diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:22:49 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:22:49 -0700 |
| commit | 79d179ca914b01eca9ac17dfd39ef7a255b2e998 (patch) | |
| tree | 37a1909086e9b7fc7c71b1668b1d18bd8be68e89 /4064-h | |
Diffstat (limited to '4064-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 4064-h/4064-h.htm | 6466 |
1 files changed, 6466 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/4064-h/4064-h.htm b/4064-h/4064-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a497bef --- /dev/null +++ b/4064-h/4064-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6466 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title>Moonbeams From The Larger Lunacy | Project Gutenberg</title> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <style type="text/css"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOONBEAMS FROM THE LARGER LUNACY ***</div> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + MOONBEAMS FROM THE LARGER LUNACY + </h1> + <h2> + By Stephen Leacock + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I.—SPOOF. A Thousand-Guinea Novel. New! + Fascinating! Perplexing! </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> II.—THE READING PUBLIC. A BOOK STORE STUDY + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> III.—AFTERNOON ADVENTURES AT MY CLUB </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> 1.—The Anecdotes of Dr. So and So </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> 2.—The Shattered Health of Mr. Podge </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> 3.—The Amazing Travels of Mr. Yarner </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> 4.—The Spiritual Outlook of Mr. Doomer + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> 5.—The Reminiscences of Mr. Apricot </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> 6.—The Last Man out of Europe </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> 7.—The War Mania of Mr. Jinks and Mr. + Blinks </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> 8.—The Ground Floor </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> 9.—The Hallucination of Mr. Butt </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> IV-RAM SPUDD THE NEW WORLD SINGER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> V.—ARISTOCRATIC ANECDOTES OR LITTLE + STORIES OF GREAT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> VI.—EDUCATION MADE AGREEABLE OR THE + DIVERSIONS OF A </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> VII.—AN EVERY-DAY EXPERIENCE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> VIII—TRUTHFUL ORATORY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> IX.—OUR LITERARY BUREAU </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> X.—SPEEDING UP BUSINESS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XI.—WHO IS ALSO WHO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XII.—PASSIONATE PARAGRAPHS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XIII.—WEEJEE THE PET DOG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XIV.—SIDELIGHTS ON THE SUPERMEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XV.—THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> XVI—THE FIRST NEWSPAPER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XVII—IN THE GOOD TIME AFTER THE WAR </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + The prudent husbandman, after having taken from his field all the straw + that is there, rakes it over with a wooden rake and gets as much again. + The wise child, after the lemonade jug is empty, takes the lemons from the + bottom of it and squeezes them into a still larger brew. So does the + sagacious author, after having sold his material to the magazines and been + paid for it, clap it into book-covers and give it another squeeze. But in + the present case the author is of a nice conscience and anxious to place + responsibility where it is due. He therefore wishes to make all proper + acknowledgments to the editors of Vanity Fair, The American Magazine, The + Popular Magazine, Life, Puck, The Century, Methuen’s Annual, and all + others who are in any way implicated in the making of this book. + </p> + <h3> + STEPHEN LEACOCK. + </h3> + <p> + McGill University, Montreal. Oct. 1, 1915. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC"> </a> <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I.—SPOOF. A Thousand-Guinea Novel. New! Fascinating! Perplexing! + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + Readers are requested to note that this novel has taken our special prize + of a cheque for a thousand guineas. This alone guarantees for all + intelligent readers a palpitating interest in every line of it. Among the + thousands of MSS. which reached us—many of them coming in carts + early in the morning, and moving in a dense phalanx, indistinguishable + from the Covent Garden Market waggons; others pouring down our coal-chute + during the working hours of the day; and others again being slipped + surreptitiously into our letter-box by pale, timid girls, scarcely more + than children, after nightfall (in fact many of them came in their + night-gowns),—this manuscript alone was the sole one—in fact + the only one—to receive the prize of a cheque of a thousand guineas. + To other competitors we may have given, inadvertently perhaps, a bag of + sovereigns or a string of pearls, but to this story alone is awarded the + first prize by the unanimous decision of our judges. + </p> + <p> + When we say that the latter body included two members of the Cabinet, two + Lords of the Admiralty, and two bishops, with power in case of dispute to + send all the MSS. to the Czar of Russia, our readers will breathe a sigh + of relief to learn that the decision was instant and unanimous. Each one + of them, in reply to our telegram, answered immediately SPOOF. + </p> + <p> + This novel represents the last word in up-to-date fiction. It is well + known that the modern novel has got far beyond the point of mere + story-telling. The childish attempt to INTEREST the reader has long since + been abandoned by all the best writers. They refuse to do it. The modern + novel must convey a message, or else it must paint a picture, or remove a + veil, or open a new chapter in human psychology. Otherwise it is no good. + SPOOF does all of these things. The reader rises from its perusal + perplexed, troubled, and yet so filled with information that rising itself + is a difficulty. + </p> + <p> + We cannot, for obvious reasons, insert the whole of the first chapter. But + the portion here presented was praised by The Saturday Afternoon Review as + giving one of the most graphic and at the same time realistic pictures of + America ever written in fiction. + </p> + <p> + Of the characters whom our readers are to imagine seated on the deck—on + one of the many decks (all connected by elevators)—of the + Gloritania, one word may be said. Vere de Lancy is (as the reviewers have + under oath declared) a typical young Englishman of the upper class. He is + nephew to the Duke of—, but of this fact no one on the ship, except + the captain, the purser, the steward, and the passengers are, or is, + aware. + </p> + <p> + In order entirely to conceal his identity, Vere de Lancy is travelling + under the assumed name of Lancy de Vere. In order the better to hide the + object of his journey, Lancy de Vere (as we shall now call him, though our + readers will be able at any moment to turn his name backwards) has given + it to be understood that he is travelling merely as a gentleman anxious to + see America. This naturally baffles all those in contact with him. + </p> + <p> + The girl at his side—but perhaps we may best let her speak for + herself. + </p> + <p> + Somehow as they sat together on the deck of the great steamer in the + afterglow of the sunken sun, listening to the throbbing of the propeller + (a rare sound which neither of them of course had ever heard before), de + Vere felt that he must speak to her. Something of the mystery of the girl + fascinated him. What was she doing here alone with no one but her mother + and her maid, on the bosom of the Atlantic? Why was she here? Why was she + not somewhere else? The thing puzzled, perplexed him. It would not let him + alone. It fastened upon his brain. Somehow he felt that if he tried to + drive it away, it might nip him in the ankle. + </p> + <p> + In the end he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “And you, too,” he said, leaning over her deck-chair, “are + going to America?” + </p> + <p> + He had suspected this ever since the boat left Liverpool. Now at length he + framed his growing conviction into words. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she assented, and then timidly, “it is 3,213 + miles wide, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “and 1,781 miles deep! It reaches from + the forty-ninth parallel to the Gulf of Mexico.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried the girl, “what a vivid picture! I seem to + see it.” + </p> + <p> + “Its major axis,” he went on, his voice sinking almost to a + caress, “is formed by the Rocky Mountains, which are practically a + prolongation of the Cordilleran Range. It is drained,” he continued— + </p> + <p> + “How splendid!” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, is it not? It is drained by the Mississippi, by the St. + Lawrence, and—dare I say it?—by the Upper Colorado.” + </p> + <p> + Somehow his hand had found hers in the half gloaming, but she did not + check him. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” she said very simply; “I think I ought to hear + it.” + </p> + <p> + “The great central plain of the interior,” he continued, + “is formed by a vast alluvial deposit carried down as silt by the + Mississippi. East of this the range of the Alleghanies, nowhere more than + eight thousand feet in height, forms a secondary or subordinate axis from + which the watershed falls to the Atlantic.” + </p> + <p> + He was speaking very quietly but earnestly. No man had ever spoken to her + like this before. + </p> + <p> + “What a wonderful picture!” she murmured half to herself, half + aloud, and half not aloud and half not to herself. + </p> + <p> + “Through the whole of it,” de Vere went on, “there run + railways, most of them from east to west, though a few run from west to + east. The Pennsylvania system alone has twenty-one thousand miles of + track.” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-one thousand miles,” she repeated; already she felt + her will strangely subordinate to his. + </p> + <p> + He was holding her hand firmly clasped in his and looking into her face. + </p> + <p> + “Dare I tell you,” he whispered, “how many employees it + has?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she gasped, unable to resist. + </p> + <p> + “A hundred and fourteen thousand,” he said. + </p> + <p> + There was silence. They were both thinking. Presently she spoke, timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Are there any cities there?” + </p> + <p> + “Cities!” he said enthusiastically, “ah, yes! let me try + to give you a word-picture of them. Vast cities—with tall buildings, + reaching to the very sky. Why, for instance, the new Woolworth Building in + New York—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” she broke in quickly, “how high is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Seven hundred and fifty feet.” + </p> + <p> + The girl turned and faced him. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t,” she said. “I can’t bear it. Some + other time, perhaps, but not now.” + </p> + <p> + She had risen and was gathering up her wraps. “And you,” she + said, “why are you going to America?” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he answered. “Because I want to see, to know, to + learn. And when I have learned and seen and known, I want other people to + see and to learn and to know. I want to write it all down, all the vast + palpitating picture of it. Ah! if I only could—I want to see” + (and here he passed his hand through his hair as if trying to remember) + “something of the relations of labour and capital, of the + extraordinary development of industrial machinery, of the new and + intricate organisation of corporation finance, and in particular I want to + try to analyse—no one has ever done it yet—the men who guide + and drive it all. I want to set down the psychology of the + multimillionaire!” + </p> + <p> + He paused. The girl stood irresolute. She was thinking (apparently, for if + not, why stand there?). + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” she faltered, “I could help you.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I might.” She hesitated. “I—I—come + from America.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” said de Vere in astonishment. “With a face and + voice like yours! It is impossible!” + </p> + <p> + The boldness of the compliment held her speechless for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I do,” she said; “my people lived just outside of + Cohoes.” + </p> + <p> + “They couldn’t have,” he said passionately. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t speak to you like this,” the girl went on, + “but it’s because I feel from what you have said that you know + and love America. And I think I can help you.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean,” he said, divining her idea, “that you can + help me to meet a multimillionaire?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, still hesitating. + </p> + <p> + “You know one?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” still hesitating, “I know ONE.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed about to say more, her lips had already opened, when suddenly + the dull raucous blast of the foghorn (they used a raucous one on this + ship on purpose) cut the night air. Wet fog rolled in about them, wetting + everything. + </p> + <p> + The girl shivered. + </p> + <p> + “I must go,” she said; “good night.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment de Vere was about to detain her. The wild thought leaped to + his mind to ask her her name or at least her mother’s. With a + powerful effort he checked himself. + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She was gone. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + Limits of space forbid the insertion of the whole of this chapter. Its + opening contains one of the most vivid word-pictures of the inside of an + American customs house ever pictured in words. From the customs wharf de + Vere is driven in a taxi to the Belmont. Here he engages a room; here, + too, he sleeps; here also, though cautiously at first, he eats. All this + is so admirably described that only those who have driven in a taxi to an + hotel and slept there can hope to appreciate it. + </p> + <p> + Limits of space also forbid our describing in full de Vere’s vain + quest in New York of the beautiful creature whom he had met on the steamer + and whom he had lost from sight in the aigrette department of the customs + house. A thousand times he cursed his folly in not having asked her name. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile no word comes from her, till suddenly, mysteriously, + unexpectedly, on the fourth day a note is handed to de Vere by the Third + Assistant Head Waiter of the Belmont. It is addressed in a lady’s + hand. He tears it open. It contains only the written words, “Call on + Mr. J. Superman Overgold. He is a multimillionaire. He expects you.” + </p> + <p> + To leap into a taxi (from the third story of the Belmont) was the work of + a moment. To drive to the office of Mr. Overgold was less. The portion of + the novel which follows is perhaps the most notable part of it. It is this + part of the chapter which the Hibbert Journal declares to be the best + piece of psychological analysis that appears in any novel of the season. + We reproduce it here. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly, exactly,” said de Vere, writing rapidly in his + note-book as he sat in one of the deep leather armchairs of the luxurious + office of Mr. Overgold. “So you sometimes feel as if the whole thing + were not worth while.” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said Mr. Overgold. “I can’t help asking + myself what it all means. Is life, after all, merely a series of + immaterial phenomena, self-developing and based solely on sensation and + reaction, or is it something else?” + </p> + <p> + He paused for a moment to sign a cheque for $10,000 and throw it out of + the window, and then went on, speaking still with the terse brevity of a + man of business. + </p> + <p> + “Is sensation everywhere or is there perception too? On what + grounds, if any, may the hypothesis of a self-explanatory consciousness be + rejected? In how far are we warranted in supposing that innate ideas are + inconsistent with pure materialism?” + </p> + <p> + De Vere listened, fascinated. Fortunately for himself, he was a University + man, fresh from the examination halls of his Alma Mater. He was able to + respond at once. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” he said modestly, “I grasp your thought. You + mean—to what extent are we prepared to endorse Hegel’s dictum + of immaterial evolution?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Mr. Overgold. “How far, if at all, do we + substantiate the Kantian hypothesis of the transcendental?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said de Vere eagerly. “And for what reasons + [naming them] must we reject Spencer’s theory of the unknowable?” + </p> + <p> + “Entirely so,” continued Mr. Overgold. “And why, if at + all, does Bergsonian illusionism differ from pure nothingness?” + </p> + <p> + They both paused. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Overgold had risen. There was great weariness in his manner. + </p> + <p> + “It saddens one, does it not?” he said. + </p> + <p> + He had picked up a bundle of Panama two per cent. gold bonds and was + looking at them in contempt. + </p> + <p> + “The emptiness of it all!” he muttered. He extended the bonds + to de Vere. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want them,” he said, “or shall I throw them + away?” + </p> + <p> + “Give them to me,” said de Vere quietly; “they are not + worth the throwing.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Mr. Overgold, speaking half to himself, as he + replaced the bonds in his desk. “It is a burden that I must carry + alone. I have no right to ask any one to share it. But come,” he + continued, “I fear I am sadly lacking in the duties of international + hospitality. I am forgetting what I owe to Anglo-American courtesy. I am + neglecting the new obligations of our common Indo-Chinese policy. My motor + is at the door. Pray let me take you to my house to lunch.” + </p> + <p> + De Vere assented readily, telephoned to the Belmont not to keep lunch + waiting for him, and in a moment was speeding up the magnificent Riverside + Drive towards Mr. Overgold’s home. On the way Mr. Overgold pointed + out various objects of interest,—Grant’s tomb, Lincoln’s + tomb, Edgar Allan Poe’s grave, the ticket office of the New York + Subway, and various other points of historic importance. + </p> + <p> + On arriving at the house, de Vere was ushered up a flight of broad marble + steps to a hall fitted on every side with almost priceless objets d’art + and others, ushered to the cloak-room and out of it, butlered into the + lunch-room and footmanned to a chair. + </p> + <p> + As they entered, a lady already seated at the table turned to meet them. + </p> + <p> + One glance was enough—plenty. + </p> + <p> + It was she—the object of de Vere’s impassioned quest. A rich + lunch-gown was girdled about her with a twelve-o’clock band of + pearls. + </p> + <p> + She reached out her hand, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Dorothea,” said the multimillionaire, “this is Mr. de + Vere. Mr. de Vere—my wife.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + Of this next chapter we need only say that the Blue Review (Adults Only) + declares it to be the most daring and yet conscientious handling of the + sex-problem ever attempted and done. The fact that the Congregational + Times declares that this chapter will undermine the whole foundations of + English Society and let it fall, we pass over: we hold certificates in + writing from a great number of the Anglican clergy, to the effect that + they have carefully read the entire novel and see nothing in it. + </p> + <h3> + . . . . . . . + </h3> + <p> + They stood looking at one another. + </p> + <p> + “So you didn’t know,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + In a flash de Vere realised that she hadn’t known that he didn’t + know and knew now that he knew. + </p> + <p> + He found no words. + </p> + <p> + The situation was a tense one. Nothing but the woman’s innate tact + could save it. Dorothea Overgold rose to it with the dignity of a queen. + </p> + <p> + She turned to her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Take your soup over to the window,” she said, “and eat + it there.” + </p> + <p> + The millionaire took his soup to the window and sat beneath a little palm + tree, eating it. + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t know,” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said de Vere; “how could I?” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” she went on, “you loved me, although you didn’t + know that I was married?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered de Vere simply. “I loved you, in spite + of it.” + </p> + <p> + “How splendid!” she said. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment’s silence. Mr. Overgold had returned to the + table, the empty plate in his hand. His wife turned to him again with the + same unfailing tact. + </p> + <p> + “Take your asparagus to the billiard-room,” she said, “and + eat it there.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he know, too?” asked de Vere. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Overgold?” she said carelessly. “I suppose he does. + Eh apres, mon ami?” + </p> + <p> + French? Another mystery! Where and how had she learned it? de Vere asked + himself. Not in France, certainly. + </p> + <p> + “I fear that you are very young, amico mio,” Dorothea went on + carelessly. “After all, what is there wrong in it, piccolo pochito? + To a man’s mind perhaps—but to a woman, love is love.” + </p> + <p> + She beckoned to the butler. + </p> + <p> + “Take Mr. Overgold a cutlet to the music-room,” she said, + “and give him his gorgonzola on the inkstand in the library.” + </p> + <p> + “And now,” she went on, in that caressing way which seemed so + natural to her, “don’t let us think about it any more! After + all, what is is, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it is,” said de Vere, half convinced in spite of + himself. + </p> + <p> + “Or at any rate,” said Dorothea, “nothing can at the + same time both be and not be. But come,” she broke off, gaily + dipping a macaroon in a glass of creme de menthe and offering it to him + with a pretty gesture of camaraderie, “don’t let’s be + gloomy any more. I want to take you with me to the matinee.