaching +was more fun. As a matter of fact, his name is A. E. Roff, or some such +thing.) + +Again, as you know, real snow is formed by the passage of clouds +through pockets of air which are lighter than the air itself, if such +a phenomenon were possible. That is to say, these clouds (A) passing +through these air-pockets (C) create a certain atmospheric condition +known as a “French vacuum.” This, in turn, creates a certain amount of +ill-feeling, and the result is what we call “snow,” or, more often, +what we call “this lousy snow.” + +Now in figuring out what I would have to do to concoct a mock snow, it +was necessary to run over in my mind the qualities of snow as we know +it. What are the characteristic functions of snow? + +Well, first, to block traffic. Any adequate substitute for snow must +be of such a nature that it can be applied to the streets of a city in +such a way as to tie up all vehicular movement for at least two days. +“This,” I thought, “requires distribution.” Our new snow must be easily +and quickly distributed to all parts of town. This will necessitate +trucks, and trucks will necessitate the employment of drivers. _Now_, +if the weather is cold (and what good is snow unless the weather is +cold enough to make it uncomfortable?) these drivers (B) will have +to have mittens. So mittens are the first thing that we must get in +the way of equipment.... And I took a piece of paper and wrote down +“Mittens.” This I crossed out and in its place I wrote “Mittens” again. +So far, so good. + +Next, one of the chief functions of real snow is to get up in under +the cuffs to your sleeves and down inside the collar to your overcoat. +Here was a tough one! How to work up something which could be placed +up the sleeves and inside the overcoat-collars of pedestrians without +causing them the inconvenience of stopping and helping the process. +For no substitute for snow could ever be popular which called for any +effort on the part of the public. The public wants all the advantages +of a thing. Oh, yes! But it doesn’t want to go to any trouble to get +them. Oh, no! No trouble! If it is going to have snow up its sleeves +and in its collars, it wants it put there while it is walking along the +street, and no stopping to unbutton or roll back. + +[Illustration: ... hire boys to run along beside people to tuck the +substitute in their sleeves.] + +So it was evident that, if this function of snow was to be imitated, it +would be necessary to hire boys to run along beside people and tuck the +substitute in their sleeves and collars as they walked. One boy could +perhaps tuck two hundred handsful in an afternoon, and when you figure +out the number of people abroad on a good snowy afternoon, you will +realize the enormous number of boys it would take to do the job. Girls +would be even worse, because they would stop to talk with people. + +The problem of distribution thus unsuccessfully met with, the next +thing was to decide what other attribute our “Sno” should have that +would give it a place in the hearts of millions of snow-lovers +throughout the country. Someone suggested “wetness” and in half a +second the cry had been taken up in all corners of the conference-room +(for we were in conference by now), “Wetness! Wetness! Our ‘Sno’ must +be wet!” + +It was decided that the place in which we should have to simulate +wetness the most was under bedroom windows. Who does not remember +getting up to shut the bedroom windows and stepping into a +generous assortment of snow-flakes in their prettiest form of +disintegration--water? Or even into a drift ’way, ’way out in the +middle of the room right where Daddy could slip in it on his way to and +from the office? This is perhaps the most difficult feature of snow +to imitate--this bedroom drifting, and if, in addition to getting our +composition snow into bedroom windows, we could manage some appliance +whereby it could be shot into the folds of whatever underclothing might +be lying on the chair nearest the window, then indeed might we cry +“Eureka!” + +The way in which we decided on the name “Sno” for our product would +make a story all in itself. The copyright laws forbid one from naming +anything “Snow” or “Gold” or “Rolls-Royce,” or any noun. This law was +passed by some fanatics who took advantage of our boys being away at +war to plunge the country into an orgy of blue laws. However, we have +no other curse than to abide by the code as it stands. + +We therefore decided that, by dropping the _W_, we could make a +word which would sound almost like the real word and yet evade the +technical provisions of the law. Some of the backers held out for a +dressier-sounding name, like “Flakies” or “Lumpps,” but our advertising +man, who specializes on Consumer Light Refractions, told us that the +effect of a word like “Sno” on the eye of the reader would telegraph a +more favorable message to his brain than that of a longer word ending +in “ies” or “umpps.” Look at the word “Ford,” for instance. The success +of the Ford product is almost entirely due to the favorable light +refractions of the name on the consumer’s retina. + +This decided us on the trade-name “Sno” and left nothing more for us to +do but work out the actual physical make-up of the product and the sort +of package to put it out in. The package is also an important feature +of any merchandising scheme, and it was decided that a miniature +snow-show would be appropriate and rather smart for our particular +article. If we could work out some way in which “Sno” could be wrapped +up in a six-inch snow-shoe it would not only give the dealer something +snappy to display, but would make a nice-looking package for the +consumer to take home--nicer-looking than a snootful of scotch, for +example. You would be surprised, however, to find how difficult it is +to wrap up a unit of imitation snow in a snow-shoe, unless you put +them both in a box together. + +And now all that remains to divulge is the physical make-up of “Sno.” +That is what we are working on now. + + + + +THE NEW WING + +(_Or That Sagredo Bed_) + + +Although the new wing of the Metropolitan Museum of Art (“Wing K,” if +that makes it any easier for you) was opened on April 5th, I have only +just this week got around to inspecting it. I’m sorry. + +“Wing K” has, since 1916, been empty, and, although passers-by late at +night have often reported strange noises coming from its vast recesses, +the Museum officials stubbornly maintain that it has been put to +absolutely no use at all. This sounds a little fishy to me, however, +and if those old walls could talk we might learn a little something +more about where Mr. Munsey’s money went. It is said that only a couple +of hundred dollars remain of all the millions that he bequeathed to the +Museum. Money doesn’t _fly_ away, you know. + +At any rate, “Wing K” is full now and it takes a good twenty minutes of +fast walking to see everything in it. This does not include the time +taken up in getting lost or in walking through the same hall twice. + +[Illustration: As Mr. MacGreggor got tired and cross he began +sniveling.] + +My inspection was somewhat hampered by having Mr. Charles MacGreggor +along with me. Mr. MacGreggor kept constantly asking to see Dr. +Crippen. “I want to see Dr. Crippen,” he would say, or “Where is Dr. +Crippen?” I told him that the waxworks were in another wing of the +Museum, but someone had told him that a replica of Dr. Crippen was +to be found in “Wing K” and nothing would do but he must see it. +Along toward the end, as Mr. MacGreggor got tired and cross, he began +sniveling and crying, “I want to see Dr. Crippen” so loudly that an +attendant put us out. So we probably missed some of the funniest parts +of the exhibit. If you want me to I will go up again sometime without +Mr. MacGreggor. Or maybe Dr. Crippen _is_ there, after all. + +The feature of the new wing is, of course, the Bedroom from the Palazzo +Sagredo at Venice. The best way that I can describe it is to say +that it is fully twice the size of our guest room in Scarsdale, and +fifty per cent fancier. The chief point in favor of our guest room in +Scarsdale is that there isn’t a whole troop of people strolling through +it at all hours of the day, peeking under the bed and asking questions +about it. If you want to sleep after nine in the morning in Scarsdale +you can do it without being made an exhibition of. My two little boys +may romp into the room three or four times during the morning to show +you an engine or a snake, but all that you have to do is to tell them +to get the hell out or you will tell me on them. + +The owner of the Palazzo Sagredo was a great cupid fancier. Over the +doorway to the alcove where the bed is, there are over a dozen great, +big cupids stuck on the wall, like mosquitoes in a summer hotel. They +are heavy, hulking things and seem to have fulfilled no good purpose +except possibly to confuse any guest who may have retired to the +fancy bed with a snootful of good red Sagredo wine. To awaken from +the first heavy sleep of a Venetian bun and see fifteen life-sized +cupids dangling from the doorway must have been an experience to send +the eighteenth century guest into a set of early eighteenth century +or late seventeenth century heebes. The comic strip on the ceiling is +catalogued as “Diziani’s Dawn.” It may very well be. + +This, in a general way, covers pretty well the Bedroom from the Palazzo +Sagredo. In another month the Gideons will have slipped a Bible onto +the table by the bed and it will be ready for occupancy, but not by +_me_, thank you. + +Walking rapidly through the rest of the new wing, you come to lots of +things in cases which, frankly, do _not_ look very interesting. There +is a bit of sculpture labeled “Head of Zeus(?)” showing that even the +Museum officials don’t know whom it is meant to represent. Under the +circumstances, it seems as if they might have cheated a little and +thrown a bluff by just calling it arbitrarily “Head of Zeus” without +the question mark. Certainly no one could have called them on it, and +it would have made them seem a little less afraid to take a chance. +Suppose that it turned out _not_ to be Zeus. What is the worst that +could happen to them? + +Then, too, there is “A Relief from a Roman Sarcophagus.” As we remember +Roman sarcophagi, _anything_ would be a relief from them. + +We could go on like this for page after page making wise-cracks about +the various uninteresting features of the new wing, but perhaps you +have already got the idea. It may have been the absence of Dr. Crippen, +or it may have been a new pair of shoes, but the truth is that we +weren’t _put_ out of the new wing. We _asked_ an attendant how to _get_ +out. And here we are. + + + + +UNCLE CALVIN’S NO-WASTE GAMES + + There is a time for play as well as a time for work. But even in + play it is possible to cultivate the art of well-doing. Games are + useful to train the eye, the hand and the muscles, and bring the + body more completely under the control of the mind. When this is + done, instead of being a waste of time, play becomes a means of + education.