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he coming?” asked de Vere, pointing at Mr. Overgold’s + empty chair. + </p> + <p> + “Silly boy,” laughed Dorothea. “Of course John is + coming. You surely don’t want to buy the tickets yourself.” + </p> + <h3> + . . . . . . . + </h3> + <p> + The days that followed brought a strange new life to de Vere. + </p> + <p> + Dorothea was ever at his side. At the theatre, at the polo ground, in the + park, everywhere they were together. And with them was Mr. Overgold. + </p> + <p> + The three were always together. At times at the theatre Dorothea and de + Vere would sit downstairs and Mr. Overgold in the gallery; at other times, + de Vere and Mr. Overgold would sit in the gallery and Dorothea downstairs; + at times one of them would sit in Row A, another in Row B, and a third in + Row C; at other times two would sit in Row B and one in Row C; at the + opera, at times, one of the three would sit listening, the others talking, + at other times two listening and one talking, and at other times three + talking and none listening. + </p> + <p> + Thus the three formed together one of the most perplexing, maddening + triangles that ever disturbed the society of the metropolis. + </p> + <h3> + . . . . . . . + </h3> + <p> + The denouement was bound to come. + </p> + <p> + It came. + </p> + <p> + It was late at night. + </p> + <p> + De Vere was standing beside Dorothea in the brilliantly lighted hall of + the Grand Palaver Hotel, where they had had supper. Mr. Overgold was busy + for a moment at the cashier’s desk. + </p> + <p> + “Dorothea,” de Vere whispered passionately, “I want to + take you away, away from all this. I want you.” + </p> + <p> + She turned and looked him full in the face. Then she put her hand in his, + smiling bravely. + </p> + <p> + “I will come,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” he went on, “the Gloritania sails for England + to-morrow at midnight. I have everything ready. Will you come?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, “I will”; and then + passionately, “Dearest, I will follow you to England, to Liverpool, + to the end of the earth.” + </p> + <p> + She paused in thought a moment and then added. + </p> + <p> + “Come to the house just before midnight. William, the second + chauffeur (he is devoted to me), shall be at the door with the third car. + The fourth footman will bring my things—I can rely on him; the fifth + housemaid can have them all ready—she would never betray me. I will + have the undergardener—the sixth—waiting at the iron gate to + let you in; he would die rather than fail me.” + </p> + <p> + She paused again—then she went on. + </p> + <p> + “There is only one thing, dearest, that I want to ask. It is not + much. I hardly think you would refuse it at such an hour. May I bring my + husband with me?” + </p> + <p> + De Vere’s face blanched. + </p> + <p> + “Must you?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I think I must,” said Dorothea. “You don’t know + how I’ve grown to value, to lean upon, him. At times I have felt as + if I always wanted him to be near me; I like to feel wherever I am—at + the play, at a restaurant, anywhere —that I can reach out and touch + him. I know,” she continued, “that it’s only a wild + fancy and that others would laugh at it, but you can understand, can you + not—carino caruso mio? And think, darling, in our new life, how busy + he, too, will be—making money for all of us—in a new money + market. It’s just wonderful how he does it.” + </p> + <p> + A great light of renunciation lit up de Vere’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Bring him,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I knew that you would say that,” she murmured, “and + listen, pochito pocket-edition, may I ask one thing more, one weeny thing? + William, the second chauffeur—I think he would fade away if I were + gone—may I bring him, too? Yes! O my darling, how can I repay you? + And the second footman, and the third housemaid—if I were gone I + fear that none of—” + </p> + <p> + “Bring them all,” said de Vere half bitterly; “we will + all elope together.” + </p> + <p> + And as he spoke Mr. Overgold sauntered over from the cashier’s desk, + his open purse still in his hand, and joined them. There was a dreamy look + upon his face. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” he murmured, “whether personality survives + or whether it, too, when up against the irresistible, dissolves and + resolves itself into a series of negative reactions?” + </p> + <p> + De Vere’s empty heart echoed the words. + </p> + <p> + Then they passed out and the night swallowed them up. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + At a little before midnight on the next night, two motors filled with + muffled human beings might have been perceived, or seen, moving + noiselessly from Riverside Drive to the steamer wharf where lay the + Gloritania. + </p> + <p> + A night of intense darkness enveloped the Hudson. Outside the inside of + the dockside a dense fog wrapped the Statue of Liberty. Beside the steamer + customs officers and deportation officials moved silently to and fro in + long black cloaks, carrying little deportation lanterns in their hands. + </p> + <p> + To these Mr. Overgold presented in silence his deportation certificates, + granting his party permission to leave the United States under the + imbecility clause of the Interstate Commerce Act. + </p> + <p> + No objection was raised. + </p> + <p> + A few moments later the huge steamer was slipping away in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + On its deck a little group of people, standing beside a pile of + first-class cabin luggage, directed a last sad look through their heavy + black disguise at the rapidly vanishing shore which they could not see. + </p> + <p> + De Vere, who stood in the midst of them, clasping their hands, thus stood + and gazed his last at America. + </p> + <p> + “Spoof!” he said. + </p> + <p> + (We admit that this final panorama, weird in its midnight mystery, and + filling the mind of the reader with a sense of something like awe, is only + appended to Spoof in order to coax him to read our forthcoming sequel, + Spiff!) + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II.—THE READING PUBLIC. A BOOK STORE STUDY + </h2> + <p> + “Wish to look about the store? Oh, oh, by all means, sir,” he + said. Then as he rubbed his hands together in an urbane fashion he + directed a piercing glance at me through his spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll find some things that might interest you,” he + said, “in the back of the store on the left. We have there a series + of reprints—Universal Knowledge from Aristotle to Arthur Balfour—at + seventeen cents. Or perhaps you might like to look over the Pantheon of + Dead Authors at ten cents. Mr. Sparrow,” he called, “just show + this gentleman our classical reprints—the ten-cent series.” + </p> + <p> + With that he waved his hand to an assistant and dismissed me from his + thought. + </p> + <p> + In other words, he had divined me in a moment. There was no use in my + having bought a sage-green fedora in Broadway, and a sporting tie done up + crosswise with spots as big as nickels. These little adornments can never + hide the soul within. I was a professor, and he knew it, or at least, as + part of his business, he could divine it on the instant. + </p> + <p> + The sales manager of the biggest book store for ten blocks cannot be + deceived in a customer. And he knew, of course, that, as a professor, I + was no good. I had come to the store, as all professors go to book stores, + just as a wasp comes to an open jar of marmalade. He knew that I would + hang around for two hours, get in everybody’s way, and finally buy a + cheap reprint of the Dialogues of Plato, or the Prose Works of John + Milton, or Locke on the Human Understanding, or some trash of that sort. + </p> + <p> + As for real taste in literature—the ability to appreciate at its + worth a dollar-fifty novel of last month, in a spring jacket with a tango + frontispiece—I hadn’t got it and he knew it. + </p> + <p> + He despised me, of course. But it is a maxim of the book business that a + professor standing up in a corner buried in a book looks well in a store. + The real customers like it. + </p> + <p> + So it was that even so up-to-date a manager as Mr. Sellyer tolerated my + presence in a back corner of his store: and so it was that I had an + opportunity of noting something of his methods with his real customers—methods + so successful, I may say, that he is rightly looked upon by all the + publishing business as one of the mainstays of literature in America. + </p> + <p> + I had no intention of standing in the place and listening as a spy. In + fact, to tell the truth, I had become immediately interested in a new + translation of the Moral Discourses of Epictetus. The book was very neatly + printed, quite well bound and was offered at eighteen cents; so that for + the moment I was strongly tempted to buy it, though it seemed best to take + a dip into it first. + </p> + <p> + I had hardly read more than the first three chapters when my attention was + diverted by a conversation going on in the front of the store. + </p> + <p> + “You’re quite sure it’s his LATEST?” a fashionably + dressed lady was saying to Mr. Sellyer. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, Mrs. Rasselyer,” answered the manager. “I + assure you this is his very latest. In fact, they only came in yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, he indicated with his hand a huge pile of books, gayly + jacketed in white and blue. I could make out the title in big gilt + lettering—GOLDEN DREAMS. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” repeated Mr. Sellyer. “This is Mr. Slush’s + latest book. It’s having a wonderful sale.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right, then,” said the lady. “You see, + one sometimes gets taken in so: I came in here last week and took two that + seemed very nice, and I never noticed till I got home that they were both + old books, published, I think, six months ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear me, Mrs. Rasselyer,” said the manager in an + apologetic tone, “I’m extremely sorry. Pray let us send for + them and exchange them for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it does not matter,” said the lady; “of course I + didn’t read them. I gave them to my maid. She probably wouldn’t + know the difference, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose not,” said Mr. Sellyer, with a condescending smile. + “But of course, madam,” he went on, falling into the easy chat + of the fashionable bookman, “such mistakes are bound to happen + sometimes. We had a very painful case only yesterday. One of our oldest + customers came in in a great hurry to buy books to take on the steamer, + and before we realised what he had done—selecting the books I + suppose merely by the titles, as some gentlemen are apt to do—he had + taken two of last year’s books. We wired at once to the steamer, but + I’m afraid it’s too late.” + </p> + <p> + “But now, this book,” said the lady, idly turning over the + leaves, “is it good? What is it about?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s an extremely POWERFUL thing,” said Mr. Sellyer, + “in fact, MASTERLY. The critics are saying that it’s perhaps + THE most powerful book of the season. It has a—” and here Mr. + Sellyer paused, and somehow his manner reminded me of my own when I am + explaining to a university class something that I don’t know myself—“It + has a—a—POWER, so to speak—a very exceptional power; in + fact, one may say without exaggeration it is the most POWERFUL book of the + month. Indeed,” he added, getting on to easier ground, “it’s + having a perfectly wonderful sale.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have a great many of them,” said the lady. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we have to,” answered the manager. “There’s a + regular rush on the book. Indeed, you know it’s a book that is bound + to make a sensation. In fact, in certain quarters, they are saying that it’s + a book that ought not to—” And here Mr. Sellyer’s voice + became so low and ingratiating that I couldn’t hear the rest of the + sentence. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, really!” said Mrs. Rasselyer. “Well, I think I’ll + take it then. One ought to see what these talked-of things are about, + anyway.” + </p> + <p> + She had already begun to button her gloves, and to readjust her feather + boa with which she had been knocking the Easter cards off the counter. + Then she suddenly remembered something. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I was forgetting,” she said. “Will you send + something to the house for Mr. Rasselyer at the same time? He’s + going down to Virginia for the vacation. You know the kind of thing he + likes, do you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, perfectly, madam,” said the manager. “Mr. Rasselyer + generally reads works of—er—I think he buys mostly books on—er—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, travel and that sort of thing,” said the lady. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. I think we have here,” and he pointed to the + counter on the left, “what Mr. Rasselyer wants.” + </p> + <p> + He indicated a row of handsome books—“Seven Weeks in the + Sahara, seven dollars; Six Months in a Waggon, six-fifty net; Afternoons + in an Oxcart, two volumes, four-thirty, with twenty off.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he has read those,” said Mrs. Rasselyer. “At + least there are a good many at home that seem like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very possibly—but here, now, Among the Cannibals of Corfu—yes, + that I think he has had—Among the—that, too, I think—but + this I am certain he would like, just in this morning—Among the + Monkeys of New Guinea—ten dollars, net.” + </p> + <p> + And with this Mr. Sellyer laid his hand on a pile of new books, apparently + as numerous as the huge pile of Golden Dreams. + </p> + <p> + “Among the Monkeys,” he repeated, almost caressingly. + </p> + <p> + “It seems rather expensive,” said the lady. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very much so—a most expensive book,” the manager + repeated in a tone of enthusiasm. “You see, Mrs. Rasselyer, it’s + the illustrations, actual photographs”—he ran the leaves over + in his fingers—“of actual monkeys, taken with the camera—and + the paper, you notice—in fact, madam, the book costs, the mere + manufacture of it, nine dollars and ninety cents—of course we make + no profit on it. But it’s a book we like to handle.” + </p> + <p> + Everybody likes to be taken into the details of technical business; and of + course everybody likes to know that a bookseller is losing money. These, I + realised, were two axioms in the methods of Mr. Sellyer. + </p> + <p> + So very naturally Mrs. Rasselyer bought Among the Monkeys, and in another + moment Mr. Sellyer was directing a clerk to write down an address on Fifth + Avenue, and was bowing deeply as he showed the lady out of the door. + </p> + <p> + As he turned back to his counter his manner seemed much changed. + </p> + <p> + “That Monkey book,” I heard him murmur to his assistant, + “is going to be a pretty stiff proposition.” + </p> + <p> + But he had no time for further speculation. + </p> + <p> + Another lady entered. + </p> + <p> + This time even to an eye less trained than Mr. Sellyer’s, the deep, + expensive mourning and the pensive face proclaimed the sentimental widow. + </p> + <p> + “Something new in fiction,” repeated the manager, “yes, + madam—here’s a charming thing—Golden Dreams”—he + hung lovingly on the words—“a very sweet story, singularly + sweet; in fact, madam, the critics are saying it is the sweetest thing + that Mr. Slush has done.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it good?” said the lady. I began to realise that all + customers asked this. + </p> + <p> + “A charming book,” said the manager. “It’s a love + story—very simple and sweet, yet wonderfully charming. Indeed, the + reviews say it’s the most charming book of the month. My wife was + reading it aloud only last night. She could hardly read for tears.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it’s quite a safe book, is it?” asked the + widow. “I want it for my little daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, quite safe,” said Mr. Sellyer, with an almost parental + tone, “in fact, written quite in the old style, like the dear old + books of the past—quite like”—here Mr. Sellyer paused + with a certain slight haze of doubt visible in his eye—“like + Dickens and Fielding and Sterne and so on. We sell a great many to the + clergy, madam.” + </p> + <p> + The lady bought Golden Dreams, received it wrapped up in green enamelled + paper, and passed out. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any good light reading for vacation time?” called + out the next customer in a loud, breezy voice—he had the air of a + stock broker starting on a holiday. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Sellyer, and his face almost broke into a + laugh as he answered, “here’s an excellent thing—Golden + Dreams—quite the most humorous book of the season—simply + screaming—my wife was reading it aloud only yesterday. She could + hardly read for laughing.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the price, one dollar? One-fifty. All right, wrap it + up.” There was a clink of money on the counter, and the customer was + gone. I began to see exactly where professors and college people who want + copies of Epictetus at 18 cents and sections of World Reprints of + Literature at 12 cents a section come in, in the book trade. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Judge!” said the manager to the next customer, a huge, + dignified personage in a wide-awake hat, “sea stories? Certainly. + Excellent reading, no doubt, when the brain is overcharged as yours must + be. Here is the very latest—Among the Monkeys of New Guinea, ten + dollars, reduced to four-fifty. The manufacture alone costs six-eighty. We’re + selling it out. Thank you, Judge. Send it? Yes. Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + After that the customers came and went in a string. I noticed that though + the store was filled with books—ten thousand of them, at a guess—Mr. + Sellyer was apparently only selling two. Every woman who entered went away + with Golden Dreams: every man was given a copy of the Monkeys of New + Guinea. To one lady Golden Dreams was sold as exactly the reading for a + holiday, to another as the very book to read AFTER a holiday; another + bought it as a book for a rainy day, and a fourth as the right sort of + reading for a fine day. The Monkeys was sold as a sea story, a land story, + a story of the jungle, and a story of the mountains, and it was put at a + price corresponding to Mr. Sellyer’s estimate of the purchaser. + </p> + <p> + At last after a busy two hours, the store grew empty for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Wilfred,” said Mr. Sellyer, turning to his chief assistant, + “I am going out to lunch. Keep those two books running as hard as + you can. We’ll try them for another day and then cut them right out. + And I’ll drop round to Dockem & Discount, the publishers, and + make a kick about them, and see what they’ll do.” + </p> + <p> + I felt that I had lingered long enough. I drew near with the Epictetus in + my hand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said Mr. Sellyer, professional again in a moment. + “Epictetus? A charming thing. Eighteen cents. Thank you. Perhaps we + have some other things there that might interest you. We have a few + second-hand things in the alcove there that you might care to look at. + There’s an Aristotle, two volumes—a very fine thing—practically + illegible, that you might like: and a Cicero came in yesterday—very + choice—damaged by damp—and I think we have a Machiavelli, + quite exceptional—practically torn to pieces, and the covers gone—a + very rare old thing, sir, if you’re an expert.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks,” I said. And then from a curiosity that had been + growing in me and that I couldn’t resist, “That book—Golden + Dreams,” I said, “you seem to think it a very wonderful work?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sellyer directed one of his shrewd glances at me. He knew I didn’t + want to buy the book, and perhaps, like lesser people, he had his off + moments of confidence. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “A bad business,” he said. “The publishers have unloaded + the thing on us, and we have to do what we can. They’re stuck with + it, I understand, and they look to us to help them. They’re + advertising it largely and may pull it off. Of course, there’s just + a chance. One can’t tell. It’s just possible we may get the + church people down on it and if so we’re all right. But short of + that we’ll never make it. I imagine it’s perfectly rotten.” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you read it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me, no!” said the manager. His air was that of a milkman + who is offered a glass of his own milk. “A pretty time I’d + have if I tried to READ the new books. It’s quite enough to keep + track of them without that.” + </p> + <p> + “But those people,” I went on, deeply perplexed, “who + bought the book. Won’t they be disappointed?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sellyer shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said; “you see, + they won’t READ it. They never do.” + </p> + <p> + “But at any rate,” I insisted, “your wife thought it a + fine story.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sellyer smiled widely. + </p> + <p> + “I am not married, sir,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III.—AFTERNOON ADVENTURES AT MY CLUB + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 1.—The Anecdotes of Dr. So and So + </h2> + <p> + That is not really his name. I merely call him that from his manner of + talking. + </p> + <p> + His specialty is telling me short anecdotes of his professional life from + day to day. + </p> + <p> + They are told with wonderful dash and power, except for one slight + omission, which is, that you never know what the doctor is talking about. + Beyond this, his little stories are of unsurpassed interest—but let + me illustrate. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + He came into the semi-silence room of the club the other day and sat down + beside me. + </p> + <p> + “Have something or other?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Smoke anything?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor turned to me. He evidently wanted to talk. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been having a rather peculiar experience,” he + said. “Man came to me the other day—three or four weeks ago—and + said, ‘Doctor, I feel out of sorts. I believe I’ve got so and + so.’ ‘Ah,’ I said, taking a look at him, ‘been + eating so and so, eh?’ ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Very good,’ + I said, ‘take so and so.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, off the fellow went—I thought nothing of it—simply + wrote such and such in my note-book, such and such a date, symptoms such + and such—prescribed such and such, and so forth, you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, perfectly, doctor,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Very good. Three days later—a ring at the bell in the evening—my + servant came to the surgery. ‘Mr. So and So is here. Very anxious to + see you.’ ‘All right!’ I went down. There he was, with + every symptom of so and so written all over him—every symptom of it—this + and this and this—” + </p> + <p> + “Awful symptoms, doctor,” I said, shaking my head. + </p> + <p> + “Are they not?” he said, quite unaware that he hadn’t + named any. “There he was with every symptom, heart so and so, eyes + so and so, pulse this—I looked at him right in the eye and I said—‘Do + you want me to tell you the truth?’ ‘Yes,’ he said. + ‘Very good,’ I answered, ‘I will. You’ve got so + and so.’ He fell back as if shot. ‘So and so!’ he + repeated, dazed. I went to the sideboard and poured him out a drink of + such and such. ‘Drink this,’ I said. He drank it. ‘Now,’ + I said, ‘listen to what I say: You’ve got so and so. There’s + only one chance,’ I said, ‘you must limit your eating and + drinking to such and such, you must sleep such and such, avoid every form + of such and such—I’ll give you a cordial, so many drops every + so long, but mind you, unless you do so and so, it won’t help you.’ + ‘All right, very good.’ Fellow promised. Off he went.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor paused a minute and then resumed: + </p> + <p> + “Would you believe it—two nights later, I saw the fellow—after + the theatre, in a restaurant—whole party of people—big plate + of so and so in front of him—quart bottle of so and so on ice—such + and such and so forth. I stepped over to him—tapped him on the + shoulder: ‘See here,’ I said, ‘if you won’t obey + my instructions, you can’t expect me to treat you.’ I walked + out of the place.” + </p> + <p> + “And what happened to him?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Died,” said the doctor, in a satisfied tone. “Died. I’ve + just been filling in the certificate: So and so, aged such and such, died + of so and so!” + </p> + <p> + “An awful disease,” I murmured. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 2.—The Shattered Health of Mr. Podge + </h2> + <p> + “How are you, Podge?” I said, as I sat down in a leather + armchair beside him. + </p> + <p> + I only meant “How-do-you-do?” but he rolled his big eyes + sideways at me in his flabby face (it was easier than moving his face) and + he answered: + </p> + <p> + “I’m not as well to-day as I was yesterday afternoon. Last + week I was feeling pretty good part of the time, but yesterday about four + o’clock the air turned humid, and I don’t feel so well.” + </p> + <p> + “Have a cigarette?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks; I find they affect the bronchial toobes.” + </p> + <p> + “Whose?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Mine,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” I said, and I lighted one. “So you find the + weather trying,” I continued cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s too humid. It’s up to a saturation of + sixty-six. I’m all right till it passes sixty-four. Yesterday + afternoon it was only about sixty-one, and I felt fine. But after that it + went up. I guess it must be a contraction of the epidermis pressing on + some of the sebaceous glands, don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure it is,” I said. “But why don’t you + just sleep it off till it’s over?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like to sleep too much,” he answered. “I’m + afraid of it developing into hypersomnia. There are cases where it’s + been known to grow into a sort of lethargy that pretty well stops all + brain action altogether—” + </p> + <p> + “That would be too bad,” I murmured. “What do you do to + prevent it?” + </p> + <p> + “I generally drink from half to three-quarters of a cup of black + coffee, or nearly black, every morning at from eleven to five minutes + past, so as to keep off hypersomnia. It’s the best thing, the doctor + says.” + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you afraid,” I said, “of its keeping you + awake?” + </p> + <p> + “I am,” answered Podge, and a spasm passed over his big yellow + face. “I’m always afraid of insomnia. That’s the worst + thing of all. The other night I went to bed about half-past ten, or + twenty-five minutes after,—I forget which,—and I simply couldn’t + sleep. I couldn’t. I read a magazine story, and I still couldn’t; + and I read another, and still I couldn’t sleep. It scared me bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pshaw,” I said; “I don’t think sleep matters + as long as one eats properly and has a good appetite.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head very dubiously. “I ate a plate of soup at lunch,” + he said, “and I feel it still.” + </p> + <p> + “You FEEL it!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” repeated Podge, rolling his eyes sideways in a pathetic + fashion that he had, “I still feel it. I oughtn’t to have + eaten it. It was some sort of a bean soup, and of course it was full of + nitrogen. I oughtn’t to touch nitrogen,” he added, shaking his + head. + </p> + <p> + “Not take any nitrogen?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “No, the doctor—both doctors—have told me that. I can + eat starches, and albumens, all right, but I have to keep right away from + all carbons and nitrogens. I’ve been dieting that way for two years, + except that now and again I take a little glucose or phosphates.” + </p> + <p> + “That must be a nice change,” I said, cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “It is,” he answered in a grateful sort of tone. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. I looked at his big twitching face, and listened to the + heavy wheezing of his breath, and I felt sorry for him. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Podge,” I said, “I want to give you some good + advice.” + </p> + <p> + “About what?” + </p> + <p> + “About your health.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, do,” he said. Advice about his health was right in + his line. He lived on it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, cut out all this fool business of diet and drugs and + nitrogen. Don’t bother about anything of the sort. Forget it. Eat + everything you want to, just when you want it. Drink all you like. Smoke + all you can—and you’ll feel a new man in a week.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, do you think so!” he panted, his eyes filled with a new + light. + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” I answered. And as I left him I shook hands with + a warm feeling about my heart of being a benefactor to the human race. + </p> + <p> + Next day, sure enough, Podge’s usual chair at the club was empty. + </p> + <p> + “Out getting some decent exercise,” I thought. “Thank + Heaven!” + </p> + <p> + Nor did he come the next day, nor the next, nor for a week. + </p> + <p> + “Leading a rational life at last,” I thought. “Out in + the open getting a little air and sunlight, instead of sitting here + howling about his stomach.” + </p> + <p> + The day after that I saw Dr. Slyder in black clothes glide into the club + in that peculiar manner of his, like an amateur undertaker. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Slyder,” I called to him, “you look as solemn as + if you had been to a funeral.” + </p> + <p> + “I have,” he said very quietly, and then added, “poor + Podge!” + </p> + <p> + “What about him?” I asked with sudden apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “Why, he died on Tuesday,” answered the doctor. “Hadn’t + you heard? Strangest case I’ve known in years. Came home suddenly + one day, pitched all his medicines down the kitchen sink, ordered a couple + of cases of champagne and two hundred havanas, and had his housekeeper + cook a dinner like a Roman banquet! After being under treatment for two + years! Lived, you know, on the narrowest margin conceivable. I told him + and Silk told him—we all told him—his only chance was to keep + away from every form of nitrogenous ultra-stimulants. I said to him often, + ‘Podge, if you touch heavy carbonized food, you’re lost.’” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me,” I thought to myself, “there ARE such things + after all!” + </p> + <p> + “It was a marvel,” continued Slyder, “that we kept him + alive at all. And, of course”—here the doctor paused to ring + the bell to order two Manhattan cocktails—“as soon as he + touched alcohol he was done.” + </p> + <p> + So that was the end of the valetudinarianism of Mr. Podge. + </p> + <p> + I have always considered that I killed him. + </p> + <p> + But anyway, he was a nuisance at the club. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 3.—The Amazing Travels of Mr. Yarner + </h2> + <p> + There was no fault to be found with Mr. Yarner till he made his trip + around the world. + </p> + <p> + It was that, I think, which disturbed his brain and unfitted him for + membership in the club. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he would say, as he sat ponderously down with the air + of a man opening an interesting conversation, “I was just figuring + it out that eleven months ago to-day I was in Pekin.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s odd,” I said, “I was just reckoning that + eleven days ago I was in Poughkeepsie.” + </p> + <p> + “They don’t call it Pekin over there,” he said. “It’s + sounded Pei-Chang.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” I said, “it’s the same way with + Poughkeepsie, they pronounce it P’Keepsie.” + </p> + <p> + “The Chinese,” he went on musingly, “are a strange + people.” + </p> + <p> + “So are the people in P’Keepsie,” I added, “awfully + strange.” + </p> + <p> + That kind of retort would sometimes stop him, but not always. He was + especially dangerous if he was found with a newspaper in his hand; because + that meant that some item of foreign intelligence had gone to his brain. + </p> + <p> + Not that I should have objected to Yarner describing his travels. Any man + who has bought a ticket round the world and paid for it, is entitled to + that. + </p> + <p> + But it was his manner of discussion that I considered unpermissible. + </p> + <p> + Last week, for example, in an unguarded moment I fell a victim. I had been + guilty of the imprudence—I forget in what connection—of + speaking of lions. I realized at once that I had done wrong—lions, + giraffes, elephants, rickshaws and natives of all brands, are topics to + avoid in talking with a traveller. + </p> + <p> + “Speaking of lions,” began Yarner. + </p> + <p> + He was right, of course; I HAD spoken of lions. + </p> + <p> + “—I shall never forget,” he went on (of course, I knew + he never would), “a rather bad scrape I got into in the up-country + of Uganda. Imagine yourself in a wild, rolling country covered here and + there with kwas along the sides of the nullahs.” + </p> + <p> + I did so. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” continued Yarner, “we were sitting in our tent + one hot night—too hot to sleep—when all at once we heard, not + ten feet in front of us, the most terrific roar that ever came from the + throat of a lion.” + </p> + <p> + As he said this Yarner paused to take a gulp of bubbling whiskey and soda + and looked at me so ferociously that I actually shivered. + </p> + <p> + Then quite suddenly his manner cooled down in the strangest way, and his + voice changed to a commonplace tone as he said,— + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I ought to explain that we hadn’t come up to the + up-country looking for big game. In fact, we had been down in the down + country with no idea of going higher than Mombasa. Indeed, our going even + to Mombasa itself was more or less an afterthought. Our first plan was to + strike across from Aden to Singapore. But our second plan was to strike + direct from Colombo to Karuchi—” + </p> + <p> + “And what was your THIRD plan?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Our third plan,” said Yarner deliberately, feeling that the + talk was now getting really interesting, “let me see, our third plan + was to cut across from Socotra to Tananarivo.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “However, all that was changed, and changed under the strangest + circumstances. We were sitting, Gallon and I, on the piazza of the Galle + Face Hotel in Colombo—you know the Galle Face?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not,” I said very positively. + </p> + <p> + “Very good. Well, I was sitting on the piazza watching a snake + charmer who was seated, with a boa, immediately in front of me. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Gallon was actually within two feet of the hideous reptile. + All of a sudden the beast whirled itself into a coil, its eyes fastened + with hideous malignity on poor Gallon, and with its head erect it emitted + the most awful hiss I have heard proceed from the mouth of any living + snake.” + </p> + <p> + Here Yarner paused and took a long, hissing drink of whiskey and soda: and + then as the malignity died out of his face— + </p> + <p> + “I should explain,” he went on, very quietly, “that + Gallon was not one of our original party. We had come down to Colombo from + Mongolia, going by the Pekin Hankow and the Nippon Yushen Keisha.” + </p> + <p> + “That, I suppose, is the best way?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And oddly enough but for the accident of Gallon joining us, we + should have gone by the Amoy, Cochin, Singapore route, which was our first + plan. In fact, but for Gallon we should hardly have got through China at + all. The Boxer insurrection had taken place only fourteen years before our + visit, so you can imagine the awful state of the country. + </p> + <p> + “Our meeting with Gallon was thus absolutely providential. Looking + back on it, I think it perhaps saved our lives. We were in Mongolia (this, + you understand, was before we reached China), and had spent the night at a + small Yak about four versts from Kharbin, when all of a sudden, just + outside the miserable hut that we were in, we heard a perfect fusillade of + shots followed immediately afterwards by one of the most blood-curdling + and terrifying screams I have ever imagined—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” I said, “and that was how you met Gallon. + Well, I must be off.” + </p> + <p> + And as I happened at that very moment to be rescued by an incoming friend, + who took but little interest in lions, and even less in Yarner, I have + still to learn why the lion howled so when it met Yarner. But surely the + lion had reason enough. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 4.—The Spiritual Outlook of Mr. Doomer + </h2> + <p> + One generally saw old Mr. Doomer looking gloomily out of the windows of + the library of the club. If not there, he was to be found staring sadly + into the embers of a dying fire in a deserted sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + His gloom always appeared out of place as he was one of the richest of the + members. + </p> + <p> + But the cause of it,—as I came to know,—was that he was + perpetually concerned with thinking about the next world. In fact he spent + his whole time brooding over it. + </p> + <p> + I discovered this accidentally by happening to speak to him of the recent + death of Podge, one of our fellow members. + </p> + <p> + “Very sad,” I said, “Podge’s death.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” returned Mr. Doomer, “very shocking. He was quite + unprepared to die.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” I said, “I’m awfully sorry to + hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite unprepared,” he answered. “I had reason to know + it as one of his executors,—everything is confusion,—nothing + signed,—no proper power of attorney,—codicils drawn up in + blank and never witnessed,—in short, sir, no sense apparently of the + nearness of his death and of his duty to be prepared. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” I said, “poor Podge didn’t realise + that he was going to die.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that’s just it,” resumed Mr. Doomer with something + like sternness, “a man OUGHT to realise it. Every man ought to feel + that at any moment,—one can’t tell when,—day or night,—he + may be called upon to meet his,”—Mr. Doomer paused here as if + seeking a phrase—“to meet his Financial Obligations, face to + face. At any time, sir, he may be hurried before the Judge,—or + rather his estate may be,—before the Judge of the probate court. It + is a solemn thought, sir. And yet when I come here I see about me men + laughing, talking, and playing billiards, as if there would never be a day + when their estate would pass into the hands of their administrators and an + account must be given of every cent.” + </p> + <p> + “But after all,” I said, trying to fall in with his mood, + “death and dissolution must come to all of us.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just it,” he said solemnly. “They’ve + dissolved the tobacco people, and they’ve dissolved the oil people + and you can’t tell whose turn it may be next.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Doomer was silent a moment and then resumed, speaking in a tone of + humility that was almost reverential. + </p> + <p> + “And yet there is a certain preparedness for death, a certain + fitness to die that we ought all to aim at. Any man can at least think + solemnly of the Inheritance Tax, and reflect whether by a contract inter + vivos drawn in blank he may not obtain redemption; any man if he thinks + death is near may at least divest himself of his purely speculative + securities and trust himself entirely to those gold bearing bonds of the + great industrial corporations whose value will not readily diminish or + pass away.” Mr. Doomer was speaking with something like religious + rapture. + </p> + <p> + “And yet what does one see?” he continued. “Men affected + with fatal illness and men stricken in years occupied still with idle talk + and amusements instead of reading the financial newspapers,—and at + the last carried away with scarcely time perhaps to send for their brokers + when it is already too late.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very sad,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Very,” he repeated, “and saddest of all, perhaps, is + the sense of the irrevocability of death and the changes that must come + after it.” + </p> + <p> + We were silent a moment. + </p> + <p> + “You think of these things a great deal, Mr. Doomer?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I do,” he answered. “It may be that it is something in + my temperament, I suppose one would call it a sort of spiritual + mindedness. But I think of it all constantly. Often as I stand here beside + the window and see these cars go by”—he indicated a passing + street car—“I cannot but realise that the time will come when + I am no longer a managing director and wonder whether they will keep on + trying to hold the dividend down by improving the rolling stock or will + declare profits to inflate the securities. These mysteries beyond the + grave fascinate me, sir. Death is a mysterious thing. Who for example will + take my seat on the Exchange? What will happen to my majority control of + the power company? I shudder to think of the changes that may happen after + death in the assessment of my real estate.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, “it is all beyond our control, isn’t + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite,” answered Mr. Doomer; “especially of late years + one feels that, all said and done, we are in the hands of a Higher Power, + and that the State Legislature is after all supreme. It gives one a sense + of smallness. It makes one feel that in these days of drastic legislation + with all one’s efforts the individual is lost and absorbed in the + controlling power of the state legislature. Consider the words that are + used in the text of the Income Tax Case, Folio Two, or the text of the + Trans-Missouri Freight Decision, and think of the revelation they contain.” + </p> + <p> + I left Mr. Doomer still standing beside the window, musing on the vanity + of life and on things, such as the future control of freight rates, that + lay beyond the grave. + </p> + <p> + I noticed as I left him how broken and aged he had come to look. It seemed + as if the chafings of the spirit were wearing the body that harboured it. + </p> + <p> + It was about a month later that I learned of Mr. Doomer’s death. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Slyder told me of it in the club one afternoon, over two cocktails in + the sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + “A beautiful bedside,” he said, “one of the most + edifying that I have ever attended. I knew that Doomer was failing and of + course the time came when I had to tell him. + </p> + <p> + “‘Mr. Doomer,’ I said, ‘all that I, all that any + medical can do for you is done; you are going to die. I have to warn you + that it is time for other ministrations than mine.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Very good,’ he said faintly but firmly, ‘send + for my broker.’ + </p> + <p> + “They sent out and fetched Jarvis,—you know him I think,—most + sympathetic man and yet most business-like—he does all the firm’s + business with the dying,—and we two sat beside Doomer holding him up + while he signed stock transfers and blank certificates. + </p> + <p> + “Once he paused and turned his eyes on Jarvis. ‘Read me from + the text of the State Inheritance Tax Statute,’ he said. Jarvis took + the book and read aloud very quietly and simply the part at the beginning—‘Whenever + and wheresoever it shall appear,’ down to the words, ‘shall be + no longer a subject of judgment or appeal but shall remain in perpetual + possession.’ + </p> + <p> + “Doomer listened with his eyes closed. The reading seemed to bring + him great comfort. When Jarvis ended he said with a sign, ‘That + covers it. I’ll put my faith in that.’ After that he was + silent a moment and then said: ‘I wish I had already crossed the + river. Oh, to have already crossed the river and be safe on the other + side.’ We knew what he meant. He had always planned to move over to + New Jersey. The inheritance tax is so much more liberal. + </p> + <p> + “Presently it was all done. + </p> + <p> + “‘There,’ I said, ‘it is finished now.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No,’ he answered, ‘there is still one thing. + Doctor, you’ve been very good to me. I should like to pay your + account now without it being a charge on the estate. I will pay it as’—he + paused for a moment and a fit of coughing seized him, but by an effort of + will he found the power to say—‘cash.’ + </p> + <p> + “I took the account from my pocket (I had it with me, fearing the + worst), and we laid his cheque-book before him on the bed. Jarvis thinking + him too faint to write tried to guide his hand as he filled in the sum. + But he shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “‘The room is getting dim,’ he said. ‘I can see + nothing but the figures.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Never mind,’ said Jarvis,—much moved, ‘that’s + enough.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Is it four hundred and thirty?’ he asked faintly. + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes,’ I said, and I could feel the tears rising in my + eyes, ‘and fifty cents.’ + </p> + <p> + “After signing the cheque his mind wandered for a moment and he fell + to talking, with his eyes closed, of the new federal banking law, and of + the prospect of the reserve associations being able to maintain an + adequate gold supply. + </p> + <p> + “Just at the last he rallied. + </p> + <p> + “‘I want,’ he said in quite a firm voice, ‘to do + something for both of you before I die.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, yes,’ we said. + </p> + <p> + “‘You are both interested, are you not,’ he murmured, in + City Traction?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, yes,’ we said. We knew of course that he was the + managing director. + </p> + <p> + “He looked at us faintly and tried to speak. + </p> + <p> + “‘Give him a cordial,’ said Jarvis. But he found his + voice. + </p> + <p> + “‘The value of that stock,’ he said, ‘is going to + take a sudden—’ + </p> + <p> + “His voice grew faint. + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, yes,’ I whispered, bending over him (there were + tears in both our eyes), ‘tell me is it going up, or going down?