--_President Coolidge’s Christmas Message to the boys and + girls of the nation._ + + +And now come, boys and girls, it’s play-time! You have worked hard +_enough_ for one day, and Uncle Calvin is going to teach you some +peachy games to clear the cobwebs out of those brains of yours. +Play-time! Play-time! + +But first of all we must remember that play in itself is a waste of +time. And who remembers what we learned yesterday about Wasted Time? +The boy or girl who wastes time, or anything else, is just as naughty +as the boy or girl who steals, for, after all, wasting _is_ stealing, +isn’t it? And play, just for the sake of play, is stealing time which +belongs rightfully to our parents, our teachers or our country. And we +don’t want to be known as _thieves_, do we? + +So the games which Uncle Calvin is going to teach us are games which +will do us good in one way or another. While we are playing them we +shall, at the same time, be helping to make our eyes, our hands, and +our minds more efficient. And, as we play, we must keep thinking: “Is +this helping me? Or am I wasting time which I ought to be devoting to +my lessons or my work or my country?” + +The first game that we are going to play is called + + +EYE-SPY + +This is just lots and lots of fun--and good for your eyes, too. The +boys line up on one side, and the girls on the other. Now Uncle Calvin +will stand over here and write on the board a lot of little teeny-weeny +figures, problems in percentage, and we will see which can read them +off and answer the problems the faster--the boys or the girls. Come +now, boys, you don’t want the girls to beat you, do you? All right ... +ready, get set ... _go!_ + +Now we are going to play a dandy game called + + +DRY, TOM, DRY + +We must remember in playing this game not to get all hot and sweaty and +too excited, for it is _really_ a game to train our hands. Three girls +come over here to the sink, and three boys stand in a line from the +sink to the table. Now each boy gets a brand new wiper and each girl a +little tub full of hot water and dirty dishes. Now the game is to see +which girl and her boy-partner can wash and dry her dishes first. As +each dish is cleaned it is handed to the boy with the towel and when +he has dried it he places it on the table. You must be very careful in +passing the dishes not to drop them. Here is where the excitement comes +in. For if you drop and break a plate, Uncle Calvin will lick hell out +of you.... Now, no giggling, Walter Pearson! You don’t see Uncle Calvin +giggling, do you? All ready?... Then--_play_! + +And now for our final game we have a big surprise for you. The game is +called + + +PRINTER’S-PIE + +and what do you think? You are all actually going to take part in the +Government of this big country which we all love so well! We are going +to play a game called “type-setting” and, when we have finished, we +will find that we have not only had loads and loads of fun, but that we +have saved the Government thousands and thousands of dollars. Now here +is how the game is played: + +Each child brings his little savings-bank to Uncle Calvin and with +what Uncle Calvin finds in there he will buy a box of type and a +“galley” for each one. Then you stand in front of a high sort of +desk and take a piece of paper which Uncle Calvin will give you. On +this paper will be written something--different things--which your +government wants to have printed. You will follow this very, very +carefully, and try and find the little pieces of type in the box to +correspond with the letters in the “copy.” When you find the right +letter, place it in a little case which you hold in your hand until all +the letters form the same words as those in your “copy.” Now put these +words and sentences in the “galley,” or “holder” and pretty soon you +will find that you have an exact duplicate _in type_ of the page which +Uncle Calvin has given you. Isn’t that exciting! An _exact_ duplicate! +This page of type will then be taken from you and plates made from +it and then it will be _printed_ and you will see your own work in +the _Congressional Record_ and all the little pamphlets that your +congressman sends you. Just think! Your own work in print! + +And, just because you have had all this fun, your government will have +been able to cut down its printing appropriation to almost nothing and +you will have trained your eyes and your hands and your minds which +will please Uncle Calvin more than he can say. + +And now that we have had our play, we must scamper back to work, for, +as Uncle Calvin said in his cheery Christmas message, there is a time +for play as well as a time for work, and, so long as you don’t _waste_ +time when playing, you will be able to work all the better for your +parents, your schools, and your country. + + + + +THE WORLD OF GRANDPA BENCHLEY + +_Thinking Out Loud in the Manner of Mr. Wells’ Hero_ + + +§1 + +I am eighty-nine years old, and I think I would like to write a book. I +don’t know--maybe I wouldn’t. + + +§2 + +Eighty-nine this year, ninety next year, eighty-eight last year. That +makes three years accounted for. Three into fourteen goes four times +and two to carry. The Assyrians were probably the first people to +evolve mathematics. I sometimes get to thinking about mathematics. + +The average Englishman at the age of eighty-nine is dead--has been dead +for several years. The average depth of the Caspian Sea is 3,000 feet. +The average rainfall in Canada is 1.03 inches. During the Inter-Glacial +Period it was 9.01 inches. Think of that--9.01 inches! + + +§3 + +[Illustration: Grandpa Benchley.] + +All this has made me stop and think, think about the world I live in. +I sometimes wonder what it is all about--this world I mean. I am not +so sure about the next world. Sometimes I think there is one and +sometimes I think there isn’t. I’ll be darned if _I_ can make it out. + +I am not so sure about my wanting to write a book, either. But +something has got to be done about this world--something explanatory, I +mean. Here I am, eighty-nine years old, and I haven’t explained about +the world to anyone yet--that is, not to anyone in this room. + + +§4 + +It is a beautiful day outside. The sun, that luminous body 95,000,000 +miles from the earth, without which we should never be able to dry +hides or bake biscuits, is shining through the trees outside my +window, much as it used to shine through the trees outside the cave of +Neolithic Man, ten thousand years before Christ. In fact, Neolithic Man +sometimes built himself houses on piles driven in the water, but this +was not until almost five thousand years before Christ. + +Sometimes I get to thinking about Neolithic Man. Sometimes I get to +thinking about Cro-Magnon Man. Sometimes it just seems as if I should +go crazy thinking about things. There are so _many_ things! And I am +only eighty-nine. + + +§5 + +I remember when I was a very small boy my mother used to forbid me to +go out when it was raining. My mother was a very quiet woman, who never +spoke unless it was to figure out how long it would take to reach the +nearest star by train. + +“Nipper,” she would say to me on such days as the rain would prevent +my going out, “Nipper, I guess you don’t know that thousands of years +before modern civilization there was a period known as the Pluvial or +Lacustrine Age, the rain or pond period.” + +I remember my crying myself to sleep the first night after she told me +about the Pluvial or Lacustrine Age. It seemed so long ago--and nothing +to be done about it. + + +§6 + +One night my father came home with a queer light in his eyes. He said +nothing during dinner, except to note, as he passed me the salt, that +salt is an essential to all grain-consuming and herbivorous animals +but that on a meat-diet man can do without it. “There have been bitter +tribal wars,” he said, “between the tribes of the Soudan for possession +of the salt deposits between Fezzan and Murzuk.” + +“Arthur,” said my mother, quietly, “remember the boys are present.” + +“It is time they knew,” was his reply. + +At last my mother, sensing that something was troubling him, said: + +“Arthur, are you holding something back from me?” + +He laid down his knife and fork and looked at her. + +“I have just heard,” he said, “that the molecule is no longer the +indivisible unit that it was supposed to be.” + +My mother bit her lip. + +“You tell me this,” she said, “after all these years!” + +“I have just learned it myself,” replied my father. “The National +Molecule Society found it out themselves only last month. The new unit +is to be called the ‘atom.’” + +“A fine time to tell me!” said my mother, her eyes blazing. “You have +known it for a month.” + +“I wasn’t sure until just now,” said my father. “I didn’t want to worry +you.” + +My mother took my brother and me by the hand. “Come, boys,” she said, +“we are going away.” + +Two days later the three of us left for the Continent. We never saw