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It is going’—he murmured,—then his eyes + closed—‘it is going—’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, yes,’ I said, ‘which?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It is going’—he repeated feebly and then, quite + suddenly he fell back on the pillows and his soul passed. And we never + knew which way it was going. It was very sad. Later on, of course, after + he was dead, we knew, as everybody knew, that it went down.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 5.—The Reminiscences of Mr. Apricot + </h2> + <p> + “Rather a cold day, isn’t it?” I said as I entered the + club. + </p> + <p> + The man I addressed popped his head out from behind a newspaper and I saw + it was old Mr. Apricot. So I was sorry that I had spoken. + </p> + <p> + “Not so cold as the winter of 1866,” he said, beaming with + benevolence. + </p> + <p> + He had an egg-shaped head, bald, with some white hair fluffed about the + sides of it. He had a pink face with large blue eyes, behind his + spectacles, benevolent to the verge of imbecility. + </p> + <p> + “Was that a cold winter?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Bitter cold,” he said. “I have never told you, have I, + of my early experiences in life?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I have heard you mention them,” I murmured, but he + had already placed a detaining hand on my sleeve. “Sit down,” + he said. Then he continued: “Yes, it was a cold winter. I was going + to say that it was the coldest I have ever experienced, but that might be + an exaggeration. But it was certainly colder than any winter that YOU have + ever seen, or that we ever have now, or are likely to have. In fact the + winters NOW are a mere nothing,”—here Mr. Apricot looked + toward the club window where the driven snow was beating in eddies against + the panes,—“simply nothing. One doesn’t feel them at + all,”—here he turned his eyes towards the glowing fire that + flamed in the open fireplace. “But when I was a boy things were very + different. I have probably never mentioned to you, have I, the + circumstances of my early life?” + </p> + <p> + He had, many times. But he had turned upon me the full beam of his + benevolent spectacles and I was too weak to interrupt. + </p> + <p> + “My father,” went on Mr. Apricot, settling back in his chair + and speaking with a far-away look in his eyes, “had settled on the + banks of the Wabash River—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I know it well,” I interjected. + </p> + <p> + “Not as it was THEN,” said Mr. Apricot very quickly. “At + present as you, or any other thoughtless tourist sees it, it appears a + broad river pouring its vast flood in all directions. At the time I speak + of it was a mere stream scarcely more than a few feet in circumference. + The life we led there was one of rugged isolation and of sturdy + self-reliance and effort such as it is, of course, quite impossible for + YOU, or any other member of this club to understand,—I may give you + some idea of what I mean when I say that at that time there was no town + nearer to Pittsburgh than Chicago, or to St. Paul than Minneapolis—” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” I said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Apricot seemed not to notice the interruption. + </p> + <p> + “There was no place nearer to Springfield than St. Louis,” he + went on in a peculiar singsong voice, “and there was nothing nearer + to Denver than San Francisco, nor to New Orleans than Rio Janeiro—” + </p> + <p> + He seemed as if he would go on indefinitely. + </p> + <p> + “You were speaking of your father?” I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “My father,” said Mr. Apricot, “had settled on the + banks, both banks, of the Wabash. He was like so many other men of his + time, a disbanded soldier, a veteran—” + </p> + <p> + “Of the Mexican War or of the Civil War?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” answered Mr. Apricot, hardly heeding the question,—“of + the Mexican Civil War.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he under Lincoln?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “OVER Lincoln,” corrected Mr. Apricot gravely. And he added,—“It + is always strange to me the way in which the present generation regards + Abraham Lincoln. To us, of course, at the time of which I speak, Lincoln + was simply one of ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “In 1866?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “This was 1856,” said Mr. Apricot. “He came often to my + father’s cabin, sitting down with us to our humble meal of potatoes + and whiskey (we lived with a simplicity which of course you could not + possibly understand), and would spend the evening talking with my father + over the interpretation of the Constitution of the United States. We + children used to stand beside them listening open-mouthed beside the fire + in our plain leather night-gowns. I shall never forget how I was thrilled + when I first heard Lincoln lay down his famous theory of the territorial + jurisdiction of Congress as affected by the Supreme Court decision of + 1857. I was only nine years old at the time, but it thrilled me!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible!” I exclaimed, “how ever could you + understand it?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my friend,” said Mr. Apricot, almost sadly, “in + THOSE days the youth of the United States were EDUCATED in the real sense + of the word. We children followed the decisions of the Supreme Court with + breathless interest. Our books were few but they were GOOD. We had nothing + to read but the law reports, the agriculture reports, the weather + bulletins and the almanacs. But we read them carefully from cover to + cover. How few boys have the industry to do so now, and yet how many of + our greatest men were educated on practically nothing else except the law + reports and the almanacs. Franklin, Jefferson, Jackson, Johnson,”—Mr. + Apricot had relapsed into his sing-song voice, and his eye had a sort of + misty perplexity in it as he went on,—“Harrison, Thomson, + Peterson, Emerson—” + </p> + <p> + I thought it better to stop him. + </p> + <p> + “But you were speaking,” I said, “of the winter of + eighteen fifty-six.” + </p> + <p> + “Of eighteen forty-six,” corrected Mr. Apricot. “I shall + never forget it. How distinctly I remember,—I was only a boy then, + in fact a mere lad,—fighting my way to school. The snow lay in some + places as deep as ten feet”— Mr. Apricot paused—“and + in others twenty. But we made our way to school in spite of it. No boys of + to-day,—nor, for the matter of that, even men such as you,—would + think of attempting it. But we were keen, anxious to learn. Our school was + our delight. Our teacher was our friend. Our books were our companions. We + gladly trudged five miles to school every morning and seven miles back at + night, did chores till midnight, studied algebra by candlelight”—here + Mr. Apricot’s voice had fallen into its characteristic sing-song, + and his eyes were vacant—“rose before daylight, dressed by + lamplight, fed the hogs by lantern-light, fetched the cows by twilight—” + </p> + <p> + I thought it best to stop him. + </p> + <p> + “But you did eventually get off the farm, did you not?” I + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered, “my opportunity presently came to me + as it came in those days to any boy of industry and intelligence who + knocked at the door of fortune till it opened. I shall never forget how my + first chance in life came to me. A man, an entire stranger, struck no + doubt with the fact that I looked industrious and willing, offered me a + dollar to drive a load of tan bark to the nearest market—” + </p> + <p> + “Where was that?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Minneapolis, seven hundred miles. But I did it. I shall never + forget my feelings when I found myself in Minneapolis with one dollar in + my pocket and with the world all before me.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “First,” said Mr. Apricot, “I laid out seventy-five + cents for a suit of clothes (things were cheap in those days); for fifty + cents I bought an overcoat, for twenty-five I got a hat, for ten cents a + pair of boots, and with the rest of my money I took a room for a month + with a Swedish family, paid a month’s board with a German family, + arranged to have my washing done by an Irish family, and—” + </p> + <p> + “But surely, Mr. Apricot—” I began. + </p> + <p> + But at this point the young man who is generally in attendance on old Mr. + Apricot when he comes to the club, appeared on the scene. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” he said to me aside as Mr. Apricot was + gathering up his newspapers and his belongings, “that my uncle has + been rather boring you with his reminiscences.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” I said, “he’s been telling me all + about his early life in his father’s cabin on the Wabash—” + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid so,” said the young man. “Too bad. You see + he wasn’t really there at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Not there!” I said. + </p> + <p> + “No. He only fancies that he was. He was brought up in New York, and + has never been west of Philadelphia. In fact he has been very well to do + all his life. But he found that it counted against him: it hurt him in + politics. So he got into the way of talking about the Middle West and + early days there, and sometimes he forgets that he wasn’t there.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Mr. Apricot was ready. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, good-bye,” he said very cheerily,—“A + delightful chat. We must have another talk over old times soon. I must + tell you about my first trip over the Plains at the time when I was + surveying the line of the Union Pacific. You who travel nowadays in your + Pullman coaches and observation cars can have no idea—” + </p> + <p> + “Come along, uncle,” said the young man. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 6.—The Last Man out of Europe + </h2> + <p> + He came into the club and shook hands with me as if he hadn’t seen + me for a year. In reality I had seen him only eleven months ago, and hadn’t + thought of him since. + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Parkins?” I said in a guarded tone, for I saw at + once that there was something special in his manner. + </p> + <p> + “Have a cig?” he said as he sat down on the edge of an + arm-chair, dangling his little boot. + </p> + <p> + Any young man who calls a cigarette a “cig” I despise. “No, + thanks,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Try one,” he went on, “they’re Hungarian. They’re + some I managed to bring through with me out of the war zone.” + </p> + <p> + As he said “war zone,” his face twisted up into a sort of + scowl of self-importance. + </p> + <p> + I looked at Parkins more closely and I noticed that he had on some sort of + foolish little coat, short in the back, and the kind of bow-tie that they + wear in the Hungarian bands of the Sixth Avenue restaurants. + </p> + <p> + Then I knew what the trouble was. He was the last man out of Europe, that + is to say, the latest last man. There had been about fourteen others in + the club that same afternoon. In fact they were sitting all over it in + Italian suits and Viennese overcoats, striking German matches on the soles + of Dutch boots. These were the “war zone” men and they had + just got out “in the clothes they stood up in.” Naturally they + hated to change. + </p> + <p> + So I knew all that this young man, Parkins, was going to say, and all + about his adventures before he began. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “we were caught right in the war zone. + By Jove, I never want to go through again what I went through.” + </p> + <p> + With that, he sank back into the chair in the pose of a man musing in + silence over the recollection of days of horror. + </p> + <p> + I let him muse. In fact I determined to let him muse till he burst before + I would ask him what he had been through. I knew it, anyway. + </p> + <p> + Presently he decided to go on talking. + </p> + <p> + “We were at Izzl,” he said, “in the Carpathians, Loo + Jones and I. We’d just made a walking tour from Izzl to Fryzzl and + back again.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you come back?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Back where?” + </p> + <p> + “Back to Izzl,” I explained, “after you’d once got + to Fryzzl. It seems unnecessary, but, never mind, go on.” + </p> + <p> + “That was in July,” he continued. “There wasn’t a + sign of war, not a sign. We heard that Russia was beginning to mobilize,” + (at this word be blew a puff from his cigarette and then repeated “beginning + to mobilize”) “but we thought nothing of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Then we heard that Hungary was calling out the Honveds, but we + still thought nothing of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “And then we heard—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” I said, “you heard that Italy was calling + out the Trombonari, and that Germany was calling in all the + Landesgeschutzshaft.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “How did you know that?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “We heard it over here,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he went on, “next thing we knew we heard that + the Russians were at Fryzzl.” + </p> + <p> + “Great Heavens!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, at Fryzzl, not a hundred miles away. The very place we’d + been at only two weeks before.” + </p> + <p> + “Think of it!” I said. “If you’d been where you + were two weeks after you were there, or if the Russians had been a hundred + miles away from where they were, or even if Fryzzl had been a hundred + miles nearer to Izzl—” + </p> + <p> + We both shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “It was a close call,” said Parkins. “However, I said to + Loo Jones, ‘Loo, it’s time to clear out.’ And then, I + tell you, our trouble began. First of all we couldn’t get any money. + We went to the bank at Izzl and tried to get them to give us American + dollars for Hungarian paper money; we had nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + “And wouldn’t they?” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely refused. They said they hadn’t any.” + </p> + <p> + “By George,” I exclaimed. “Isn’t war dreadful? + What on earth did you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Took a chance,” said Parkins. “Went across to the + railway station to buy our tickets with the Hungarian money.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you get them?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” assented Parkins. “They said they’d sell us + tickets. But they questioned us mighty closely; asked where we wanted to + go to, what class we meant to travel by, how much luggage we had to + register and so on. I tell you the fellow looked at us mighty closely.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you in those clothes?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Parkins, “but I guess he suspected we weren’t + Hungarians. You see, we couldn’t either of us speak Hungarian. In + fact we spoke nothing but English.” + </p> + <p> + “That would give him a clue,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “However,” he went on, “he was civil enough in a way. We + asked when was the next train to the sea coast, and he said there wasn’t + any.” + </p> + <p> + “No trains?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Not to the coast. The man said the reason was because there wasn’t + any railway to the coast. But he offered to sell us tickets to Vienna. We + asked when the train would go and he said there wouldn’t be one for + two hours. So there we were waiting on that wretched little platform,—no + place to sit down, no shade, unless one went into the waiting room itself,—for + two mortal hours. And even then the train was an hour and a half late!” + </p> + <p> + “An hour and a half late!” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Yep!” said Parkins, “that’s what things were like + over there. So when we got on board the train we asked a man when it was + due to get to Vienna, and he said he hadn’t the faintest idea!” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” + </p> + <p> + “Not the faintest idea. He told us to ask the conductor or one of + the porters. No, sir, I’ll never forget that journey through to + Vienna,—nine mortal hours! Nothing to eat, not a bite, except just + in the middle of the day when they managed to hitch on a dining-car for a + while. And they warned everybody that the dining-car was only on for an + hour and a half. Commandeered, I guess after that,” added Parkins, + puffing his cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he continued, “we got to Vienna at last. I’ll + never forget the scene there, station full of people, trains coming and + going, men, even women, buying tickets, big piles of luggage being shoved + on trucks. It gave one a great idea of the reality of things.” + </p> + <p> + “It must have,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Poor old Loo Jones was getting pretty well used up with it all. + However, we determined to see it through somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do next?” + </p> + <p> + “Tried again to get money: couldn’t—they changed our + Hungarian paper into Italian gold, but they refused to give us American + money.” + </p> + <p> + “Hoarding it?” I hinted. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Parkins, “hoarding it all for the war. + Well anyhow we got on a train for Italy and there our troubles began all + over again:—train stopped at the frontier,—officials (fellows + in Italian uniforms) went all through it, opening hand baggage—” + </p> + <p> + “Not hand baggage!” I gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, even the hand baggage. Opened it all, or a lot of it + anyway, and scribbled chalk marks over it. Yes, and worse than that,—I + saw them take two fellows and sling them clear off the train,—they + slung them right out on to the platform.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven knows,” said Parkins,—“they said they had + no tickets. In war time you know, when they’re mobilizing, they won’t + let a soul ride on a train without a ticket.” + </p> + <p> + “Infernal tyranny,” I murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it? However, we got to Genoa at last, only to find that + not a single one of our trunks had come with us!” + </p> + <p> + “Confiscated?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Parkins, “the head baggage + man (he wears a uniform, you know, in Italy just like a soldier) said it + was because we’d forgotten to check them in Vienna. However there we + were waiting for twenty-four hours with nothing but our valises.” + </p> + <p> + “Right at the station?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, at a hotel. We got the trunks later. They telegraphed to Vienna + for them and managed to get them through somehow,—in a baggage car, + I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “And after that, I suppose, you had no more trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Trouble,” said Parkins, “I should say we had. Couldn’t + get a steamer! They said there was none sailing out of Genoa for New York + for three days! All cancelled, I guess, or else rigged up as cruisers.” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth did you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Stuck it out as best we could: stayed right there in the hotel. + Poor old Jones was pretty well collapsed! Couldn’t do anything but + sleep and eat, and sit on the piazza of the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “But you got your steamer at last?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he admitted, “we got it. But I never want to go + through another voyage like that again, no sir!” + </p> + <p> + “What was wrong with it?” I asked, “bad weather?” + </p> + <p> + “No, calm, but a peculiar calm, glassy, with little ripples on the + water,—uncanny sort of feeling.” + </p> + <p> + “What was wrong with the voyage?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just the feeling of it,—everything under strict rule you + know—no lights anywhere except just the electric lights,—smoking-room + closed tight at eleven o’clock,—decks all washed down every + night—officers up on the bridge all day looking out over the sea,—no, + sir, I want no more of it. Poor old Loo Jones, I guess he’s quite + used up: he can’t speak of it at all: just sits and broods, in fact + I doubt...” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Parkins’s conversation was interrupted by the entry + of two newcomers into the room. One of them had on a little Hungarian suit + like the one Parkins wore, and was talking loudly as they came in. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he was saying, “we were caught there fair and + square right in the war zone. We were at Izzl in the Carpathians, poor old + Parkins and I—” + </p> + <p> + We looked round. + </p> + <p> + It was Loo Jones, describing his escape from Europe. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 7.