my +father again. + + +§7 + +This set me to thinking about atoms. I don’t think that I have it +straight even now. And then, just as I was getting accustomed to the +idea that molecules _could_ be divided into atoms, along comes somebody +a few years ago and says that you can divide atoms into electrons. And, +although I was about seventy-five at the time, I went out into the park +and had a good cry. + +I mean, what is an old fellow going to do? No sooner does he get +something all thought out than something happens to make him begin all +over again. I get awfully sore sometimes. + + +§8 + +Then there is this question of putting studs in a dress-shirt. Here is +the problem as I see it: + +If you put the studs in _before_ you put the shirt on, you muss your +hair putting it on over your head. If you wait until you have the shirt +on before putting in the studs, you have to put your hand up under the +front of the shirt and punch them through with the other. This musses +the shirt bosom nine times out of ten. Eight times out of ten, perhaps. + +All right. Suppose you put the studs in first and muss your hair. Then +you have to brush it again. That is not so hard to do, except that if +you put tonic on your hair before you brush it, as I do, you are quite +likely to spatter drops down the bosom. And there you are, with a good +big blister right where it shows--and it’s 8 o’clock already. + +Now here _is_ a problem. I have spent hours trying to figure some way +to getting around it and am nowhere near the solution. I think I will +go to the Riviera where it is quiet and just think and think and think. + + +§9 + +I am sitting at my window in the _Villa a Vendre_ at Cagnes. If it +were not for the Maritime Alps I could see Constantinople. How do you +suppose the Alps got there, anyway? Some giant cataclysm of Nature I +suppose. I guess it is too late to do anything about it now. + +Irma is down in the garden gathering snails for dinner. Irma is cross +at me because this morning, when she suggested running up to Paris for +the shooting, I told her that the ancient name of Paris was Lutitia. + +I get to thinking about women sometimes. From eight in the evening +on. They are funny. Female characteristics differ so from male +characteristics. This was true even in the Pleistocene Age, so they +tell me. + + +§10 + +Next Wednesday I am going back to thinking about God. I didn’t anywhere +near finish thinking about God the last time. The man came for the +trunks and I had to go with him to the station. + +It is quite a problem. I don’t think there is any doubt about there +being some Motive Power which governs the World. But I can’t seem to +get much beyond that. Maybe I’ll begin again on that Monday. Monday is +a good day to begin thinking. Your laundry is just back and everything +is sort of pristine and new. I hope that, by beginning Monday, I can +get everything cleaned up by Friday, for Friday I am going over to +Monte Carlo. + + +§11 + +It is six years now since I began writing this book. I am almost +ninety-seven. According to the statistics of the Royal Statistical +Society I can’t expect much longer in which to think things over. + +The big thing that is worrying me now is about putting sugar on my +oatmeal. I find that if I put the sugar on first and then the cream, +the sugar all disappears, and I like to see it, nice and white, there +on the cereal. But if I put the cream on first and _then_ the sugar, +it doesn’t taste so good. I asked Irma about this the other day and she +told me to shut up and go back to bed. + + +§12 + +After thinking the whole thing over, I have come to the conclusion that +I don’t want to write a book at all. When a man is ninety-seven it is +high time he was doing something else with his time besides writing +books. I guess I’ll go out and roll down hill. + + + + +THE _LIFE_ POLAR EXPEDITION + + +1 + +_At the Hop-off of_ LIFE’S _Polar Expedition, Scarsdale, N. Y. (Second +Lap)_--Here we are, much to our surprise, all set for the second big +lap on our expedition to the North Pole by bicycle, begun last spring. +Those of you with a scientific turn of mind who have followed us +thus far will remember that we were held up in my home in Scarsdale +by a lost nut and that, by the time we were ready to start on again, +news had come of the so-called successful completion of the Byrd and +Amundsen expeditions. + +The positive assurance that we had been beaten in the race to the +Pole, with our goal practically within pedaling distance, as you might +say, was naturally very depressing. Lieutenant-Commander Connelly +took the thing particularly to heart, as he had _so_ wanted us to be +first. We found him that afternoon in the Bronx River Parkway, kicking +a tree much bigger than himself and half-sobbing, half-laughing: +“Darn-darn-double-darn!” and “You old _tree_, you!” + +I myself was quite disheartened but tried not to show it to the +brave boys who had come so far and had shown such splendid spirit. So +I proposed that we go back to the house and sing some songs. I wish +that you might have seen the will with which the rest of the crew +took up my suggestion, and have heard the room ring with the sounds +of “Upidee” and “Solomon Levi” when we finally got down to it. Both +Lieutenant-Commander Connelly and Ensign Thermaline sang tenor. + +It was Ensign Thermaline who finally spoke the words which gave us +new courage to continue on our expedition in spite of the self-styled +winners, Byrd and Amundsen. + +“Why should we stop,” he asked, toppling off the piano bench, “just +because some wise-cracking aviators have flown over the Pole? Our aim +was not to _fly_. It was to bicycle. That popular interest in polar +expeditions has died down should mean nothing to us. That the New +York _Times_ will not take any more expedition articles until it uses +up those it has on hand means nothing to us. We can get to the Pole +and back before the George Palmer Putnam series has even been got +together in book form. We can still be the first to bicycle across the +Pole--and, by the Eternal, we will!” + +At this we were on our feet and cheering. Rosa brought in a plate of +hermits and we sat over these until far into the night making plans +for our second dash to the Pole. + +It was decided that, since the Putnam expedition on the _Morrissey_ was +being written up by Mr. Putnam’s little boy David, we should take my +little boy Bobby along as official yeoman and that all reports should +be written by him. He is seven, and no one, not even his teacher, can +read his writing; so he seemed practically ideal. + +We also decided that we ought to have names for our bicycles (like the +Putnam’s _Morrissey_), and Lieutenant-Commander Connelly immediately +chose “The O’Toole” for his, and Ensign Thermaline “Mavourneen” for +his. Mine was to be “The Banshee.” + +The next thing to do was to buy a small bicycle for Bobby, and, believe +it or not, it took until just this week to find one small enough. +However, Scarsdale was very pleasant during the summer and we all were +very happy and brave, and here we are ready to start tomorrow, “rain or +shine,” as Lieutenant-Commander Connelly expressed it, laughing to hide +his tears. + + +2 + +_Special North Pole Correspondence from Bobby Benchley, Juvenile Member +of_ LIFE’S _Bicycle Expedition. En route to Pole._ + +North White Plains, N. Y.--When we left Scarsdale on the second dash to +the Pole my father told me that he would write the account of our trip +and that I should sign my name to it, as every expedition has to have a +little boy along who writes a book about it later. + +“You write it and I sign it?” I asked him. + +“That’s right, Bobby,” he said. “Daddy writes it and Bobby signs it and +Bobby gets all the publicity.” + +“Publicity me eye,” was my answer. “If I sign it, I write it. I’ll take +no responsibility for your drivel. I know your stuff and I prefer to +write my own, _if_ you don’t mind. The rest of the school would kid the +pants off me if one of your books came out with my name signed to it.” + +This angered my father and he made as if to hit me, but I ducked and +ran into the house. + +“All right for you, you big bully!” I yelled out at him. “Just for that +I won’t _go_ on your old expedition.” + +This sobered him up and he agreed to let me write my own stuff and sign +it and take ten per cent. of the royalties. If the book sells as it +ought to, with any kind of pushing at all from the publishers, I ought +to clean up enough to marry Ruthie Henshel in the spring. + +So here we are, as far as North White Plains, and very dull it has been +up till now, too. We left Scarsdale at ten o’clock Wednesday morning, I +on my new Demon with special coaster-brake attachment and a swell cap +with a big visor on it to keep the Artic sun out of my eyes. It is my +private opinion that all the Artic sun we see on this trip you could +_put_ in my right eye and I’d never notice it. + + (_Proofreading note by Benchley, Sr._--I _told_ Bobby he ought to let + me write out a rough draft for him first. You see what he has done + with “Arctic.” However, if he is going to be just stubborn about the + thing--) + +The trouble with the expedition so far is that my father and +Lieut.