—The War Mania of Mr. Jinks and Mr. Blinks + </h2> + <p> + They were sitting face to face at a lunch table at the club so near to me + that I couldn’t avoid hearing what they said. In any case they are + both stout men with gurgling voices which carry. + </p> + <p> + “What Kitchener ought to do,”—Jinks was saying in a loud + voice. + </p> + <p> + So I knew at once that he had the prevailing hallucination. He thought he + was commanding armies in Europe. + </p> + <p> + After which I watched him show with three bits of bread and two olives and + a dessert knife the way in which the German army could be destroyed. + </p> + <p> + Blinks looked at Jinks’ diagram with a stern impassive face, + modelled on the Sunday supplement photogravures of Lord Kitchener. + </p> + <p> + “Your flank would be too much exposed,” he said, pointing to + Jinks’ bread. He spoke with the hard taciturnity of a Joffre. + </p> + <p> + “My reserves cover it,” said Jinks, moving two pepper pots to + the support of the bread. + </p> + <p> + “Mind you,” Jinks went on, “I don’t say Kitchener + WILL do this: I say this is what he OUGHT to do: it’s exactly the + tactics of Kuropatkin outside of Mukden and it’s precisely the same + turning movement that Grant used before Richmond.” + </p> + <p> + Blinks nodded gravely. Anybody who has seen the Grand Duke Nicholoevitch + quietly accepting the advice of General Ruski under heavy artillery fire, + will realize Blinks’ manner to a nicety. + </p> + <p> + And, oddly enough, neither of them, I am certain, has ever had any larger + ideas about the history of the Civil War than what can be got from reading + Uncle Tom’s Cabin and seeing Gillette play Secret Service. But this + is part of the mania. Jinks and Blinks had suddenly developed the + hallucination that they knew the history of all wars by a sort of + instinct. + </p> + <p> + They rose soon after that, dusted off their waistcoats with their napkins + and waddled heavily towards the door. I could hear them as they went + talking eagerly of the need of keeping the troops in hard training. They + were almost brutal in their severity. As they passed out of the door,—one + at a time to avoid crowding,—they were still talking about it. Jinks + was saying that our whole generation is overfed and soft. If he had his + way he would take every man in the United States up to forty- seven years + of age (Jinks is forty-eight) and train him to a shadow. Blinks went + further. He said they should be trained hard up to fifty. He is fifty-one. + </p> + <p> + After that I used to notice Jinks and Blinks always together in the club, + and always carrying on the European War. + </p> + <p> + I never knew which side they were on. They seemed to be on both. One day + they commanded huge armies of Russians, and there was one week when Blinks + and Jinks at the head of vast levies of Cossacks threatened to overrun the + whole of Western Europe. It was dreadful to watch them burning churches + and monasteries and to see Jinks throw whole convents full of white robed + nuns into the flames like so much waste paper. + </p> + <p> + For a time I feared they would obliterate civilization itself. Then + suddenly Blinks decided that Jinks’ Cossacks were no good, not + properly trained. He converted himself on the spot into a Prussian Field + Marshal, declared himself organised to a pitch of organisation of which + Jinks could form no idea, and swept Jinks’ army off the earth, + without using any men at all, by sheer organisation. + </p> + <p> + In this way they moved to and fro all winter over the map of Europe, + carrying death and destruction everywhere and revelling in it. + </p> + <p> + But I think I liked best the wild excitement of their naval battles. + </p> + <p> + Jinks generally fancied himself a submarine and Blinks acted the part of a + first-class battleship. Jinks would pop his periscope out of the water, + take a look at Blinks merely for the fraction of a second, and then, like + a flash, would dive under water again and start firing his torpedoes. He + explained that he carried six. + </p> + <p> + But he was never quick enough for Blinks. One glimpse of his periscope + miles and miles away was enough. Blinks landed him a contact shell in the + side, sunk him with all hands, and then lined his yards with men and + cheered. I have known Blinks sink Jinks at two miles, six miles—and + once—in the club billiard room just after the battle of the Falkland + Islands,—he got him fair and square at ten nautical miles. + </p> + <p> + Jinks of course claimed that he was not sunk. He had dived. He was two + hundred feet under water quietly smiling at Blinks through his periscope. + In fact the number of things that Jinks has learned to do through his + periscope passes imagination. + </p> + <p> + Whenever I see him looking across at Blinks with his eyes half closed and + with a baffling, quizzical expression in them, I know that he is looking + at him through his periscope. Now is the time for Blinks to watch out. If + he relaxes his vigilance for a moment he’ll be torpedoed as he sits, + and sent flying, whiskey and soda and all, through the roof of the club, + while Jinks dives into the basement. + </p> + <p> + Indeed it has come about of late, I don’t know just how, that Jinks + has more or less got command of the sea. A sort of tacit understanding has + been reached that Blinks, whichever army he happens at the moment to + command, is invincible on land. But Jinks, whether as a submarine or a + battleship, controls the sea. No doubt this grew up in the natural + evolution of their conversation. It makes things easier for both. Jinks + even asks Blinks how many men there are in an army division, and what a + sotnia of Cossacks is and what the Army Service Corps means. And Jinks in + return has become a recognized expert in torpedoes and has taken to + wearing a blue serge suit and referring to Lord Beresford as Charley. + </p> + <p> + But what I noticed chiefly about the war mania of Jinks and Blinks was + their splendid indifference to slaughter. They had gone into the war with + a grim resolution to fight it out to a finish. If Blinks thought to + terrify Jinks by threatening to burn London, he little knew his man. + “All right,” said Jinks, taking a fresh light for his cigar, + “burn it! By doing so, you destroy, let us say, two million of my + women and children? Very good. Am I injured by that? No. You merely + stimulate me to recruiting.” + </p> + <p> + There was something awful in the grimness of the struggle as carried on by + Blinks and Jinks. + </p> + <p> + The rights of neutrals and non-combatants, Red Cross nurses, and + regimental clergymen they laughed to scorn. As for moving-picture men and + newspaper correspondents, Jinks and Blinks hanged them on every tree in + Belgium and Poland. + </p> + <p> + With combatants in this frame of mind the war I suppose might have lasted + forever. + </p> + <p> + But it came to an end accidentally,—fortuitously, as all great wars + are apt to. And by accident also, I happened to see the end of it. + </p> + <p> + It was late one evening. Jinks and Blinks were coming down the steps of + the club, and as they came they were speaking with some vehemence on their + favourite topic. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you,” Jinks was saying, “war is a great thing. + We needed it, Blinks. We were all getting too soft, too scared of + suffering and pain. We wilt at a bayonet charge, we shudder at the thought + of wounds. Bah!” he continued, “what does it matter if a few + hundred thousands of human beings are cut to pieces. We need to get back + again to the old Viking standard, the old pagan ideas of suffering—” + </p> + <p> + And as he spoke he got it. + </p> + <p> + The steps of the club were slippery with the evening’s rain,—not + so slippery as the frozen lakes of East Prussia or the hills where Jinks + and Blinks had been campaigning all winter, but slippery enough for a + stout man whose nation has neglected his training. As Jinks waved his + stick in the air to illustrate the glory of a bayonet charge, he slipped + and fell sideways on the stone steps. His shin bone smacked against the + edge of the stone in a way that was pretty well up to the old Viking + standard of such things. Blinks with the shock of the collision fell also,—backwards + on the top step, his head striking first. He lay, to all appearance, as + dead as the most insignificant casualty in Servia. + </p> + <p> + I watched the waiters carrying them into the club, with that new field + ambulance attitude towards pain which is getting so popular. They had + evidently acquired precisely the old pagan attitude that Blinks and Jinks + desired. + </p> + <p> + And the evening after that I saw Blinks and Jinks, both more or less + bandaged, sitting in a corner of the club beneath a rubber tree, making + peace. + </p> + <p> + Jinks was moving out of Montenegro and Blinks was foregoing all claims to + Polish Prussia; Jinks was offering Alsace-Lorraine to Blinks, and Blinks + in a fit of chivalrous enthusiasm was refusing to take it. They were + disbanding troops, blowing up fortresses, sinking their warships and + offering indemnities which they both refused to take. Then as they talked, + Jinks leaned forward and said something to Blinks in a low voice,—a + final proposal of terms evidently. + </p> + <p> + Blinks nodded, and Jinks turned and beckoned to a waiter, with the words,— + </p> + <p> + “One Scotch whiskey and soda, and one stein of Wurtemburger Bier—” + </p> + <p> + And when I heard this, I knew that the war was over. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 8.—The Ground Floor + </h2> + <p> + I hadn’t seen Ellesworth since our college days, twenty years + before, at the time when he used to borrow two dollars and a half from the + professor of Public Finance to tide him over the week end. + </p> + <p> + Then quite suddenly he turned up at the club one day and had afternoon tea + with me. + </p> + <p> + His big clean shaven face had lost nothing of its impressiveness, and his + spectacles had the same glittering magnetism as in the days when he used + to get the college bursar to accept his note of hand for his fees. + </p> + <p> + And he was still talking European politics just as he used to in the days + of our earlier acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + “Mark my words,” he said across the little tea-table, with one + of the most piercing glances I have ever seen, “the whole Balkan + situation was only a beginning. We are on the eve of a great pan-Slavonic + upheaval.” And then he added, in a very quiet, casual tone: “By + the way, could you let me have twenty-five dollars till to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “A pan-Slavonic movement!” I ejaculated. “Do you really + think it possible? No, I couldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “You must remember,” Ellesworth went on, “Russia means + to reach out and take all she can get;” and he added, “how + about fifteen till Friday?” + </p> + <p> + “She may reach for it,” I said, “but I doubt if she’ll + get anything. I’m sorry. I haven’t got it.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re forgetting the Bulgarian element,” he continued, + his animation just as eager as before. “The Slavs never forget what + they owe to one another.” + </p> + <p> + Here Ellesworth drank a sip of tea and then said quietly, “Could you + make it ten till Saturday at twelve?” + </p> + <p> + I looked at him more closely. I noticed now his frayed cuffs and the + dinginess of his over-brushed clothes. Not even the magnetism of his + spectacles could conceal it. Perhaps I had been forgetting something, + whether the Bulgarian element or not. + </p> + <p> + I compromised at ten dollars till Saturday. + </p> + <p> + “The Slav,” said Ellesworth, as he pocketed the money, “is + peculiar. He never forgets.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing now?” I asked him. “Are you still in + insurance?” I had a vague recollection of him as employed in that + business. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered. “I gave it up. I didn’t like + the outlook. It was too narrow. The atmosphere cramped me. I want,” + he said, “a bigger horizon.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” I answered quietly. I had known men before who had + lost their jobs. It is generally the cramping of the atmosphere that does + it. Some of them can use up a tremendous lot of horizon. + </p> + <p> + “At present,” Ellesworth went on, “I am in finance. I’m + promoting companies.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” I said. I had seen companies promoted before. + </p> + <p> + “Just now,” continued Ellesworth, “I’m working on + a thing that I think will be rather a big thing. I shouldn’t want it + talked about outside, but it’s a matter of taking hold of the cod + fisheries of the Grand Banks,—practically amalgamating them—and + perhaps combining with them the entire herring output, and the whole of + the sardine catch of the Mediterranean. If it goes through,” he + added, “I shall be in a position to let you in on the ground floor.” + </p> + <p> + I knew the ground floor of old. I have already many friends sitting on it; + and others who have fallen through it into the basement. + </p> + <p> + I said, “thank you,” and he left me. + </p> + <p> + “That was Ellesworth, wasn’t it?” said a friend of mine + who was near me. “Poor devil. I knew him slightly,—always full + of some new and wild idea of making money. He was talking to me the other + day of the possibility of cornering all the huckleberry crop and making + refined sugar. Isn’t it amazing what fool ideas fellows like him are + always putting up to business men?” + </p> + <p> + We both laughed. + </p> + <p> + After that I didn’t see Ellesworth for some weeks. + </p> + <p> + Then I met him in the club again. How he paid his fees there I do not + know. + </p> + <p> + This time he was seated among a litter of foreign newspapers with a cup of + tea and a ten-cent package of cigarettes beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Have one of these cigarettes,” he said. “I get them + specially. They are milder than what we have in the club here.” + </p> + <p> + They certainly were. + </p> + <p> + “Note what I say,” Ellesworth went on. “The French + Republic is going to gain from now on a stability that it never had.” + He seemed greatly excited about it. But his voice changed to a quiet tone + as he added, “Could you, without inconvenience, let me have five + dollars?” + </p> + <p> + So I knew that the cod-fish and the sardines were still unamalgamated. + </p> + <p> + “What about the fisheries thing?” I asked. “Did it go + through?” + </p> + <p> + “The fisheries? No, I gave it up. I refused to go forward with it. + The New York people concerned were too shy, too timid to tackle it. I + finally had to put it to them very straight that they must either stop + shilly-shallying and declare themselves, or the whole business was off.” + </p> + <p> + “Did they declare themselves?” I questioned. + </p> + <p> + “They did,” said Ellesworth, “but I don’t regret + it. I’m working now on a much bigger thing,—something with + greater possibilities in it. When the right moment comes I’ll let + you in on the ground floor.” + </p> + <p> + I thanked him and we parted. + </p> + <p> + The next time I saw Ellesworth he told me at once that he regarded Albania + as unable to stand by itself. So I gave him five dollars on the spot and + left him. + </p> + <p> + A few days after that he called me up on the telephone to tell me that the + whole of Asia Minor would have to be redistributed. The redistribution + cost me five dollars more. + </p> + <p> + Then I met him on the street, and he said that Persia was disintegrating, + and took from me a dollar and a half. + </p> + <p> + When I passed him next in the street he was very busy amalgamating Chinese + tramways. It appeared that there was a ground floor in China, but I kept + off it. + </p> + <p> + Each time I saw Ellesworth he looked a little shabbier than the last. Then + one day he called me up on the telephone, and made an appointment. + </p> + <p> + His manner when I joined him was full of importance. + </p> + <p> + “I want you at once,” he said in a commanding tone, “to + write me your cheque for a hundred dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am now able,” said Ellesworth, “to put you in on the + ground floor of one of the biggest things in years.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” I said, “the ground floor is no place for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t misunderstand me,” said Ellesworth. “This + is a big thing. It’s an idea I’ve been working on for some + time,—making refined sugar from the huckleberry crop. It’s a + certainty. I can get you shares now at five dollars. They’ll go to + five hundred when we put them on the market,—and I can run you in + for a block of stock for promotion services as well. All you have to do is + to give me right now a hundred dollars,—cash or your cheque,—and + I can arrange the whole thing for you.” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Ellesworth,” I said, “I hope you won’t + mind if I give you a little bit of good advice. Why not drop all this idea + of quick money? There’s nothing in it. The business world has grown + too shrewd for it. Take an ordinary decent job and stick to it. Let me use + my influence,” I added, “to try and get you into something + with a steady salary, and with your brains you’re bound to get on in + time.” + </p> + <p> + Ellesworth looked pained. A “steady job” sounded to him like a + “ground floor” to me. + </p> + <p> + After that I saw nothing of him for weeks. But I didn’t forget him. + I looked about and secured for him a job as a canvassing agent for a book + firm at a salary of five dollars a week, and a commission of one-tenth of + one per cent. + </p> + <p> + I was waiting to tell him of his good luck, when I chanced to see him at + the club again. + </p> + <p> + But he looked transformed. + </p> + <p> + He had on a long frock coat that reached nearly to his knees. He was + leading a little procession of very heavy men in morning coats, upstairs + towards the private luncheon rooms. They moved like a funeral, puffing as + they went. I had seen company directors before and I knew what they were + at sight. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a small club and rather inconvenient,” Ellesworth + was saying, “and the horizon of some of its members rather narrow,” + here he nodded to me as he passed,—“but I can give you a + fairly decent lunch.” + </p> + <p> + I watched them as they disappeared upstairs. + </p> + <p> + “That’s Ellesworth, isn’t it?” said a man near me. + It was the same man who had asked about him before. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Giving a lunch to his directors, I suppose,” said my friend; + “lucky dog.” + </p> + <p> + “His directors?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, hadn’t you heard? He’s just cleaned up half a + million or more,—some new scheme for making refined sugar out of + huckleberries. Isn’t it amazing what shrewd ideas these big business + men get hold of? They say they’re unloading the stock at five + hundred dollars. It only cost them about five to organize. If only one + could get on to one of these things early enough, eh?” + </p> + <p> + I assented sadly. + </p> + <p> + And the next time I am offered a chance on the ground floor I am going to + take it, even if it’s only the barley floor of a brewery. + </p> + <p> + It appears that there is such a place after all. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 9.—The Hallucination of Mr. Butt + </h2> + <p> + It is the hallucination of Mr. Butt’s life that he lives to do good. + At whatever cost of time or trouble to himself, he does it. Whether people + appear to desire it or not, he insists on helping them along. + </p> + <p> + His time, his company and his advice are at the service not only of those + who seek them but of those who, in the mere appearances of things, are not + asking for them. + </p> + <p> + You may see the beaming face of Mr. Butt appear at the door of all those + of his friends who are stricken with the minor troubles of life. Whenever + Mr. Butt learns that any of his friends are moving house, buying + furniture, selling furniture, looking for a maid, dismissing a maid, + seeking a chauffeur, suing a plumber or buying a piano,—he is at + their side in a moment. + </p> + <p> + So when I met him one night in the cloak room of the club putting on his + raincoat and his galoshes with a peculiar beaming look on his face, I knew + that he was up to some sort of benevolence. + </p> + <p> + “Come upstairs,” I said, “and play billiards.” I + saw from his general appearance that it was a perfectly safe offer. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” said Mr. Butt, “I only wish I could. I + wish I had the time. I am sure it would cheer you up immensely if I could. + But I’m just going out.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you off to?” I asked, for I knew he wanted me to + say it. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going out to see the Everleigh-Joneses,—you know + them? no?—just come to the city, you know, moving into their new + house, out on Seldom Avenue.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” I said, “that’s away out in the suburbs, is + it not, a mile or so beyond the car tracks?” + </p> + <p> + “Something like that,” answered Mr. Butt. + </p> + <p> + “And it’s going on for ten o’clock and it’s + starting to rain—” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh, pooh,” said Mr. Butt, cheerfully, adjusting his + galoshes. “I never mind the rain,—does one good. As to their + house. I’ve not been there yet but I can easily find it. I’ve + a very simple system for finding a house at night by merely knocking at + the doors in the neighborhood till I get it.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it rather late to go there?” I protested. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” said Mr. Butt warmly, “I don’t + mind that a bit. The way I look at it is, here are these two young people, + only married a few weeks, just moving into their new house, everything + probably upside down, no one there but themselves, no one to cheer them + up,”—he was wriggling into his raincoat as he spoke and + working himself into a frenzy of benevolence,—“good gracious, + I only learned at dinner time that they had come to town, or I’d + have been out there days ago,—days ago—” + </p> + <p> + And with that Mr. Butt went bursting forth into the rain, his face shining + with good will under the street lamps. + </p> + <p> + The next day I saw him again at the club at lunch time. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I asked, “did you find the Joneses?” + </p> + <p> + “I did,” said Mr. Butt, “and by George I was glad that I’d + gone—quite a lot of trouble to find the house (though I didn’t + mind that; I expected it)—had to knock at twenty houses at least to + get it,—very dark and wet out there, —no street lights yet,—however + I simply pounded at the doors until some one showed a light—at every + house I called out the same things, ‘Do you know where the Everleigh + Joneses live?’ They didn’t. ‘All right,’ I said, + ‘go back to bed. Don’t bother to come down.’ + </p> + <p> + “But I got to the right spot at last. I found the house all dark. + Jones put his head out of an upper window. Hullo,’ I called out; + ‘it’s Butt.’ ‘I’m awfully sorry,’ he + said, ‘we’ve gone to bed.’ ‘My dear boy,’ I + called back, ‘don’t apologize at all. Throw me down the key + and I’ll wait while you dress. I don’t mind a bit.’ + </p> + <p> + “Just think of it,” continued Mr. Butt, “those two poor + souls going to bed at half past ten, through sheer dullness! By George, I + was glad I’d come. ‘Now then,’ I said to myself, ‘let’s + cheer them up a little, let’s make things a little brighter here.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, down they came and we sat there on furniture cases and things + and had a chat. Mrs. Jones wanted to make me some coffee. ‘My dear + girl,’ I said (I knew them both when they were children) ‘I + absolutely refuse. Let ME make it.’ They protested. I insisted. I + went at it,—kitchen all upset—had to open at least twenty tins + to get the coffee. However, I made it at last. ‘Now,’ I said, + ‘drink it.’ They said they had some an hour or so ago. ‘Nonsense,’ + I said, ‘drink it.’ Well, we sat and chatted away till + midnight. They were dull at first and I had to do all the talking. But I + set myself to it. I can talk, you know, when I try. Presently about + midnight they seemed to brighten up a little. Jones looked at his watch. + ‘By Jove,’ he said, in an animated way, ‘it’s + after midnight.’ I think he was pleased at the way the evening was + going; after that we chatted away more comfortably. Every little while + Jones would say, ‘By Jove, it’s half past twelve,’ or + ‘it’s one o’clock,’ and so on. + </p> + <p> + “I took care, of course, not to stay too late. But when I left them + I promised that I’d come back to-day to help straighten things up. + They protested, but I insisted.” + </p> + <p> + That same day Mr. Butt went out to the suburbs and put the Joneses’ + furniture to rights. + </p> + <p> + “I worked all afternoon,” he told me afterwards,—“hard + at it with my coat off—got the pictures up first—they’d + been trying to put them up by themselves in the morning. I had to take + down every one of them—not a single one right,—‘Down + they come,’ I said, and went at it with a will.” + </p> + <p> + A few days later Mr. Butt gave me a further report. “Yes,” he + said, “the furniture is all unpacked and straightened out but I don’t + like it. There’s a lot of it I don’t quite like. I half feel + like advising Jones to sell it and get some more. But I don’t want + to do that till I’m quite certain about it.” + </p> + <p> + After that Mr. Butt seemed much occupied and I didn’t see him at the + club for some time. + </p> + <p> + “How about the Everleigh-Joneses?” I asked. “Are they + comfortable in their new house?