-Commander Connelly get winded so soon. They can’t pump up even a +little hill without having to get off at the top and rest. We’re lucky +to be at North White Plains, let alone the North Pole. I began by going +on ahead as fast as I could, but this just made them sore and I lost +them going through Hartsdale and had to sit down by the roadside and +wait for them to come up. They both got pretty fat during the summer +hanging around at the base in Scarsdale, and my father especially has +got to look out or he’ll look something awful in another year. I told +him so, too, and he told me to shut up or he’d send me away to military +school. + +Well, anyway, what with the old folks puffing along behind and Ensign +Thermaline having to stop off in White Plains to see an old girl of +his, it has taken us just four days to get this far. + +Coming through White Plains, my father tried to tell me about the +battle that was fought there during the Revolutionary War. + +“What battle was that?” I asked. + +“The Battle of White Plains, of course,” he said. “What did you think +it was, the Battle of Princeton, N. J.?” + +“Princeton beat Harvard, didn’t they?” I came back at him. + +At this he made a lunge for me, and fell off his bicycle, which got me +to laughing so hard I had to stop, too. + +“And who won the Battle of White Plains, Father dear?” I asked him, +trying to change the subject. + +“The Americans did, of course,” he said, brushing himself off. + +“Yeah?” I said. “So the Americans won, did they? Well, that shows what +_you_ know about it. The British won. We had it in school only last +week.” + +“What school?” asked my father, very sore now. + +“Not Harvard, anyway,” I said. “Yale beat Harvard, too.” + +“Yeah?” he said, getting redder and redder. “Yale beat Harvard by +playing twelve men against Harvard’s eleven.... And if you aren’t a +better boy, Daddy’s going to send you right back to Scarsdale on the +4:10 from White Plains.” + +“The 4:10 doesn’t stop at Scarsdale,” I said. “It’s an express to 125th +St.” + +“Let’s be getting on,” interrupted Lieut.-Commander Connelly. “This is +no way to get to the North Pole--arguing about Harvard and Yale.” + +So we all got on our wheels again and pushed ahead, but I think +I’ll drop off at Mt. Kisco and see the Barry kids. My time is worth +_something_. + + + + +HOW TO START A SUPPER CLUB + + +You think that the housing problem in New York is pretty critical, +don’t you? Well, that just shows how much you know about it. The +problem isn’t how to take care of all the people who live in New York; +it’s how to take care of all the people who dance there. Night clubs +are springing up like mushrooms (not exactly like mushrooms but near +enough) and still there is a shortage. A lot of people have to go home +every night without dancing. And you know what that leads to. + +A man can’t turn his back on a block between Fiftieth and Fifty-ninth +Streets without three new supper clubs appearing before he looks back +again. I left my house in Fifty-fifth Street one Wednesday morning (it +was the Wednesday morning I left my house in Fifty-fifth Street) and +after a hard day at the office returned Friday night to find that four +stables on our block (I am a horse writing this: “Black Beauty”) had +been transformed into “La Vache Noire,” “Sally Sobel’s Cellar,” “The +Old Oaken Bucket,” and “Club O’Hara.” It has got so that you can’t +leave your ice box out on the back porch without someone coming along +and turning it into a night club. + +The process of transforming a stable or an ice box or a fair-sized +umbrella closet into a supper club is pretty simple, once you get the +hang of it. + +First comes the coat room. This has to be the first feature on the +way in, in order to be the last one on the way out, so that the coat +room girl can get that last fifty-cent piece that the patron has been +holding out for taxi fare. You wouldn’t believe the number of cheap +skates that try to sneak out with fifty cents or a dollar hidden away +in their clothes. It kind of makes you lose your faith in human nature. + +From the coat room you arrange a hidden step so that the guest stumbles +down into what used to be the place where they kept the mops and brooms +and into the arms of the head waiter. This gives the head waiter the +chance to accuse the patron of being drunk and refuse him admission. + +The choice of a head waiter is very important. Go down to the wharves +when a fruit steamer is docking and pick out a stevedore who is less +polite than his fellows. Take him uptown and teach him how to put studs +into a dress shirt and station him at the entrance to your club. Tell +him that he has just been unanimously chosen governor of the State +of New York and that it is up to him to maintain the prestige of the +office. Also tell him that any patron is a bum until he proves himself +otherwise. Show him what you mean by proof and then put it back into +the cash drawer. + +[Illustration: The choice of a head waiter is very important.] + +The interior of your club need cause you no worry--or expense. Hang +some old awnings from the ceiling--good and low so as to shut off +the air--and paint the walls red and yellow, with perhaps a figure +or two in Russian costume, if you can draw--or even if you can’t. +In the center of the room build a dance floor just big enough for a +medium-sized man to lie down on and roll over three times. Not that +any medium-sized man is going to do it, but those are the standard +measurements for night club dance floors. Fill the rest of the room +with small tables which wabble, erect a platform for your jazz band, +and you are set. + +Now comes your big problem--the entertainment. There was a time when +the patrons were satisfied to mill around on the dance floor and bump +each other’s hips. Then some foolish proprietor started in giving them +a little show in between dances and they got spoiled. Now they all +want a show for their money. This injustice to proprietors is somewhat +mitigated by the fact that the patrons don’t care what kind of show it +is, so long as they don’t have to dance. + +There has to be some sort of master of ceremonies, and the proprietor +can save a salary right there by doing this himself. All that he has to +do is wear a dinner coat and act as if he believes that he has a good +line. + +“Ladies and gentlemen--and Gentiles. I have the very great honor to +present to you tonight two of America’s foremost ballroom dancers, +two very charming and very talented young people who are filling an +engagement at this club before beginning in the new Ziegfeld ‘Follies.’ +They come fresh from a very successful season on the Riviera and I +am sure that you will find them very, very delightful. So’s your old +man!... Come on, now, give these charming young people a good hand!... +[_Lead the applause._] Delacroix and Feeney, ladies and gentlemen!” + +For Delacroix and Feeney it will be necessary to procure a young man +and a young woman named Hyman and Gatz, respectively, who can waltz +holding each other at arm’s length. The young man must look at the +young lady while they are waltzing and smile as if he really liked her, +and the young lady must smile modestly back at him, just as if she were +not thinking: “You big bum, I hope you trip and fall and break your +shirt front.” At the end of the waltz she curtsies so low that she has +a good chance of not getting up again--which would be small loss. The +master of ceremonies should then lead the applause again, what there is. + +The entertainment over, you can turn the patrons loose again, with +instructions to the orchestra to play so long that the dancers will +fall exhausted by their tables and have to order refreshments. For food +a forty-cent chop suey can be served for two dollars and a half and a +ten-cent lemonade for a dollar. This will help you to clear expenses +and maybe make a little profit. + +Now in the matter of dispensing alcoholic drinks a great deal of +caution must be used. It is, as many of you know, against the law +to sell liquor, a fact which complicates its sale and makes for +considerable inconvenience. The authorities are more and more on the +alert and consequently the risk of getting caught remains about the +same. A night club proprietor cannot be too careful to whom he sells +strong drinks. For instance, if a man in the uniform of chief of +police, with gold braid and a sword, comes in with a friend who has a +flag in his hand on which is written “U. S. Revenue Service,” no drinks +should be served to that table until it has been definitely ascertained +that the men are “all right.” As for regular patrons, always wait until +they ask for liquor before serving it, as a lot of people have their +own with them and don’t like to be bothered by representatives of the +house standing at their elbows every minute trying to get them to buy. +The chief thing to find out about a man before you sell him any illicit +beverage is whether or not he has got $12. Once this is made sure, the +thing is not so foolhardy. + +With these few suggestions to those of you who might be in a position +to start a night club, it is to be hoped that more and more citizens +will lend a hand to help solve New York’s big problem. + + + + +THE NEW VILLAINY + + +Although the new fall season in the drama is only just under way, it +is not too early to view with alarm. Some Viewers-with-Alarm begin as +early as September to view, but that doesn’t give you much time to +collect data. Perhaps all that you can get is a _datum_, but a good, +healthy datum is enough to base a sizable alarm-view on, and, as you +go along, you can make up a datum or two, so that you can refer to the +whole as data. + +This month we are chiefly worried about the status (or stata) of what +used to be known as “the old-time religion.” That is, its status in the +world of drama. If the new season keeps on as the past two seasons have +gone, being under suspicion of harboring religious thoughts will place +one in the psychopathic class. For two years now, eight out of ten +villains have been preachers and any layman with excessive religious +tendencies has turned out to be just a repressed old sex-addict. + +There was a time when the entrance of the preachers on the stage was +the signal for a sigh of relief to go up, for you knew that so long +as he stuck around, things were pretty sure to go as they should. +The lowest he ever reached in the dramatic scale was when he was +occasionally used for comedy purposes. Once in a while there was a +comic bishop, but that was only natural. And any member of the cast +who showed signs of quoting the Scriptures, or going to church, was +pretty certain to be one of those whom you could trust to help foil the +adventuress in the last act. + +Then along about the time that “Rain” settled down for a run, we began +to find preachers