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Butt shook his head. “It won’t do,” he said. “I + was afraid of it from the first. I’m moving Jones in nearer to town. + I’ve been out all morning looking for an apartment; when I get the + right one I shall move him. I like an apartment far better than a house.” + </p> + <p> + So the Joneses in due course of time were moved. After that Mr. Butt was + very busy selecting a piano, and advising them on wall paper and woodwork. + </p> + <p> + They were hardly settled in their new home when fresh trouble came to + them. + </p> + <p> + “Have you heard about Everleigh-Jones?” said Mr. Butt one day + with an anxious face. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “He’s ill—some sort of fever—poor chap—been + ill three days, and they never told me or sent for me—just like + their grit—meant to fight it out alone. I’m going out there at + once.” + </p> + <p> + From day to day I had reports from Mr. Butt of the progress of Jones’s + illness. + </p> + <p> + “I sit with him every day,” he said. “Poor chap,—he + was very bad yesterday for a while,—mind wandered—quite + delirious—I could hear him from the next room—seemed to think + some one was hunting him—‘Is that damn old fool gone,’ I + heard him say. + </p> + <p> + “I went in and soothed him. ‘There is no one here, my dear + boy,’ I said, ‘no one, only Butt.’ He turned over and + groaned. Mrs. Jones begged me to leave him. ‘You look quite used up,’ + she said. ‘Go out into the open air.’ ‘My dear Mrs. + Jones,’ I said, ‘what DOES it matter about me?’” + </p> + <p> + Eventually, thanks no doubt to Mr. Butt’s assiduous care, + Everleigh-Jones got well. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Butt to me a few weeks later, “Jones is + all right again now, but his illness has been a long hard pull. I haven’t + had an evening to myself since it began. But I’m paid, sir, now, + more than paid for anything I’ve done,—the gratitude of those + two people—it’s unbelievable —you ought to see it. Why + do you know that dear little woman is so worried for fear that my strength + has been overtaxed that she wants me to take a complete rest and go on a + long trip somewhere—suggested first that I should go south. ‘My + dear Mrs. Jones,’ I said laughing, ‘that’s the ONE place + I will not go. Heat is the one thing I CAN’T stand.’ She wasn’t + nonplussed for a moment. ‘Then go north,’ she said. ‘Go + up to Canada, or better still go to Labrador,’—and in a minute + that kind little woman was hunting up railway maps to see how far north I + could get by rail. ‘After that,’ she said, ‘you can go + on snowshoes.’ She’s found that there’s a steamer to + Ungava every spring and she wants me to run up there on one steamer and + come back on the next.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be very gratifying,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is, it is,” said Mr. Butt warmly. “It’s + well worth anything I do. It more than repays me. I’m alone in the + world and my friends are all I have. I can’t tell you how it goes to + my heart when I think of all my friends, here in the club and in the town, + always glad to see me, always protesting against my little kindnesses and + yet never quite satisfied about anything unless they can get my advice and + hear what I have to say. + </p> + <p> + “Take Jones for instance,” he continued—“do you + know, really now as a fact,—the hall porter assures me of it,—every + time Everleigh-Jones enters the club here the first thing he does is to + sing out, ‘Is Mr. Butt in the club?’ It warms me to think of + it.” Mr. Butt paused, one would have said there were tears in his + eyes. But if so the kindly beam of his spectacles shone through them like + the sun through April rain. He left me and passed into the cloak room. + </p> + <p> + He had just left the hall when a stranger entered, a narrow, meek man with + a hunted face. He came in with a furtive step and looked about him + apprehensively. + </p> + <p> + “Is Mr. Butt in the club?” he whispered to the hall porter. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, he’s just gone into the cloak room, sir, shall I—” + </p> + <p> + But the man had turned and made a dive for the front door and had + vanished. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a new member, sir, Mr. Everleigh-Jones,” said + the hall porter. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV-RAM SPUDD THE NEW WORLD SINGER. + </h2> + <h3> + Is He Divinely Inspired? Or Is He Not? At Any Rate We Discovered Him. + </h3> + <p> + [Footnote: Mr. Spudd was discovered by the author for the New York Life. + He is already recognized as superior to Tennyson and second only, as a + writer of imagination, to the Sultan of Turkey.] + </p> + <p> + The discovery of a new poet is always a joy to the cultivated world. It is + therefore with the greatest pleasure that we are able to announce that we + ourselves, acting quite independently and without aid from any of the + English reviews of the day, have discovered one. In the person of Mr. Ram + Spudd, of whose work we give specimens below, we feel that we reveal to + our readers a genius of the first order. Unlike one of the most recently + discovered English poets who is a Bengalee, and another who is a + full-blooded Yak, Mr. Spudd is, we believe, a Navajo Indian. We believe + this from the character of his verse. Mr. Spudd himself we have not seen. + But when he forwarded his poems to our office and offered with + characteristic modesty to sell us his entire works for seventy-five cents, + we felt in closing with his offer that we were dealing not only with a + poet, but with one of nature’s gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Spudd, we understand, has had no education. Other newly discovered + poets have had, apparently, some. Mr. Spudd has had, evidently, none. We + lay stress on this point. Without it we claim it is impossible to + understand his work. + </p> + <p> + What we particularly like about Ram Spudd, and we do not say this because + we discovered him but because we believe it and must say it, is that he + belongs not to one school but to all of them. As a nature poet we doubt + very much if he has his equal; as a psychologist, we are sure he has not. + As a clear lucid thinker he is undoubtedly in the first rank; while as a + mystic he is a long way in front of it. The specimens of Mr. Spudd’s + verse which we append herewith were selected, we are happy to assure our + readers, purely at random from his work. We first blindfolded ourselves + and then, standing with our feet in warm water and having one hand tied + behind our back, we groped among the papers on our desk before us and + selected for our purpose whatever specimens first came to hand. + </p> + <p> + As we have said, or did we say it, it is perhaps as a nature poet that Ram + Spudd excels. Others of our modern school have carried the observation of + natural objects to a high degree of very nice precision, but with Mr. + Spudd the observation of nature becomes an almost scientific process. + Nothing escapes him. The green of the grass he detects as in an instant. + The sky is no sooner blue than he remarks it with unerring certainty. + Every bird note, every bee call, is familiar to his trained ear. Perhaps + we cannot do better than quote the opening lines of a singularly beautiful + sample of Ram Spudd’s genius which seems to us the last word in + nature poetry. It is called, with characteristic daintiness— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SPRING THAW IN THE + AHUNTSIC WOODS, NEAR PASPEBIAC, + PASSAMOQUODDY COUNTY +</pre> + <p> + (We would like to say that, to our ears at least, there is a music in this + title like the sound of falling water, or of chopped ice. But we must not + interrupt ourselves. We now begin. Listen.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The thermometer is standing this morning at thirty- + three decimal one. + As a consequence it is freezing in the shade, but + it is thawing in the sun. + There is a certain amount of snow on the ground, + but of course not too much. + The air is what you would call humid, but not + disagreeable to the touch. + Where I am standing I find myself practically + surrounded by trees, + It is simply astonishing the number of the different + varieties one sees. + I’ve grown so wise I can tell each different tree + by seeing it glisten, + But if that test fails I simply put my ear to the + tree and listen, + And, well, I suppose it is only a silly fancy of + mine perhaps, + But do you know I’m getting to tell different trees + by the sound of their saps. + After I have noticed all the trees, and named those + I know in words, + I stand quite still and look all round to see if + there are any birds, + And yesterday, close where I was standing, sitting + in some brush on the snow, + I saw what I was practically absolutely certain was + an early crow. + I sneaked up ever so close and was nearly beside + it, when say! + It turned and took one look at me, and flew away. +</pre> + <p> + But we should not wish our readers to think that Ram Spudd is always and + only the contemplative poet of the softer aspects of nature. Oh, by no + means. There are times when waves of passion sweep over him in such + prodigious volume as to roll him to and fro like a pebble in the surf. + Gusts of emotion blow over him with such violence as to hurl him pro and + con with inconceivable fury. In such moods, if it were not for the relief + offered by writing verse we really do not know what would happen to him. + His verse written under the impulse of such emotions marks him as one of + the greatest masters of passion, wild and yet restrained, objectionable + and yet printable, that have appeared on this side of the Atlantic. We + append herewith a portion, or half portion, of his little gem entitled + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + YOU + + You! + With your warm, full, rich, red, ripe lips, + And your beautifully manicured finger-tips! + You! + With your heaving, panting, rapidly expanding and + contracting chest, + Lying against my perfectly ordinary shirt-front and + dinner-jacket vest. + It is too much + Your touch + As such. + It and + Your hand, + Can you not understand? + Last night an ostrich feather from your fragrant hair + Unnoticed fell. + I guard it + Well. + Yestere’en + From your tiara I have slid, + Unseen, + A single diamond, + And I keep it + Hid. + Last night you left inside the vestibule upon the sill + A quarter dollar, + And I have it + Still. +</pre> + <p> + But even those who know Ram Spudd as the poet of nature or of passion + still only know a part of his genius. Some of his highest flights rise + from an entirely different inspiration, and deal with the public affairs + of the nation. They are in every sense comparable to the best work of the + poets laureate of England dealing with similar themes. As soon as we had + seen Ram Spudd’s work of this kind, we cried, that is we said to our + stenographer, “What a pity that in this republic we have no + laureateship. Here is a man who might truly fill it.” Of the poem of + this kind we should wish to quote, if our limits of space did not prevent + it, Mr. Spudd’s exquisite + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ODE ON THE REDUCTION OF THE + UNITED STATES TARIFF + + It is a matter of the very gravest concern to at least + nine-tenths of the business interests in the + United States, + Whether an all-round reduction of the present tariff + either on an ad valorem or a specific basis + Could be effected without a serious disturbance of the + general industrial situation of the country. +</pre> + <p> + But, no, we must not quote any more. No we really mustn’t. Yet we + cannot refrain from inserting a reference to the latest of these laureate + poems of Ram Spudd. It appears to us to be a matchless specimen of its + class, and to settle once and for all the vexed question (though we + ourselves never vexed it) of whether true poetry can deal with national + occasions as they arise. It is entitled: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE BANKER’S EUTHANASIA: OR, + THE FEDERAL RESERVE CURRENCY + ACT OF 1914, +</pre> + <p> + and, though we do not propose to reproduce it here, our distinct feeling + is that it will take its rank beside Mr. Spudd’s Elegy on the + Interstate Commerce Act, and his Thoughts on the Proposal of a Uniform + Pure Food Law. + </p> + <p> + But our space does not allow us to present Ram Spudd in what is after all + his greatest aspect, that of a profound psychologist, a questioner of the + very meaning of life itself. His poem Death and Gloom, from which we must + refrain from quoting at large, contains such striking passages as the + following: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Why do I breathe, or do I? + What am I for, and whither do I go? + What skills it if I live, and if I die, + What boots it? +</pre> + <p> + Any one knowing Ram Spudd as we do will realize that these questions, + especially the last, are practically unanswerable. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V.—ARISTOCRATIC ANECDOTES OR LITTLE STORIES OF GREAT + </h2> + <h3> + PEOPLE + </h3> + <p> + I have been much struck lately by the many excellent little anecdotes of + celebrated people that have appeared in recent memoirs and found their way + thence into the columns of the daily press. There is something about them + so deliciously pointed, their humour is so exquisite, that I think we + ought to have more of them. To this end I am trying to circulate on my own + account a few anecdotes which seem somehow to have been overlooked. + </p> + <p> + Here, for example, is an excellent thing which comes, if I remember + rightly, from the vivacious Memoir of Lady Ranelagh de Chit Chat. + </p> + <h3> + ANECDOTE OF THE DUKE OF STRATHYTHAN + </h3> + <p> + Lady Ranelagh writes: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The Duke of Strathythan (I am writing of course of the + seventeenth Duke, not of his present Grace) was, as + everybody knows, famous for his hospitality. It was not + perhaps generally known that the Duke was as witty as he + was hospitable. I recall a most amusing incident that + happened the last time but two that I was staying at + Strathythan Towers. As we sat down to lunch (we were a + very small and intimate party, there being only forty-three + of us) the Duke, who was at the head of the table, looked + up from the roast of beef that he was carving, and running + his eye about the guests was heard to murmur, ‘I’m afraid + there isn’t enough beef to go round.’ + + “There was nothing to do, of course, but to roar with + laughter and the incident passed off with perfect savoir + faire.” + </pre> + <p> + Here is another story which I think has not had all the publicity that it + ought to. I found it in the book “Shot, Shell and Shrapnell or Sixty + Years as a War Correspondent,” recently written by Mr. Maxim Catling + whose exploits are familiar to all readers. + </p> + <h3> + ANECDOTE OF LORD KITCHENER + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I was standing,” writes Mr. Maxim, “immediately between + Lord Kitchener and Lord Wolsley (with Lord Roberts a + little to the rear of us), and we were laughing and + chatting as we always did when the enemy were about to + open fire on us. Suddenly we found ourselves the object + of the most terrific hail of bullets. For a few moments + the air was black with them. As they went past I could + not refrain from exchanging a quiet smile with Lord + Kitchener, and another with Lord Wolsley. Indeed I have + never, except perhaps on twenty or thirty occasions, + found myself exposed to such an awful fusillade. + + “Kitchener, who habitually uses an eye-glass (among his + friends), watched the bullets go singing by, and then, + with that inimitable sangfroid which he reserves for his + intimates, said, + + “‘I’m afraid if we stay here we may get hit.’ + + “We all moved away laughing heartily. + + “To add to the joke, Lord Roberts’ aide-de-camp was shot + in the pit of the stomach as we went.” + </pre> + <p> + The next anecdote which I reproduce may be already too well known to my + readers. The career of Baron Snorch filled so large a page in the history + of European diplomacy that the publication of his recent memoirs was + awaited with profound interest by half the chancelleries of Europe. (Even + the other half were half excited over them.) The tangled skein in which + the politics of Europe are enveloped was perhaps never better illustrated + than in this fascinating volume. Even at the risk of repeating what is + already familiar, I offer the following for what it is worth—or even + less. + </p> + <h3> + NEW LIGHT ON THE LIFE OF CAVOUR + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I have always regarded Count Cavour,” writes the Baron, + “as one of the most impenetrable diplomatists whom it + has been my lot to meet. I distinctly recall an incident + in connection with the famous Congress of Paris of 1856 + which rises before my mind as vividly as if it were + yesterday. I was seated in one of the large salons of + the Elysee Palace (I often used to sit there) playing + vingt-et-un together with Count Cavour, the Duc de Magenta, + the Marquese di Casa Mombasa, the Conte di Piccolo Pochito + and others whose names I do not recollect. The stakes + had been, as usual, very high, and there was a large pile + of gold on the table. No one of us, however, paid any + attention to it, so absorbed were we all in the thought + of the momentous crises that were impending. At intervals + the Emperor Napoleon III passed in and out of the room, + and paused to say a word or two, with well-feigned + eloignement, to the players, who replied with such + degagement as they could. + + “While the play was at its height a servant appeared with + a telegram on a silver tray. He handed it to Count Cavour. + The Count paused in his play, opened the telegram, read + it and then with the most inconceivable nonchalance, put + it in his pocket. We stared at him in amazement for a + moment, and then the Duc, with the infinite ease of a + trained diplomat, quietly resumed his play. + + “Two days afterward, meeting Count Cavour at a reception + of the Empress Eugenie, I was able, unobserved, to whisper + in his ear, ‘What was in the telegram?’ ‘Nothing of any + consequence,’ he answered. From that day to this I have + never known what it contained. My readers,” concludes + Baron Snorch, “may believe this or not as they like, but + I give them my word that it is true. + + “Probably they will not believe it.” + </pre> + <p> + I cannot resist appending to these anecdotes a charming little story from + that well-known book, “Sorrows of a Queen”. The writer, Lady + de Weary, was an English gentlewoman who was for many years Mistress of + the Robes at one of the best known German courts. Her affection for her + royal mistress is evident on every page of her memoirs. + </p> + <h3> + TENDERNESS OF A QUEEN + </h3> + <p> + Lady de W. writes: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “My dear mistress, the late Queen of Saxe-Covia-Slitz- + in-Mein, was of a most tender and sympathetic disposition. + The goodness of her heart broke forth on all occasions. + I well remember how one day, on seeing a cabman in the + Poodel Platz kicking his horse in the stomach, she stopped + in her walk and said, ‘Oh, poor horse! if he goes on + kicking it like that he’ll hurt it.’” + </pre> + <p> + I may say in conclusion that I think if people would only take a little + more pains to resuscitate anecdotes of this sort, there might be a lot + more of them found. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI.—EDUCATION MADE AGREEABLE OR THE DIVERSIONS OF A + </h2> + <h3> + PROFESSOR + </h3> + <p> + A few days ago during a pause in one of my college lectures (my class + being asleep) I sat reading Draper’s “Intellectual Development + of Europe”. Quite suddenly I came upon the following sentence: + </p> + <p> + “Eratosthenes cast everything he wished to teach into poetry. By + this means he made it attractive, and he was able to spread his system all + over Asia Minor.” + </p> + <p> + This came to me with a shock of an intellectual discovery. I saw at once + how I could spread my system, or parts of it, all over the United States + and Canada. To make education attractive! There it is! To call in the help + of poetry, of music, of grand opera, if need be, to aid in the teaching of + the dry subjects of the college class room. + </p> + <p> + I set to work at once on the project and already I have enough results to + revolutionize education. + </p> + <p> + In the first place I have compounded a blend of modern poetry and + mathematics, which retains all the romance of the latter and loses none of + the dry accuracy of the former. Here is an example: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The poem of + LORD ULLIN’S DAUGHTER + expressed as + A PROBLEM IN TRIGONOMETRY +</pre> + <p> + INTRODUCTION. A party of three persons, a Scotch nobleman, a young lady + and an elderly boatman stand on the banks of a river (R), which, for + private reasons, they desire to cross. Their only means of transport is a + boat, of which the boatman, if squared, is able to row at a rate + proportional to the square of the distance. The boat, however, has a leak + (S), through which a quantity of water passes sufficient to sink it after + traversing an indeterminate distance (D). Given the square of the boatman + and the mean situation of all concerned, to find whether the boat will + pass the river safely or sink. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A chieftain to the Highlands bound + Cried “Boatman do not tarry! + And I’ll give you a silver pound + To row me o’er the ferry.” + Before them raged the angry tide + X**2 + Y from side to side. + + Outspake the hardy Highland wight, + “I’ll go, my chief, I’m ready; + It is not for your silver bright, + But for your winsome lady.” + And yet he seemed to manifest + A certain hesitation; + His head was sunk upon his breast + In puzzled calculation. + + “Suppose the river X + Y + And call the distance Q + Then dare we thus the gods defy + I think we dare, don’t you? + Our floating power expressed in words + Is X + 47/3” + + “Oh, haste thee, haste,” the lady cries, + “Though tempests round us gather + I’ll face the raging of the skies + But please cut out the Algebra.” + + The boat has left the stormy shore (S) + A stormy C before her + C1 C2 C3 C4 + The tempest gathers o’er her + The thunder rolls, the lightning smites ‘em + And the rain falls ad infinitum. + + In vain the aged boatman strains, + His heaving sides reveal his pains; + The angry water gains apace + Both of his sides and half his base, + Till, as he sits, he seems to lose + The square of his hypotenuse. + + The boat advanced to X + 2, + Lord Ullin reached the fixed point Q,— + Then the boat sank from human eye, + OY, OY**2, OGY. +</pre> + <p> + But this is only a sample of what can be done. I have realised that all + our technical books are written and presented in too dry a fashion. They + don’t make the most of themselves. Very often the situation implied + is intensely sensational, and if set out after the fashion of an + up-to-date newspaper, would be wonderfully effective. + </p> + <p> + Here, for example, you have Euclid writing in a perfectly prosaic way all + in small type such an item as the following: + </p> + <p> + “A perpendicular is let fall on a line BC so as to bisect it at the + point C etc., etc.,” just as if it were the most ordinary occurrence + in the world. Every newspaper man will see at once that it ought to be set + up thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AWFUL CATASTROPHE + PERPENDICULAR FALLS HEADLONG + ON A GIVEN POINT + + The Line at C said to be completely bisected + President of the Line makes Statement + etc., etc., etc. +</pre> + <p> + But I am not contenting myself with merely describing my system. I am + putting it to the test. I am preparing a new and very special edition of + my friend Professor Daniel Murray’s work on the Calculus. This is a + book little known to the general public. I suppose one may say without + exaggeration that outside of the class room it is hardly read at all. + </p> + <p> + Yet I venture to say that when my new edition is out it will be found on + the tables of every cultivated home, and will be among the best sellers of + the year. All that is needed is to give to this really monumental book the + same chance that is given to every other work of fiction in the modern + market. + </p> + <p> + First of all I wrap it in what is called technically a jacket. This is of + white enamelled paper, and on it is a picture of a girl, a very pretty + girl, in a summer dress and sunbonnet sitting swinging on a bough of a + cherry tree. Across the cover in big black letters are the words: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE CALCULUS +</pre> + <p> + and beneath them the legend “the most daring book of the day.” + This, you will observe, is perfectly true. The reviewers of the + mathematical journals when this book first came out agreed that “Professor + Murray’s views on the Calculus were the most daring yet published.” + They said, too, that they hoped that the professor’s unsound + theories of infinitesimal rectitude would not remain unchallenged. Yet the + public somehow missed it all, and one of the most profitable scandals in + the publishing trade was missed for the lack of a little business + enterprise. + </p> + <p> + My new edition will give this book its first real chance. + </p> + <p> + I admit that the inside has to be altered,—but not very much. The + real basis of interest is there. The theories in the book are just as + interesting as those raised in the modern novel. All that is needed is to + adopt the device, familiar in novels, of clothing the theories in personal + form and putting the propositions advanced into the mouths of the + characters, instead of leaving them as unsupported statements of the + author. Take for example Dr. Murray’s beginning. It is very good,—any + one will admit it,—fascinatingly clever, but it lacks heart. + </p> + <p> + It runs: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If two magnitudes, one of which is determined by a straight + line and the other by a parabola approach one another, + the rectangle included by the revolution of each will be + equal to the sum of a series of indeterminate rectangles. +</pre> + <p> + Now this is,—quite frankly,—dull. The situation is there; the + idea is good, and, whether one agrees or not, is at least as brilliantly + original as even the best of our recent novels. But I find it necessary to + alter the presentation of the plot a little bit. As I re-edit it the + opening of the Calculus runs thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On a bright morning in June along a path gay with the + opening efflorescence of the hibiscus and entangled here + and there with the wild blossoms of the convolvulus,—two + magnitudes might have been seen approaching one another. + The one magnitude who held a tennis-racket in his hand, + carried himself with a beautiful erectness and moved + with a firmness such as would have led Professor Murray + to exclaim in despair—Let it be granted that A. B. + (for such was our hero’s name) is a straight line. The + other magnitude, which drew near with a step at once + elusive and fascinating, revealed as she walked a figure + so exquisite in its every curve as to call from her + geometrical acquaintances the ecstatic exclamation, “Let + it be granted that M is a parabola.” + + The beautiful magnitude of whom we have last spoken, + bore on her arm as she walked, a tiny dog over which + her fair head was bent in endearing caresses; indeed + such was her attention to the dog Vi (his full name was + Velocity but he was called Vi for short) that her wayward + footsteps carried her not in a straight line but in a + direction so constantly changing as to lead that acute + observer, Professor Murray, to the conclusion that her + path could only be described by the amount of attraction + ascribable to Vi. + + Guided thus along their respective paths, the two + magnitudes presently met with such suddenness that they + almost intersected. + + “I beg your pardon,” said the first magnitude very + rigidly. + + “You ought to indeed,” said the second rather sulkily, + “you’ve knocked Vi right out of my arms.” + + She looked round despairingly for the little dog which + seemed to have disappeared in the long grass. + + “Won’t you please pick him up?” she pleaded. + + “Not exactly in my line, you know,” answered the other + magnitude, “but I tell you what I’ll do, if you’ll stand + still, perfectly still where you are, and let me take + hold of your hand, I’ll describe a circle!” + + “Oh, aren’t you clever!” cried the girl, clapping her + hands. “What a lovely idea! You describe a circle all + around me, and then we’ll look at every weeny bit of it + and we’ll be sure to find Vi—” + + She reached out her hand to the other magnitude who + clasped it with an assumed intensity sufficient to retain + it. + + At this moment a third magnitude broke on the scene:—a + huge oblong, angular figure, very difficult to describe, + came revolving towards them. + + “M,” it shouted, “Emily, what are you doing?” + + “My goodness,” said the second magnitude in alarm, “it’s + MAMA.” + </pre> + <p> + I may say that the second instalment of Dr. Murray’s fascinating + romance will appear in the next number of the “Illuminated Bookworm”, + the great adult-juvenile vehicle of the newer thought in which these + theories of education are expounded further. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII.—AN EVERY-DAY EXPERIENCE + </h2> + <p> + He came across to me in the semi-silence room of the club. + </p> + <p> + “I had a rather queer hand at bridge last night,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Had you?” I answered, and picked up a newspaper. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It would have interested you, I think,” he went on. + </p> + <p> + “Would it?” I said, and moved to another chair. + </p> + <p> + “It was like this,” he continued, following me: “I held + the king of hearts—” + </p> + <p> + “Half a minute,” I said; “I want to go and see what time + it is.” I went out and looked at the clock in the hall. I came back. + </p> + <p> + “And the queen and the ten—” he was saying. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me just a second; I want to ring for a messenger.” + </p> + <p> + I did so. The waiter came and went. + </p> + <p> + “And the nine and two small ones,” he went on. + </p> + <p> + “Two small what?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Two small hearts,” he said. “I don’t remember + which. Anyway, I remember very well indeed that I had the king and the + queen and the jack, the nine, and two little ones.” + </p> + <p> + “Half a second,” I said, “I want to mail a letter.” + </p> + <p> + When I came back to him, he was still murmuring: + </p> + <p> + “My partner held the ace of clubs and the queen. The jack was out, + but I didn’t know where the king was—” + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t?” I said in contempt. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he repeated in surprise, and went on murmuring: + </p> + <p> + “Diamonds had gone round once, and spades twice, and so I suspected + that my partner was leading from weakness—” + </p> + <p> + “I can well believe it,” I said—“sheer weakness.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “on the sixth round the lead came to + me. Now, what should I have done? Finessed for the ace, or led straight + into my opponent—” + </p> + <p> + “You want my advice,” I said, “and you shall have it, + openly and fairly. In such a case as you describe, where a man has led out + at me repeatedly and with provocation, as I gather from what you say, + though I myself do not play bridge, I should lead my whole hand at him. I + repeat, I do not play bridge. But in the circumstances, I should think it + the only thing to do.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII—TRUTHFUL ORATORY + </h2> + <h3> + or What Our Speakers Ought to Say + </h3> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + TRUTHFUL SPEECH GIVING THE REAL THOUGHTS OF A DISTINGUISHED GUEST AT THE + FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY BANQUET OF A SOCIETY + </p> + <p> + Mr. Chairman and gentlemen: If there is one thing I abominate more than + another, it is turning out on a cold night like this to eat a huge dinner + of twelve courses and know that I have to make a speech on top of it. + Gentlemen, I just feel stuffed. That’s the plain truth of it. By the + time we had finished that fish, I could have gone home satisfied. Honestly + I could. That’s as much as I usually eat. And by the time I had + finished the rest of the food, I felt simply waterlogged, and I do still. + More than that. The knowledge that I had to make a speech congratulating + this society of yours on its fiftieth anniversary haunted and racked me + all through the meal. I am not, in plain truth, the ready and brilliant + speaker you take me for. That is a pure myth. If you could see the + desperate home scene that goes on in my family when I am working up a + speech, your minds would be at rest on that point. + </p> + <p> + I’ll go further and be very frank with you. How this society has + lived for fifty years, I don’t know. If all your dinners are like + this, Heaven help you. I’ve only the vaguest idea of what this + society is, anyway, and what it does. I tried to get a constitution this + afternoon but failed. I am sure from some of the faces that I recognise + around this table that there must be good business reasons of some sort + for belonging to this society. There’s money in it,—mark my + words,—for some of you or you wouldn’t be here. Of course I + quite understand that the President and the officials seated here beside + me come merely for the self-importance of it. That, gentlemen, is about + their size. I realized that from their talk during the banquet. I don’t + want to speak bitterly, but the truth is they are SMALL men and it + flatters them to sit here with two or three blue ribbons pinned on their + coats. But as for me, I’m done with it. It will be fifty years, + please heaven, before this event comes round again. I hope, I earnestly + hope, that I shall be safely under the ground. + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + THE SPEECH THAT OUGHT TO BE MADE BY A STATE GOVERNOR AFTER VISITING THE + FALL EXPOSITION OF AN AGRICULTURAL SOCIETY + </p> + <p> + Well, gentlemen, this Annual Fall Fair of the Skedink County Agricultural + Association has come round again. I don’t mind telling you straight + out that of all the disagreeable jobs that fall to me as Governor of this + State, my visit to your Fall Fair is about the toughest. + </p> + <p> + I want to tell you, gentlemen, right here and now, that I don’t know + anything about agriculture and I don’t want to. My parents were rich + enough to bring me up in the city in a rational way. I didn’t have + to do chores in order to go to the high school as some of those present + have boasted that they did. My only wonder is that they ever got there at + all. They show no traces of it. + </p> + <p> + This afternoon, gentlemen, you took me all round your live-stock exhibit. + I walked past, and through, nearly a quarter of a mile of hogs. What was + it that they were called—Tamworths—Berkshires? I don’t + remember. But all I can say, gentlemen, is,—phew! Just that. Some of + you will understand readily enough. That word sums up my whole idea of + your agricultural show and I’m done with it. + </p> + <p> + No, let me correct myself. There was just one feature of your agricultural + exposition that met my warm approval. You were good enough to take me + through the section of your exposition called your Midway Pleasance. Let + me tell you, sirs, that there was more real merit in that than all the + rest of the show put together. You apologized, if I remember rightly, for + taking me into the large tent of the Syrian Dancing Girls. Oh, believe me, + gentlemen, you needn’t have. Syria is a country which commands my + profoundest admiration. Some day I mean to spend a vacation there. And, + believe me, gentlemen, when I do go,—and I say this with all the + emphasis of which I am capable,—I should not wish to be accompanied + by such a set of flatheads as the officials of your Agricultural Society. + </p> + <p> + And now, gentlemen, as I have just received a fake telegram, by + arrangement, calling me back to the capital of the State, I must leave + this banquet at once. One word in conclusion: if I had known as fully as I + do now how it feels to drink half a bucket of sweet cider, I should + certainly never have come. + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + TRUTHFUL SPEECH OF A DISTRICT POLITICIAN TO A LADIES’ SUFFRAGE + SOCIETY + </p> + <p> + Ladies: My own earnest, heartfelt conviction is that you are a pack of + cats. I use the word “cats” advisedly, and I mean every letter + of it. I want to go on record before this gathering as being strongly and + unalterably opposed to Woman Suffrage until you get it. After that I + favour it. My reasons for opposing the suffrage are of a kind that you + couldn’t understand. But all men,—except the few that I see at + this meeting,—understand them by instinct. + </p> + <p> + As you may, however, succeed as a result of the fuss that you are making,—in + getting votes, I have thought it best to come. Also,—I am free to + confess,—I wanted to see what you looked like. + </p> + <p> + On this last head I am disappointed. Personally I like women a good deal + fatter than most of you are, and better looking. As I look around this + gathering I see one or two of you that are not so bad, but on the whole + not many. But my own strong personal predilection is and remains in favour + of a woman who can cook, mend clothes, talk when I want her to, and give + me the kind of admiration to which I am accustomed. + </p> + <p> + Let me, however, say in conclusion that I am altogether in sympathy with + your movement to this extent. If you ever DO get votes,—and the + indications are that you will (blast you),—I want your votes, and I + want all of them. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX.—OUR LITERARY BUREAU + </h2> + <p> + [Footnote: This literary bureau was started by the author in the New York + Century. It leaped into such immediate prominence that it had to be closed + at once.] + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NOVELS READ TO ORDER + FIRST AID FOR THE + BUSY MILLIONAIRE + + NO BRAINS NEEDED + NO TASTE REQUIRED + NOTHING BUT MONEY + SEND IT TO US +</pre> + <p> + We have lately been struck,—of course not dangerously,—by a + new idea. A recent number of a well-known magazine contains an account of + an American multimillionaire who, on account of the pressure of his brain + power and the rush of his business, found it impossible to read the + fiction of the day for himself. He therefore caused his secretaries to + look through any new and likely novel and make a rapid report on its + contents, indicating for his personal perusal the specially interesting + parts. + </p> + <p> + Realizing the possibilities coiled up in this plan, we have opened a + special agency or bureau for doing work of this sort. Any over-busy + multimillionaire, or superman, who becomes our client may send us novels, + essays, or books of any kind, and will receive a report explaining the + plot and pointing out such parts as he may with propriety read. If he can + once find time to send us a postcard, or a postal cablegram, night or day, + we undertake to assume all the further effort of reading. Our terms for + ordinary fiction are one dollar per chapter; for works of travel, 10 cents + per mile; and for political or other essays, two cents per page, or ten + dollars per idea, and for theological and controversial work, seven + dollars and fifty cents per cubic yard extracted. Our clients are assured + of prompt and immediate attention. + </p> + <p> + Through the kindness of the Editor of the Century we are enabled to insert + here a sample of our work. It was done to the order of a gentleman of + means engaged in silver mining in Colorado, who wrote us that he was + anxious to get “a holt” on modern fiction, but that he had no + time actually to read it. On our assuring him that this was now + unnecessary, he caused to be sent to us the monthly parts of a serial + story, on which we duly reported as follows: + </p> + <h3> + JANUARY INSTALMENT + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Theodolite Gulch, + The Dip, Canon County, + Colorado. +</pre> + <p> + Dear Sir: + </p> + <p> + We beg to inform you that the scene of the opening chapter of the Fortunes + of Barbara Plynlimmon is laid in Wales. The scene is laid, however, very + carelessly and hurriedly and we expect that it will shortly be removed. We + cannot, therefore, recommend it to your perusal. As there is a very fine + passage describing the Cambrian Hills by moonlight, we enclose herewith a + condensed table showing the mean altitude of the moon for the month of + December in the latitude of Wales. The character of Miss Plynlimmon we + find to be developed in conversation with her grandmother, which we think + you had better not read. Nor are we prepared to endorse your reading the + speeches of the Welsh peasantry which we find in this chapter, but we + forward herewith in place of them a short glossary of Welsh synonyms which + may aid you in this connection. + </p> + <h3> + FEBRUARY INSTALMENT + </h3> + <p> + Dear Sir: + </p> + <p> + We regret to state that we find nothing in the second chapter of the + Fortunes of Barbara Plynlimmon which need be reported to you at length. We + think it well, however, to apprise you of the arrival of a young Oxford + student in the neighbourhood of Miss Plynlimmon’s cottage, who is + apparently a young man of means and refinement. We enclose a list of the + principal Oxford Colleges. + </p> + <p> + We may state that from the conversation and manner of this young gentleman + there is no ground for any apprehension on your part. But if need arises + we will report by cable to you instantly. + </p> + <p> + The young gentleman in question meets Miss Plynlimmon at sunrise on the + slopes of Snowdon. As the description of the meeting is very fine we send + you a recent photograph of the sun. + </p> + <h3> + MARCH INSTALMENT + </h3> + <p> + Dear Sir: + </p> + <p> + Our surmise was right. The scene of the story that we are digesting for + you is changed. Miss Plynlimmon has gone to London. You will be gratified + to learn that she has fallen heir to a fortune of 100,000 pounds, which we + are happy to compute for you at $486,666 and 66 cents less exchange. On + Miss Plynlimmon’s arrival at Charing Cross Station, she is + overwhelmed with that strange feeling of isolation felt in the surging + crowds of a modern city. We therefore enclose a timetable showing the + arrival and departure of all trains at Charing Cross. + </p> + <h3> + APRIL INSTALMENT + </h3> + <p> + Dear Sir: + </p> + <p> + We beg to bring to your notice the fact that Miss Barbara Plynlimmon has + by an arrangement made through her trustees become the inmate, on a + pecuniary footing, in the household of a family of title. We are happy to + inform you that her first appearance at dinner in evening dress was most + gratifying: we can safely recommend you to read in this connection lines 4 + and 5 and the first half of line 6 on page 1OO of the book as enclosed. We + regret to say that the Marquis of Slush and his eldest son Viscount + Fitzbuse (courtesy title) are both addicted to drink. They have been + drinking throughout the chapter. We are pleased to state that apparently + the second son, Lord Radnor of Slush, who is away from home is not so + addicted. We send you under separate cover a bottle of Radnor water. + </p> + <h3> + MAY INSTALMENT + </h3> + <p> + Dear Sir: + </p> + <p> + We regret to state that the affairs of Miss Barbara Plynlimmon are in a + very unsatisfactory position. We enclose three pages of the novel with the + urgent request that you will read them at once. The old Marquis of Slush + has made approaches towards Miss Plynlimmon of such a scandalous nature + that we think it best to ask you to read them in full. You will note also + that young Viscount Slush who is tipsy through whole of pages 121-125, + 128-133, and part of page 140, has designs upon her fortune. We are sorry + to see also that the Marchioness of Buse under the guise of friendship has + insured Miss Plynlimmon’s life and means to do away with her. The + sister of the Marchioness, the Lady Dowager, also wishes to do away with + her. The second housemaid who is tempted by her jewellery is also planning + to do away with her. We feel that if this goes on she will be done away + with. + </p> + <h3> + JUNE INSTALMENT + </h3> + <p> + Dear Sir: + </p> + <p> + We beg to advise you that Viscount Fitz-buse, inflamed by the beauty and + innocence of Miss Plynlimmon, has gone so far as to lay his finger on her + (read page 170, lines 6-7). She resisted his approaches. At the height of + the struggle a young man, attired in the costume of a Welsh tourist, but + wearing the stamp of an Oxford student, and yet carrying himself with the + unmistakable hauteur (we knew it at once) of an aristocrat, burst, or + bust, into the room. With one blow he felled Fitz-buse to the floor; with + another he clasped the girl to his heart. + </p> + <p> + “Barbara!