sneaking into plays whose minds were not on their +work in the vineyard. Under the guise of evangelism they started in +to cut up. At first we thought: “Oh, well, this is just an exception. +Our Dr. Murnie at home wouldn’t do anything like this.” But gradually, +after we had seen dozens and dozens of preachers come on in the first +act, make a few sanctimonious remarks, and then sprout little horns +and a goat’s tail, we began to look askance at even Dr. Murnie of the +Second Congregational Church. + +Then the lay members of the congregation came in for analysis. The +hand of Freud reached out and touched the brethren and sistren and we +learned that whenever anyone is excessively religious, it is a sign +that they are suffering from an inhibition which is likely some day to +break loose and leave Broadway strewn with bits of broken bottles and +confetti. The more religious they are, the more they crave a good, +rip-snorting week-end at Atlantic City, registering under the wrong +name. It is all very confusing. + +[Illustration: If you were highly strung you whispered out loud to the +heroine.] + +In the old days, the minute a man came on with a mustache like Adolphe +Menjou’s and wearing a pair of riding boots with a crop to slap them +with, you could be pretty sure that he was up to no good. If you were +highly strung you whispered out loud to the heroine not to go to the +city with him as he had no more intention of marrying her than--well, +than anything at all, and you know how little that is. + +Today, whenever a character in clerical cloth makes his entrance, the +orchestra starts picking at the violin strings in the old _pizzicato_ +villain-entrance music, the young-lady members of the cast pick their +exits and the audience settles back in preparation for the dirty work. + +Pretty soon we may have a scene like this: + + SCENE.--_Living room of the DeViblis home. Father, mother, and + daughter are seated around the table, splicing rope._ + +DAUGHTER: Pa, there’s somethin’ I been a-wantin’ to ask you fer a long +time. + +MOTHER: For heaven’s sake, daughter, talk straight. This isn’t a New +England farm play we’re in. You know how to talk better than that. + +DAUGHTER: Well, anyway, I want to marry Arthur Arthritis. + +FATHER: What does he do for a living? + +DAUGHTER: Well, he’s changing his job in a few months. + +FATHER: What does he do now? + +DAUGHTER: Why--er--well, I’ll tell you; just now he’s a preacher, but +he’s going to change-- + +MOTHER: A preacher! Oh, my! + +FATHER: A minister of the gospel? Where did you meet him? I thought I +told you not to run around with them religious folks. They are every +one of them inhibited. + +DAUGHTER: Oh, that’s just because you don’t know them, dad. They’re +just as decent as you or I when you get to know them. And Arthur isn’t +_really_ a preacher. He’s just filling-in. + +FATHER: Just filling-in, eh? I suppose you know what that leads to? +Next he’ll be having a little parish of his own, then he’ll get a call +to a big city, or perhaps he’ll even sink so low as to be a missionary. +Them preachers are all missionaries at heart, and you know what +missionaries are. No, sir, no daughter of mine gets mixed up in that +crowd. + +DAUGHTER: Well, he’s coming here in a few minutes to hear your answer. +There he is now! + +(_Enter the Rev. Heemerson._) + +FATHER: Well, what do you want here? + +THE REV. H.: Why, Brother-- + +FATHER: Don’t you “brother” me. + +THE REV. H.: I love your daughter and I want to marry her. + +FATHER: You want to _marry_ her, eh? When you get to New York, I +suppose? + +THE REV. H.: Why, I thought-- + +FATHER (_stepping to the telephone_): Oh, you thought, did you? (_To +central_): Give me police headquarters ... hello, police headquarters? +Well, there’s a preacher in my house. Send an officer up right away! + +THE REV. H. (_leaving_): I’m sorry, sir, that you feel this way, so I +think I’ll be saying “good-by.” + +FATHER: Good-by, and go back to your religious crowd and their loose +ways and never darken my door again. + + (_Curtain with daughter crying, and father and mother getting down + the family volume of Freud to read by the lamplight._) + + * * * * * + +All this is perhaps the result of years and years of bullyragging the +stage and stage folk by preachers and religious zealots. The stage folk +have found a comeback and are using it. It will be nip and tuck for a +while, with the stage folk slightly in the lead until it is discovered +that all stage folk are not really saints and all religious zealots not +really satyrs and nymphs. Then things will settle down again. In the +meantime, let’s have some more of that chicken potpie, please. + + + + +TIME-OFF FROM THE SHOW + +_New York Sights Which the Visitor Should Not Miss_ + + +You can’t expect the visitor to New York during the automobile show +to stand in front of automobiles all day and all night. He’s got to +look at something else _once_ in a while, just so that he can see the +automobiles better when he goes back to look at them. That’s only +common sense. + +Now comes the big question--what to look at? New York is a big city +now, and unless you are careful you will look at the wrong things and +before you know it, it will be time to go back and you will have seen +nothing. Or practically nothing. Or next to nothing. + +Let us say (Oh, go on! Be a good sport! _Let_ us), let us say that you +are to be in New York four days and six nights. Here is a schedule +which you may follow or not, but, at any rate, look it over. It +suggests something for you to do every evening and, in case you have +any spare time during the day, there are one or two extra hints. + + +MONDAY EVENING + +Of course, the very first night that you have free you will want to +see the new Reinach collection of tapestries at the Metropolitan Art +Museum. This collection is one of the most valuable in the world, and +one of the hardest to hide under. The tapestries hang some four feet +off the ground, so the minute you try to hide under one of them you are +quite exposed up to at least your chest, maybe oftener than that. + +Most of the tapestries in the exhibit are French, and consequently +are kept in a little room off the main hall, to which admission is +obtained only by conference with the curator. Of the others, the most +interesting is that which depicts the hunting of a stag in the Middle +Ages. In the lower left-hand corner you see the huntsmen starting out +after the stag, carrying hauberks and falcons. As you work up through +the tapestry, from left to right, it gets even less interesting, until, +by the time they have caught the stag in the upper right-hand corner, +you aren’t looking at it at all and have passed on to the next tapestry +which shows huntsmen of the Middle Ages chasing a fox. + +It has just occurred to us that the Art Museum is not open evenings; +so this plan for Monday night is out. You will have to find something +else to do. There is a good place on West Fifty-sixth Street. + + +TUESDAY EVENING + +The Public Library, at Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue, is open +until 11 o’clock. You will surely want to see this. Enter by the side +door on the Forty-second Street side, as there are two of the nastiest +lions you ever saw guarding the front entrance. Ring the little bell +by the side entrance and when the man comes ask for Joe Delaney. He +will ask who wants to see him and you say that Bob Benchley sent you. +He will then let you in to the downstairs lobby, where there is an +elevator to take you up to the reading room. This elevator is not +running; so you will have to walk up three flights of marble stairs, +and a pretty tough pull it is, too. + +You will find the reading room brilliantly lighted and practically +full of books. Go straight to the case marked “Biography M-TO.” +Beginning at the top shelf, left-hand corner, pull all the books out, +from left to right, and throw them in a pile on the floor. Pretty +soon you will have quite a big pile and can begin on the case marked +“History-Renaissance.” This will make another big pile. By this time, +you will have several attendants helping you and you can work faster. +If you stick to it until 11 o’clock, you will be able to pull out all +the books on that side of the room and scuffle through them. Then you +can go back to your hotel, tired but happy. + + +WEDNESDAY EVENING + +By this time, you will be perhaps ready to see a little of the +so-called “night life” of the metropolis. There is no better place +to do this than at the Woman’s Exchange, on Madison Avenue between +Fifty-fourth and Fifty-fifth Streets. The specialty here is breads and +cakes, and if you can get a table by the window you can eat your fill +while watching the Madison Avenue trolley cars go thundering by. It +would be well to wear your old clothes to this place, as along about 9 +o’clock in the evening things begin to rough up quite a bit, and, by +the time the fresh batch of cup cakes is ready at 10, the joint is a +regular bedlam. It was here that Harry Thaw had been dining the night +he shot Stanford White. + + +THURSDAY EVENING + +We have saved until your last night in New York the big thrill of the +week--riding on the Shetland ponies in Central Park. They usually put +the ponies to bed at sundown, but by slipping the pony-man a dollar +bill you can get him to leave as many of the little fellows out as you +may require. + +[Illustration: About nine o’clock things begin to rough up quite a bit.] + +Get to the park at about 8 p. m., wearing red coat and riding breeches. +You might as well take along a good, big whip, too, in case your pony +gets fresh. Carrying children about all day as they do, they are quite +apt to think that they can do anything they like, and you must be ready +to show them that they can’t. They will respect you all the more after +a couple of good belts. + +Once aboard the ponies, the best course is around the reservoir. Five +times around at a brisk canter makes a nice ride. In case your feet +drag on the ground (the ponies are pretty small) you can tuck them in +under the saddle or else let them drag. For steeplechase racing it +will be better to let them drag, as it makes it harder for the little +animals to get over the hurdles. If you have lots of money to spend on +the thing, you can give a hunt breakfast at the Central Park Casino. + + +ALTERNATE ENTERTAINMENT + +Although you may have seen something of the automobile at the show, +you will get a better idea of what the automobile really means to our +civilization by coming with me to a little private exhibition which I +will be glad to stage any afternoon between the hours of 4 and 6:30. +I wish that every automobile manufacturer and salesman could join in, +because I want them to see just what it is that they have done. If I +had my way, I would get them all reservations on a train leaving the +Pennsylvania station at 5:30 p. m. Then, at 4:45, I would start them +from Forty-fourth Street in taxicabs or private cars and say: “Now, you +big automobile men, you have got forty-five minutes to go half a mile +in. And there isn’t another train until tomorrow morning.” + +I would follow behind on foot, and when they were held up by the jam +of automobiles at Forty-second Street for five minutes, I would jeer. +When they were held up at Fortieth Street, I would hoot. During their +five-minute holdup at Thirty-ninth Street, I would taunt them with: +“What price automobiles, now?” and while they were chafing at the tieup +at Thirty-eighth Street, I would call out: “Get a horse!” I would make +them so sore at the automobile as an institution that they would swear +never to make another. + + + + +THE _LIFE_ POLAR EXPEDITION + + +_Continuation of the log of Bobby Benchley, Juvenile Yoeman on_ LIFE’S +_North Pole Expedition._ + +MT. KISCO, N. Y.--_En route to North Pole by bicycle._ + +Things have been going from bad to worse in this expedition and I +doubt very much if I can stick it out any longer. My father has been +unbearable ever since we left North White Plains, harping continually +on the fact that I am only seven years old and small for my age at +that. If parents only knew it, it is that sort of talk which makes for +radicalism and debauchery in the younger generation. + +Then he began insisting that I mention the names of firms which have +contributed stuff for our expedition. When I say that we stopped at +the roadside for lunch I must add “which was so kindly contributed +by the Alexander Hamilton Peanut Butter Sandwich Co., of 1145 North +Rumsey Street, Chicago.” Or if I mention tipping our hats to a lady, +acknowledgment must be given to the “Bon Ton Arctic Hat Co., who were +generous enough to supply the expedition with hats.” + +Now this is a lot of hooey and I told my father so and refused +point-blank to lend myself to any such cheap advertising gag as that. +It was then that he brought up the point that I was only seven and that +I should busy myself with only those thoughts which a seven-year-old +boy should have. And he added, furthermore, that I could keep a civil +tongue in my head. So I have determined to stop off here at Mt. Kisco +and spend a week or so with the Barry kids and then go on back home +to Scarsdale. That expedition is never going to get to the North Pole +anyway. My father and Lieut.-Commander Connelly are too fat--especially +my father. You ought to see him. + + _Insert in log made by Benchley, Sr._ + +Bobby has proved quite a disappointment to us so far, and I am not sure +that I would be sorry to see him leave the expedition here. Our idea in +having him along was to give the boy a little publicity and to have him +write a book which could be sold to the juvenile trade around Christmas +time, but a little boy who behaves as badly as he does doesn’t deserve +any publicity and he can’t write for a darn anyway. + +Furthermore, I am _not_ getting fat. I always put on a little weight +in the winter, because I can’t play tennis, but every one says that it +is becoming to me. I weigh only 160 when I am ready for my cold-bath +(which I very seldom am, _these_ mornings) and for a man of my height, +that is not a pound too much. As a matter of fact, Bobby is probably a +little sore because he is so small for his age. You’d never think he +was seven. He looks more like a child of three. He must get that from +his mother’s side of the family, because all the Benchleys have shot +right up to a good height before they were seven. His older brother Nat +is a fine tall boy. And a great deal smarter in school than Bobby. + +Then, too, another sign that I am not too fat is that people who +haven’t seen me for several years all remark “How well you look!” You +don’t say that to a man who is _too_ fat, do you? + +But there is no reason for having our expedition torn with dissension +just because a little boy has no respect for his father. I suggested +sending him back to Scarsdale, but Lieut.-Commander Connelly said why +not give him another chance, he is so cute. It is all very well for an +outsider to call a child cute, but when a man has reached my age he is +entitled to a little respect from his own children--it seems to me. + + (_Resumption of the log by Bobby._) + +It is very nice here in Mt. Kisco at the Barrys’ and I wouldn’t be +surprised if the whole expedition stayed here until the snow gets out +of the roads. Mr. Barry has some very good stuff that he brought from +France last year and I heard my father say last night that he wouldn’t +care if he _never_ saw the North Pole or anything else for that matter. +He and Lieut.-Commander Connelly think they are pretty good at two-part +singing and as Lieut.-Commander Connelly said, “It looks as if it were +going to be a fine winter for two-part singing, especially ‘Sleep, +Kentucky Babe.’” Mr. Barry hasn’t said anything yet except that he has +to take his family to Cannes early in March. All he expected us to do +was stop here overnight, and while he is very nice about it, I guess he +knows what he is in for, all right, all right. + +On the way up from North White Plains I saw a snow-bird, but didn’t say +anything about it as I knew it would mean taking out pencils and making +notes for the Museum. A hot lot of good the Museum is going to get out +of _this_ expedition. + + + + +SPYING ON THE VEHICULAR TUNNEL + + +Before the formal opening of the Holland Vehicular Tunnel under the +Hudson River, it behooves New Yorkers to study up a little on the +subject and see why it is that 46,000 vehicles are going to _want_ to +go to Jersey City every day. + +In order to present this problem fairly to the readers of this paper, +the writer of this article (you must guess) took a tour of inspection +of the tube, which is now completed with the exception of installing +a ventilation system and hanging the curtains. Curtains make such a +difference that it will probably be simply another tunnel when they are +up. + +Your investigator was not asked by the authorities to make this tour +of inspection, but somebody from the New York _Times_ went through +the thing and wrote a story about it; so there didn’t seem to be any +good reason why a reporter from _The New Yorker_ shouldn’t. Not having +the permission of the tunnel authorities, he went alone into this +vast-two-mile submarine passageway, with the result that he got lost +and is still in there. This story is being sent out to _The New Yorker_ +by a code of tappings executed on the roof of the giant shell by the +lost investigator. As soon as he finishes sending in copy (which +will be relayed to the publication offices by a special tugboat and +automobile service) the reporter will turn his energies again to the +problem of getting out of the tube. After all, there are only two ways +possible in which to go; so it ought not to be very difficult. The big +problem comes in trying to decide which way to take. + +Now that we are well acquainted it might be less formal if I use the +first person. You probably knew that it was I all along anyway. These +little editorial subterfuges are rather futile. + +But to get back to the tunnel--or rather to get _out_ of the tunnel. +Sneaking in by the entrance at Canal Street, Manhattan, I made my way +through the tiled passageway for what must have been a mile before I +realized that, really, when you have seen the first hundred feet of a +vehicular tunnel you have seen all 9250. I had got the idea by then. +The next problem was whether to go on ahead to the Jersey City exit or +turn and go back to Canal Street. Not knowing how far I had come, I +couldn’t figure out which way would be the shorter. Then, in turning +around several times to see if I could make out any light at either +end, I forgot which was the way to New York and which the way to Jersey +City. This was quite terrifying and I began to cry softly. I made +frantic little starts, first in one direction and then in the other, +and finally sat down on the ground and sobbed myself to sleep. + +[Illustration: I attracted the attention of a passing tug.] + +When I awoke, it was high time that my story was in; so I attracted +the attention of a passing tug by tapping on the roof of the tube and +indicated that I had a story to file for _The New Yorker_. The rest is +history. + +Well, anyway. + +The Holland Vehicular Tunnel is a dandy tunnel, all right, all right. +The roadways are 20 feet wide and there is 13 feet, 6 inches of +headroom. The extra six inches is for wedding parties in which there +are men in silk hats. It is estimated that in one year 15,000,000 +vehicles will pass through the tube. Wouldn’t you like to have a dollar +for every vehicle! A dollar and a _half_ would be even better. _Boy!_ +What I couldn’t do with $22,500,000! + +I was pleased to note that there are to be telephone stations along the +route. This will make it possible to call up and say: + +“Look here! I’m held up in the vehicular tunnel and probably can’t get +anything before the 8:15. Don’t wait dinner. I’ll eat in Jersey City.” + +This question of being held up in the tunnel is one which must present +itself to everyone who gives the matter any thought at all. There +aren’t many things certain in this life, but there is one event I +can predict without even adding “maybe.” On my first trip through the +vehicular tunnel at the wheel of my high-powered car, just as I get +halfway between New York and New Jersey, with a line of impatient +Sunday automobilists behind me, I am going to run out of gas. I’ll +bet that the engineers in charge have never once thought of this +contingency, and when it arises, it is going to make their tunnel look +pretty silly. It was a silly idea anyway, in the first place. + + + + +COMPILING AN AMERICAN TRAGEDY + +_Suggestions as to How Theodore Dreiser Might Write His Next Human +Document and Save Five Years’ Work_ + + +CHAPTER I + +Up East Division Street, on a hot day in late July, walked two men, +one five feet four, the other, the taller of the two, five feet six, +the first being two inches shorter than his more elongated companion, +and consequently giving the appearance to passers-by on East Division +Street, or, whenever the two reached a cross-street, to the passers-by +on the cross-street, of being at least a good two inches shorter than +the taller of the little group. + +Walking up East Division Street they came, in two or three minutes, to +Division Street proper, which runs at right angles and a little to the +left of East Division Street, but not so much to the left as Marcellus +Street, or Ransome Street, for that matter. As the two continued +strolling, in that fashion in which two men of their respective heights +are likely to stroll, they came in succession to-- + +(NOTE TO PRINTER: _Attached find copy of Thurston’s Street Guide. Print +names of every street listed therein, beginning with East Division and +up to, and including, Dawson._) + + +CHAPTER II + +That these two men, presented in the last chapter, would eventually +stop walking up Division Street and enter a house of some sort or +description, might well be anticipated by the reader, and, in fact, +such was the case. + +It was, indeed, the house of the shorter of the two, of the one whom +we have seen in the last chapter to have been five feet four, if, +indeed, he was. It was a typical dwelling, or home, of a man of the +middle-class in a medium-sized city such as the one in which these men +found themselves living. + +(NOTE TO PRINTER: _Attached find insurance inventory of household +effects and architect’s specifications. Reproduce in toto._) + + +CHAPTER III + +Reaching the living-room described above, Tom Rettle, for such was +the name of the shorter of the two--the one to whom the house, or +home, or dwelling, belonged--was greeted by his wife, Anna, a buxom +woman of perhaps thirty-four or thirty-five, certainly not _more_ than +thirty-five, if one were to judge by her fresh, wholesome color and the +sparkle of her brownish-gray eyes, or even by her well-rounded form, +her-- + +(_Print attached passport description of Anna Rettle._) + +“Well, hello, Anna,” said Tom, pleasantly, for Tom Rettle was, as a +matter of fact, a very pleasant man unless he were angered, and his +blue eyes smiled in a highly agreeable manner. + +“Well, hello, Tom,” replied Anna, for it was indeed Anna who spoke, in +a soft, well-modulated voice, too, giving the impression of being an +extremely agreeable sort of a woman. + +“Anna, I want you to meet a very good friend of mine, Arthur Berolston, +a very good friend of mine,” said Tom, politely, looking, at the same +time, at both Anna and Berolston. + +“I’m very happy to meet Mr. Berolston,” added Anna, genially, although +one could see that in her heart she wished that Tom would bring a +little different type of friends home, a thing she had often spoken to +him about when they were alone, as they often were. + +“Dat’s very good of yer ter say, Missus Rettle,” replied Berolston, in +modern slang, which made him sound even more uncouth than he looked, +which was uncouth enough. “For de love o’ Mike!” + +At this indication of a rough bringing-up on the part of her husband’s +acquaintance, Anna Rettle winced slightly but showed no other sign +of her emotions. Tom was such a kind-hearted fellow! So good! So +kind-hearted! Tom was. + +“What is there for supper tonight, Anna?” asked Tom, when the wincing +had died down. “You know how well I like cole slaw, and have always +liked it.” + +“I certainly do know your fondness for cole slaw, Tom,” replied his +wife, but with a note of regret in her voice, for she was thinking that +she had no cole slaw for supper on the particular night of which we are +speaking. “But you will remember that we had cole slaw last night with +the cold tongue, and night before last with the baked beans and--” + +(_Run attached “Fifteen Midsummer Menus for Cole Slaw Lovers.”_) + + +CHAPTER IV + +Prepared as Tom was not to have cole slaw for supper, he could not hide +his disappointment. Anna had been a good wife to him. + +But somehow tonight, when he had brought Arthur Berolston home to +supper, his disappointment was particularly keen, for he and Arthur had +been discussing cole slaw all the way up East Division Street, across +Division Street and through to the southwest corner of Dawson and +Margate, where Tom lived, and each had said how much he liked it. + +Should he strike Anna for failing him at this juncture? He, Tom Rettle, +strike his wife, Anna Rettle? And, even if he should decide to strike +her, _where_ should he direct the blow? Tom’s mind was confused with +all these questions. + +(_Reprint the above paragraph twenty-five times._) + + +CHAPTERS V-LXXXII INCLUSIVE + +TO PRINTER: _With the above copy you will find a brief-case containing +newspaper clippings giving the complete testimony of Anna Rettle, +Thomas Rettle and Arthur Berolston in the case of_ “ANNA RETTLE VS. +THOMAS RETTLE,” _tried in the Criminal Court of Testiman County, +September 2-28, 1925. There is also a transcript of the testimony of +three neighbors of the Rettles’ (Herman Nordquist, Ethel Nordquist +and Junior Nordquist), and of Officer Louis M. Hertzog of the Fifth +Precinct. Reprint all these and, at the bottom of the last page, put +“THE END.”_ + + + + +STORM WARNINGS FOR NEW YORK + + +Anyone wishing to see New York summer shows, or any other New York +shows for that matter, had better run like everything. Any day now +the walls of the city are going to topple in, and, with a blare of +trumpets, the Forces of the Lord are going to smite New York, even as +Sodom and Gomorrah were smitten. New York is riding for its Big Fall, +and it wouldn’t be surprising if it came around the end of this week. + +Probably never before in the history of disrobing (see Taine’s “A +Short History of Unhooking and Unbuttoning,” Harpers’, 1897, 1 vol., +345-pp. octavo) have so many young ladies appeared with so few clothes +before so many people at once. It is recorded that in ancient Rome the +_puellæ_ wore fewer clothes at the annual outings, but their audiences +were comparatively small and selected from a list of socially possible +people. Today, in the Borough of Manhattan, the young folks appear +before a Winter Garden full of practical strangers--that is, they are +strangers at the beginning of the show. By the end of the first act, +it is as if they had known them all their lives. Just as no man is a +stranger (or a hero) to his Swedish rubber, so, by the price of a +ticket to “The Great Temptations” you can have at least twenty people +in New York whom you know awfully, awfully well. And yet they say that +New York is cold and aloof! + +All this levity on my part is just whistling past the graveyard. I, +personally, am pretty worried. You can push the Forces of Vengeance +just so far and then--buckety-buckety--down comes the ceiling. Ask the +Sodom Chamber of Commerce. And the worst of it is, that just as the +rain sheds its benefits on the just and the unjust alike, the fact that +you have been home and in bed every night at ten o’clock isn’t going to +help you a bit when your whole city begins to smell as if something was +burning and then suddenly goes up in a puff of brimstone. You can’t go +out and argue with a Pillar of Fire and explain that you, personally, +have been spending your evenings building bookcases. If your town goes, +you go too, and no back-talk. + +Now, in my case, the prospects are even more depressing, because the +job from which I eke out barely enough money to buy gin for my children +makes it necessary that I attend the opening performances of all these +wrath-provoking shows. I don’t like them. I would never go to see +them if it were not for the fact that it is my life-work. Often I sit +through them with my eyes shut. But I _am_ unquestionably on record +in the office of the Snooping Angel as sitting in D-113 at the Winter +Garden. And when they are making out their lists for culprits to be hit +on the head by falling walls or swirled up into the skies on a fiery +horse with nine heads, my name probably is right there among the “B’s” +as a constant and incorrigible attendant at these festivals of sin. The +angel probably doesn’t do more than take a look over the audience. You +can’t expect him to go to the box-office and see who paid to get in or +find out why they are there. + +[Illustration: I _am_ unquestionably on record as sitting in D-113.] + +If I get through this summer all right, I am going to hire an +assistant. Then, whenever a Shubert show is announced or something +called “A Nuit in Paree,” I will slip him the seats and say: “Here, +Joe, go and enjoy yourself.” In this way I may be able to escape the +extra heavy punishment in store for participants and get out of the +general cataclysm with perhaps just a broken ankle or singed eyelashes. +It is going to be bad enough for the simple bystanders without getting +mixed up in the private showing. The only break that I have ever had +in this line was that I was in France at the time of Earl Carroll’s +champagne-bath party in New York. When I got back I found my invitation +on my desk. If I _had_ been there, covering the affair for my paper, +they would have taken flashlight photographs. + +And, after all, what fun is there in going to these displays? “The +Great Temptations,” for example, probably contains fewer real +temptations than a Christian Endeavor convention. The thing is too +unreal ever to constitute actual menace. You hear somebody announcing +that, if the audience will remain seated, there will now be a parade +showing the way parsnips are cooked in all the different countries of +the world. Then eight girls walk across the stage, one representing +Nell Gwyn cooking parsnips, one Cleopatra, one Thaïs, and so forth. +It is very dull indeed, and the fact that the girls are clad as if +they were just getting ready to turn on the hot water doesn’t help, or +hurt, anything. The whole thing is highly academic, and unless you are +interested in the cooking of parsnips, you are going to find yourself +looking at your program to see how long it will take to empty the +theater with every seat filled. If the Forces of Judgment only knew it, +the display of what the advertisements call “feminine pulchritude” is +one of the most innocuous of all forms of theatrical entertainment. It +is like looking in at a delicatessen window. It is too much. + +However, try to tell that to the Watch and Ward Society. Try to +convince that great, big old Nine-Headed Horse, when he comes snorting +down out of a cloud of fire with a flaming subpoena made out in your +name, that these exhibitions bore you. Just say to him, if you can make +your voice heard above the thunder and lightning and bellowing rocks, +that a show where a nine-tenths naked lady walks across the stage +means no more to you than watching the Stamford local go through New +Rochelle, and listen to him laugh. Why, you will probably get a million +years extra in the biscuit oven just for saying such a thing. + +You see, he has heard that line a good many times and he is getting +a little tired of it, just as you would, yourself, after the first +few million years. He knows that nobody ever will admit that he goes +where he shouldn’t because he likes it. Every single time it is a +case of being on duty, as you might say; making an investigation for +some reform agency, or getting material for a book, or showing an +out-of-town customer a good time. Even the out-of-town customer has +the alibi that he is just trying to find out whether things are really +as bad in New York as the papers have been saying they are. He would +much rather have spent the evening writing a report to the firm about +conditions in the textile industry, but he didn’t think that he could +afford to miss an opportunity to get some first-hand information about +the decadence of the present age. + +So the only thing that there is left to do, if we are going to save +ourselves and the biggest city in the country from a horrible fate, is +to stop the Messrs. Shubert from putting on shows like that. And the +way to stop them from putting on shows like that is to go to them and +say: “Messrs. Shubert, put down that mending for just a minute, I want +to talk to you. I am a married man with a family and I have a lot of +work that I have to do before I die. I have insurance to pay up and I +have a house which has to be painted before it can be sold. Now, you +and your shows are leading this whole city into inevitable destruction +at the hands of the Forces of Vengeance. No city can go on as New York +is going on giving pageants about the twelve different ways of cooking +parsnips, without incurring Divine Wrath to a fatal extent. Won’t you, +for the sake of the wife and kiddies, put, let us say, a girdle of +large hydrangeas on your choruses and perhaps an old-fashioned shawl? +Won’t you arrange it so that it won’t be quite so incriminating for a +man who wants to go straight to be numbered among the patrons of your +entertainments?” + +And if the Messrs. Shubert just laugh and go on with their mending +or whatever it is that they happen to be doing at the time, the +only thing left for me to do, at any rate, is to do my duty without +flinching--accept my complimentary tickets, and go to these shows +wearing a tin helmet and carrying a letter from my pastor in my pocket +against the Day of Judgment. + + + + +THE _LIFE_ POLAR EXPEDITION + + +Mt. Kisco, New York, January 21st.--At a meeting of the older members +of the expedition last night it was voted to ask Bobby for his +resignation, not in any spirit of anger but simply because it was felt +that he wasn’t in sympathy with the aims and policies of those in +command. Lieut.-Commander Connelly was elected to inform Bobby and to +see that he got his carfare back to Scarsdale. + +Bobby had anticipated our action, however, by resigning on his own hook +and was already on his way home with one of the Barry children in the +Barrys’ car, leaving a note to the effect that he was pretty tired of +the whole thing and doubted whether the expedition would reach the Pole +at all because of having so many fat men on it. + +And so ends the first really unfortunate episode of our trip. As Bobby +grows older he probably will acquire more repression and will learn +that individual whims must sometimes give way to the common good. I +also hope that he starts growing tall pretty soon. + +With the discordant element out of the way, the next thing to do was +to plan for our hop-off. We still have quite a distance to go before +we even get in sight of the Pole and we must be moving. So a meeting +was called in the Barrys’ study, to which Mr. Barry was, _ex-officio_, +invited, as it was thought that he might have some suggestions. His +very first suggestion was excellent; it was, in part, to concoct an +eggnog, a hot eggnog. He had some very good eggs, he said, and added +that that was one of the advantages of living in the country--you get +good eggs. This was voted on, and it was decided that Mr. Barry was +right. So the eggnog was made hot and the meeting called to order. + +Lieut.-Commander Connelly said that we ought to decide how we were to +overcome the retarding action of deep snow on our wheels. We have made +several trial spins around the house here, just to see that our cycles +were in good order, and found (_a_) that they were not, and (_b_) that +even if they had been, the snow would have made any kind of progress at +all very difficult. As Lieut.-Commander Connelly said, “It is almost as +if someone were actually holding the wheels back!” + +From there the discussion got around to cases in which wheels actually +_had_ been held back by some unseen force, but nobody had ever heard of +such cases. Ensign Thermaline said that he knew of a case once where +a man with hypnotic power had put a friend under a spell and made it +impossible for him to move his hand away from his face. Mr. Barry asked +whose face it was the man’s hand was on, his own or the hypnotizer’s, +and Ensign Thermaline said that he had never thought to inquire, but +that he could get the man on the telephone in a jiffy and find out. We +all said that it would be interesting to know. So a telephone book was +sent for and Ensign Thermaline set about looking up his friend’s number. + +While this was going on, we got back to the business of the expedition +and the question of when we should start on. Our route lies pretty +fairly straight ahead of us, on up through Westchester County to +Massachusetts, then on up through New Hampshire to Canada, and from +there to the Pole. “It ought to be very pretty up around Williamstown +at this time of year,” said Lieut.-Commander Connelly. “That’s where +Williams College is.” Everyone agreed to this and it was remembered +that the Williams song, “The Royal Purple,” has some very neat harmony +to it. Furthermore, it was discovered that Mr. Barry sings a very +passable baritone, and a baritone is the one thing that our expedition +has lacked, for Lieut.-Commander Connelly twists out a very tricky +tenor, and with me leading and Ensign Thermaline on a low but fairly +accurate bass it began to look as if we might do something worth while +after all. + +“Here’s a funny thing,” spoke up Ensign Thermaline, still buried in +the telephone book. “There are two people by the name of ‘Gepp,’ both +living in Jersey City. A ‘Ben F. Gepp’ at 218 Belvidere Ave., and a +‘William A. Gepp’ at 82 Jewett Ave.” + +“Probably brothers,” suggested Mr. Barry. + +“Not necessarily,” retorted Lieut.-Commander Connelly, a little testily. + +“All right; cousins then,” said Mr. Barry, and the threatened +hard-feeling was avoided. Mr. Barry would be a very good man to +have come along with us to the Pole as he is very conciliatory and +diplomatic, and after Bobby we need somebody like that. + +As a matter of fact, I suggested to him that he come with us and he +said that he really ought to take his family to Cannes in March as he +had promised them. But he added that he was almost persuaded to give +that plan up and come along with us. I suggested that we go right +then and sound out Mrs. Barry on the subject because I was sure that +we could make her see the thing in the right light. So we all went +upstairs to look for Mrs. Barry, but she was asleep. Lieut.-Commander +Connelly suggested a little serenade, on the ground that married women +get little or no romance in their lives, and said that if he knew +married women at all Mrs. Barry would be very glad to have a serenade +sung outside her door, asleep or not. So we did “The Royal Purple” for +her, very soft the first time through and then crescendo on the repeat. + +Then, at Mrs. Barry’s suggestion, we went to bed. + + * * * * * + + + + +Transcriber’s note + + +Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Hyphenation +was standardized. + +Some illustrations were moved so as to not break up paragraphs. + +Spelling was retained as in the original except for the following +change: + + Page 23: “She though it a” “She thought it a” + Page 252: “the Forces of Vengea ce” “the Forces of Vengeance” + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78352 *** |