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Radnor,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + You will be pleased to learn that this is the second son of the Marquis, + Viscount Radnor, just returned from a reading tour in Wales. + </p> + <p> + P. S. We do not know what he read, so we enclose a file of Welsh + newspapers to date. + </p> + <h3> + JULY INSTALMENT + </h3> + <p> + We regret to inform you that the Marquis of Slush has disinherited his + son. We grieve to state that Viscount Radnor has sworn that he will never + ask for Miss Plynlimmon’s hand till he has a fortune equal to her + own. Meantime, we are sorry to say, he proposes to work. + </p> + <h3> + AUGUST INSTALMENT + </h3> + <p> + The Viscount is seeking employment. + </p> + <h3> + SEPTEMBER INSTALMENT + </h3> + <p> + The Viscount is looking for work. + </p> + <h3> + OCTOBER INSTALMENT + </h3> + <p> + The Viscount is hunting for a job. + </p> + <h3> + NOVEMBER INSTALMENT + </h3> + <p> + We are most happy to inform you that Miss Plynlimmon has saved the + situation. Determined to be worthy of the generous love of Viscount + Radnor, she has arranged to convey her entire fortune to the old family + lawyer who acts as her trustee. She will thus become as poor as the + Viscount and they can marry. The scene with the old lawyer who breaks into + tears on receiving the fortune, swearing to hold and cherish it as his own + is very touching. Meantime, as the Viscount is hunting for a job, we + enclose a list of advertisements under the heading Help Wanted—Males. + </p> + <h3> + DECEMBER INSTALMENT + </h3> + <p> + You will be very gratified to learn that the fortunes of Miss Barbara + Plynlimmon have come to a most pleasing termination. Her marriage with the + Viscount Radnor was celebrated very quietly on page 231. (We enclose a + list of the principal churches in London.) No one was present except the + old family lawyer, who was moved to tears at the sight of the bright, + trusting bride, and the clergyman who wept at the sight of the cheque + given him by the Viscount. After the ceremony the old trustee took Lord + and Lady Radnor to a small wedding breakfast at an hotel (we enclose a + list). During the breakfast a sudden faintness (for which we had been + watching for ten pages) overcame him. He sank back in his chair, gasping. + Lord and Lady Radnor rushed to him and sought in vain to tighten his + necktie. He expired under their care, having just time to indicate in his + pocket a will leaving them his entire wealth. + </p> + <p> + This had hardly happened when a messenger brought news to the Viscount + that his brother, Lord Fitz-buse had been killed in the hunting field, and + that he (meaning him, himself) had now succeeded to the title. Lord and + Lady Fitz-buse had hardly time to reach the town house of the family when + they learned that owing to the sudden death of the old Marquis (also, we + believe, in the hunting field), they had become the Marquis and the + Marchioness of Slush. + </p> + <p> + The Marquis and the Marchioness of Slush are still living in their + ancestral home in London. Their lives are an example to all their tenantry + in Piccadilly, the Strand and elsewhere. + </p> + <h3> + CONCLUDING NOTE + </h3> + <p> + Dear Mr. Gulch: + </p> + <p> + We beg to acknowledge with many thanks your cheque for one thousand + dollars. + </p> + <p> + We regret to learn that you have not been able to find time to read our + digest of the serial story placed with us at your order. But we note with + pleasure that you propose to have the “essential points” of + our digest “boiled down” by one of the business experts of + your office. + </p> + <p> + Awaiting your commands, + </p> + <p> + We remain, etc., etc. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X.—SPEEDING UP BUSINESS + </h2> + <p> + We were sitting at our editorial desk in our inner room, quietly writing + up our week’s poetry, when a stranger looked in upon us. + </p> + <p> + He came in with a burst,—like the entry of the hero of western drama + coming in out of a snowstorm. His manner was all excitement. “Sit + down,” we said, in our grave, courteous way. “Sit down!” + he exclaimed, “certainly not! Are you aware of the amount of time + and energy that are being wasted in American business by the practice of + perpetually sitting down and standing up again? Do you realize that every + time you sit down and stand up you make a dead lift of”—he + looked at us,—“two hundred and fifty pounds? Did you ever + reflect that every time you sit down you have to get up again?” + “Never,” we said quietly, “we never thought of it.” + “You didn’t!” he sneered. “No, you’d rather + go on lifting 250 pounds through two feet,—an average of 500 + foot-pounds, practically 62 kilowatts of wasted power. Do you know that by + merely hitching a pulley to the back of your neck you could generate + enough power to light your whole office?” + </p> + <p> + We hung our heads. Simple as the thing was, we had never thought of it. + “Very good,” said the Stranger. “Now, all American + business men are like you. They don’t think,—do you understand + me? They don’t think.” + </p> + <p> + We realized the truth of it at once. We had never thought. Perhaps we didn’t + even know how. + </p> + <p> + “Now, I tell you,” continued our visitor, speaking rapidly and + with a light of wild enthusiasm in his face, “I’m out for a + new campaign,—efficiency in business—speeding things up—better + organization.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely,” we said, musingly, “we have seen something + about this lately in the papers?” “Seen it, sir,” he + exclaimed, “I should say so. It’s everywhere. It’s a new + movement. It’s in the air. Has it never struck you how a thing like + this can be seen in the air?” + </p> + <p> + Here again we were at fault. In all our lives we had never seen anything + in the air. We had never even looked there. “Now,” continued + the Stranger, “I want your paper to help. I want you to join in. I + want you to give publicity.” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly,” we said, with our old-fashioned politeness. + “Anything which concerns the welfare, the progress, if one may so + phrase it—” “Stop,” said the visitor. “You + talk too much. You’re prosy. Don’t talk. Listen to me. Try and + fix your mind on what I am about to say.” + </p> + <p> + We fixed it. The Stranger’s manner became somewhat calmer. “I + am heading,” he said, “the new American efficiency movement. I + have sent our circulars to fifty thousand representative firms, explaining + my methods. I am receiving ten thousand answers a day”—here he + dragged a bundle of letters out of his pocket—“from Maine, + from New Hampshire, from Vermont,”—“Massachusetts, Rhode + Island, Connecticut,” we murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” he said; “from every State in the Union—from + the Philippines, from Porto Rico, and last week I had one from Canada.” + “Marvellous,” we said; “and may one ask what your new + methods are?” + </p> + <p> + “You may,” he answered. “It’s a proper question. + It’s a typical business question, fair, plain, clean, and even + admitting of an answer. The great art of answering questions,” he + continued, “is to answer at once without loss of time, friction or + delay in moving from place to place. I’ll answer it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do,” we said. + </p> + <p> + “I will,” said the Stranger. “My method is first: to + stimulate business to the highest point by infusing into it everywhere the + spirit of generous rivalry, of wholesome competition; by inviting each and + every worker to outdo each and every other.” + </p> + <p> + “And can they do it?” we asked, puzzled and yet fascinated. + “Can they all do it?” + </p> + <p> + “They do, and they can,” said the Stranger. “The proof + of it is that they are doing it. Listen. Here is an answer to my circular + No. 6, Efficiency and Recompense, that came in this morning. It is from a + steel firm. Listen.” The Stranger picked out a letter and read it. + </p> + <p> + Dear Sir: + </p> + <p> + Our firm is a Steel Corporation. We roll rails. As soon as we read your + circular on the Stimulus of Competition we saw that there were big things + in it. At once we sent one of our chief managers to the rolling, mill. He + carried a paper bag in his hand. “Now boys,” he said, “every + man who rolls a rail gets a gum-drop.” The effect was magical. The + good fellows felt a new stimulus. They now roll out rails like dough. Work + is a joy to them. Every Saturday night the man who has rolled most gets a + blue ribbon; the man who has rolled the next most, a green ribbon; the + next most a yellow ribbon, and so on through the spectroscope. The man who + rolls least gets only a red ribbon. It is a real pleasure to see the brave + fellows clamouring for their ribbons. Our output, after defraying the + entire cost of the ribbons and the gum-drops, has increased forty per + cent. We intend to carry the scheme further by allowing all the men who + get a hundred blue ribbons first, to exchange them for the Grand + Efficiency Prize of the firm,—a pink ribbon. This the winner will be + entitled to wear whenever and wherever he sees fit to wear it. + </p> + <p> + The stranger paused for breath. + </p> + <p> + “Marvellous,” we said. “There is no doubt the stimulus + of keen competition—” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up,” he said impatiently. “Let me explain it + further. Competition is only part of it. An item just as big that makes + for efficiency is to take account of the little things. It’s the + little things that are never thought of.” + </p> + <p> + Here was another wonder! We realized that we had never thought of them. + “Take an example,” the Stranger continued. “I went into + a hotel the other day. What did I see? Bell-boys being summoned upstairs + every minute, and flying up in the elevators. Yes,—and every time + they went up they had to come down again. I went up to the manager. I + said, ‘I can understand that when your guests ring for the bell-boys + they have to go up. But why should they come down? Why not have them go up + and never come down?’ He caught the idea at once. That hotel is + transformed. I have a letter from the manager stating that they find it + fifty per cent. cheaper to hire new bell-boys instead of waiting for the + old ones to come down.” + </p> + <p> + “These results,” we said, “are certainly marvellous. + “You are most assuredly to be congratulated on—” + </p> + <p> + “You talk too much,” said the Stranger. “Don’t do + it. Learn to listen. If a young man comes to me for advice in business,—and + they do in hundreds, lots of them,—almost in tears over their + inefficiency,—I’d say, ‘Young man, never talk, listen; + answer, but don’t speak.’ But even all this is only part of + the method. Another side of it is technique.” + </p> + <p> + “Technique?” we said, pleased but puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the proper use of machine devices. Take the building trade. I’ve + revolutionized it. Till now all the bricks even for a high building were + carried up to the mason in hods. Madness! Think of the waste of it. By my + method instead of carrying the bricks to the mason we take the mason to + the brick,—lower him on a wire rope, give him a brick, and up he + goes again. As soon as he wants another brick he calls down, ‘I want + a brick,’ and down he comes like lightning.” + </p> + <p> + “This,” we said, “is little short of—” + </p> + <p> + “Cut it out. Even that is not all. Another thing bigger than any is + organization. Half the business in this country is not organized. As soon + as I sent out my circular, No. 4, HAVE YOU ORGANIZED YOUR BUSINESS! I got + answers in thousands! Heart-broken, many of them. They had never thought + of it! Here, for example, is a letter written by a plain man, a gardener, + just an ordinary man, a plain man—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” we said, “quite so.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, here is what he writes: + </p> + <p> + Dear Sir: + </p> + <p> + As soon as I got your circular I read it all through from end to end, and + I saw that all my failure in the past had come from my not being + organized. I sat and thought a long while and I decided that I would + organize myself. I went right in to the house and I said to my wife, + “Jane, I’m going to organize myself.” She said, “Oh, + John!”—and not another word, but you should have seen the look + on her face. So the next morning I got up early and began to organize + myself. It was hard at first but I stuck to it. There were times when I + felt as if I couldn’t do it. It seemed too hard. But bit by bit I + did it and now, thank God, I am organized. I wish all men like me could + know the pleasure I feel in being organized.” + </p> + <p> + “Touching, isn’t it?” said the Stranger. “But I + get lots of letters like that. Here’s another, also from a man, a + plain man, working on his own farm. Hear what he says: + </p> + <p> + Dear Sir: + </p> + <p> + As soon as I saw your circular on HOW TO SPEED UP THE EMPLOYEE I felt that + it was a big thing. I don’t have any hired help here to work with + me, but only father. He cuts the wood and does odd chores about the place. + So I realized that the best I could do was to try to speed up father. I + started in to speed him up last Tuesday, and I wish you could see him. + Before this he couldn’t split a cord of wood without cutting a slice + off his boots. Now he does it in half the time.” + </p> + <p> + “But there,” the Stranger said, getting impatient even with + his own reading, “I needn’t read it all. It is the same thing + all along the line. I’ve got the Method introduced into the + Department Stores. Before this every customer who came in wasted time + trying to find the counters. Now we install a patent springboard, with a + mechanism like a catapault. As soon as a customer comes in an attendant + puts him on the board, blindfolds him, and says, ‘Where do you want + to go?’ ‘Glove counter.’ Oh, all right.’ He’s + fired at it through the air. No time lost. Same with the railways. They’re + installing the Method, too. Every engineer who breaks the record from New + York to Buffalo gets a glass of milk. When he gets a hundred glasses he + can exchange them for a glass of beer. So with the doctors. On the new + method, instead of giving a patient one pill a day for fourteen days they + give him fourteen pills in one day. Doctors, lawyers, everybody,—in + time, sir,” said the Stranger, in tones of rising excitement, + “you’ll see even the plumbers—” + </p> + <p> + But just at this moment the door opened. A sturdy-looking man in blue + entered. The Stranger’s voice was hushed at once. The excitement + died out of his face. His manner all of a sudden was meekness itself. + </p> + <p> + “I was just coming,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “That’s right, sir,” said the man; “better come + along and not take up the gentleman’s time.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, then,” said the Stranger, with meek affability, and + he went out. + </p> + <p> + The man in blue lingered behind for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “A sad case, sir,” he said, and he tapped his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “You mean—” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. Cracked, sir. Quite cracked; but harmless. I’m + engaged to look after him, but he gave me the slip downstairs.” + </p> + <p> + “He is under delusions?” we inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. He’s got it into his head that business in this + country has all gone to pieces,—thinks it must be reorganized. He + writes letters about it all day and sends them to the papers with + imaginary names. You may have seen some of them. Good day, sir.” + </p> + <p> + We looked at our watch. We had lost just half an hour over the new + efficiency. We turned back with a sigh to our old-fashioned task. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI.—WHO IS ALSO WHO + </h2> + <h3> + A Companion Volume to Who’s Who + </h3> + <p> + Note by the editor: I do not quarrel with the contents of such valuable + compendiums as “Who’s Who,” “Men and Women of the + Time,” etc., etc. But they leave out the really Representative + People. The names that they include are so well known as to need no + commentary, while those that they exclude are the very people one most + wishes to read about. My new book is not arranged alphabetically, that + order having given great offence in certain social circles. + </p> + <p> + Smith, J. Everyman: born Kenoka Springs; educ. Kenoka Springs; present + residence, The Springs, Kenoka; address, Kenoka Springs Post-Office; after + leaving school threw himself (Oct. 1881) into college study; thrown out of + it (April 1882); decided to follow the law; followed it (1882); was left + behind (1883); decided (1884) to abandon it; abandoned it; resolved (1885) + to turn his energies to finance; turned them (1886); kept them turned + (1887); unturned them (1888); was offered position (1889) as sole + custodian of Mechanics’ Institute, Kenoka Springs; decided (same + date) to accept it; accepted it; is there now; will be till he dies. + </p> + <p> + Flintlock, J. Percussion: aged 87; war veteran and pensioner; born, blank; + educated, blank; at outbreak of Civil War sprang to arms; both sides; + sprang Union first; entered beef contract department of army of U. S.; + fought at Chicago, Omaha, and leading (beef) centres of operation during + the thickest of the (beef) conflict; was under Hancock, Burnside, Meade, + and Grant; fought with all of them; mentioned (very strongly) by all of + them; entered Confederate Service (1864); attached (very much) to rum + department of quarter-master’s staff; mentioned in this connection + (very warmly) in despatches of General Lee; mustered out, away out, of + army; lost from sight, 1865-1895; placed on pension list with rank of + general, 1895; has stayed on, 1895-1915; obtained (on 6th Avenue) war + medals and service clasps; publications—“My Campaigns under + Grant,” “Battles I have Saved,” “Feeding an Army,” + “Stuffing the Public,” etc., etc.; recreations, telling war + stories; favorite amusement, showing war medals. + </p> + <p> + Crook, W. Underhand: born, dash; parents, double dash; educated at + technical school; on graduation turned his attention to the problem of + mechanical timelocks and patent safes; entered Sing-Sing, 1890; resident + there, 1890-1893; Auburn, 1894, three months; various state institutions, + 1895-1898; worked at profession, 1898-1899; Sing-Sing, 1900; professional + work, 1901; Sing-Sing, 1902; profession, 1903, Sing-Sing; profession, + Sing-Sing, etc., etc.; life appointment, 1908; general favorite, musical, + has never killed anybody. + </p> + <p> + Gloomie, Dreary O’Leary: Scotch dialect comedian and humorist; well + known in Scotland; has standing offer from Duke of Sutherland to put foot + on estate. + </p> + <p> + Muck, O. Absolute: novelist; of low German extraction; born Rotterdam; + educated Muckendorf; escaped to America; long unrecognized; leaped into + prominence by writing “The Social Gas-Pipe,” a powerful + indictment of modern society, written in revenge for not being invited to + dinner; other works—“The Sewerage of the Sea-Side,” an + arraignment of Newport society, reflecting on some of his best friends; + “Vice and Super-Vice,” a telling denunciation of the New York + police, written after they had arrested him; “White Ravens,” + an indictment of the clergy; “Black Crooks,” an indictment of + the publishers, etc., etc.; has arraigned and indicted nearly everybody. + </p> + <p> + Whyner, Egbert Ethelwind: poet, at age of sixteen wrote a quatrain, + “The Banquet of Nebuchadnezzar,” and at once left school; + followed it up in less than two years by a poem in six lines “America”; + rested a year and then produced “Babylon, A Vision of Civilization,” + three lines; has written also “Herod, a Tragedy,” four lines; + “Revolt of Woman, “two lines, and “The Day of Judgement,” + one line. Recreation, writing poetry. + </p> + <p> + Adult, Hon. Underdone: address The Shrubbery, Hopton- under-Hyde, + Rotherham-near-Pottersby, Potts, Hants, Hops, England (or words to that + effect); organizer of the Boys’ League of Pathfinders, Chief + Commissioner of the Infant Crusaders, Grand Master of the Young Imbeciles; + Major-General of the Girl Rangers, Chief of Staff of the Matron Mountain + Climbers, etc. + </p> + <p> + Zfwinski, X. Z.: Polish pianist; plays all night; address 4,570 West 457 + Street, Westside, Chicago West. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII.—PASSIONATE PARAGRAPHS + </h2> + <p> + (An extract from a recent (very recent) novel, illustrating the new + beauties of language and ideas that are being rapidly developed by the + twentieth century press.) + </p> + <p> + His voice as he turned towards her was taut as a tie-line. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t love me!” he hoarsed, thick with agony. She + had angled into a seat and sat sensing-rather-than-seeing him. + </p> + <p> + For a time she silenced. Then presently as he still stood and enveloped + her,— + </p> + <p> + “Don’t!” she thinned, her voice fining to a thread. + </p> + <p> + “Answer me,” he gloomed, still gazing into-and-through her. + </p> + <p> + She half-heard half-didn’t-hear him. + </p> + <p> + Night was falling about them as they sat thus beside the river. A molten + afterglow of iridescent saffron shot with incandescent carmine lit up the + waters of the Hudson till they glowed like electrified uranium. + </p> + <p> + For a while they both sat silent,—looming. + </p> + <p> + “It had to be,” she glumped. + </p> + <p> + “Why, why?” he barked. “Why should it have had to have + been or (more hopefully) even be to be? Surely you don’t mean + because of MONEY?” + </p> + <p> + She shuddered into herself. + </p> + <p> + The thing seemed to sting her (it hadn’t really). + </p> + <p> + “Money!” she almost-but-not-quite-moaned. “You might + have spared me that!” + </p> + <p> + He sank down and grassed. + </p> + <p> + And after they had sat thus for another half-hour grassing and growling + and angling and sensing one another, it turned out that all that he was + trying to say was to ask if she would marry him. + </p> + <p> + And of course she said yes. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII.—WEEJEE THE PET DOG + </h2> + <h3> + An Idyll of the Summer + </h3> + <p> + We were sitting on the verandah of the Sopley’s summer cottage. + </p> + <p> + “How lovely it is here,” I said to my host and hostess, + “and how still.” + </p> + <p> + It was at this moment that Weejee, the pet dog, took a sharp nip at the + end of my tennis trousers. + </p> + <p> + “Weejee!!” exclaimed his mistress with great emphasis, “BAD + dog! how dare you, sir! BAD dog!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope he hasn’t hurt you,” said my host. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s nothing,” I answered cheerfully. “He + hardly scratched me.” + </p> + <p> + “You know I don’t think he means anything by it,” said + Mrs. Sopley. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m SURE he doesn’t,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + Weejee was coming nearer to me again as I spoke. + </p> + <p> + “WEEJEE!!” cried my hostess, “naughty dog, bad!” + </p> + <p> + “Funny thing about that dog,” said Sopley, “the way he + KNOWS people. It’s a sort of instinct. He knew right away that you + were a stranger,—now, yesterday, when the butcher came, there was a + new driver on the cart and Weejee knew it right away,—grabbed the + man by the leg at once,—wouldn’t let go. I called out to the + man that it was all right or he might have done Weejee some harm.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Weejee took the second nip at my other trouser leg. There + was a short GUR-R-R and a slight mix-up. + </p> + <p> + “Weejee! Weejee!” called Mrs. Sopley. “How DARE you, + sir! You’re just a BAD dog!! Go and lie down, sir. I’m so + sorry. I think, you know, it’s your white trousers. For some reason + Weejee simply HATES white trousers. I do hope he hasn’t torn them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” I said; “it’s nothing only a slight + tear.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, Weege, Weege,” said Sopley, anxious to make a diversion + and picking up a little chip of wood,—“chase it, fetch it out!” + and he made the motions of throwing it into the lake. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t throw it too far, Charles,” said his wife. + “He doesn’t swim awfully well,” she continued, turning + to me, “and I’m always afraid he might get out of his depth. + Last week he was ever so nearly drowned. Mr. Van Toy was in swimming, and + he had on a dark blue suit (dark blue seems simply to infuriate Weejee) + and Weejee just dashed in after him. He don’t MEAN anything, you + know, it was only the SUIT made him angry,—he really likes Mr. Van + Toy,—but just for a minute we were quite alarmed. If Mr. Van Toy + hadn’t carried Weejee in I think he might have been drowned. + </p> + <p> + “By jove!” I said in a tone to indicate how appalled I was. + </p> + <p> + “Let me throw the stick, Charles,” continued Mrs. Sopley. + “Now, Weejee, look Weejee—here, good dog—look! look now + (sometimes Weejee simply won’t do what one wants), here, Weejee; + now, good dog!” + </p> + <p> + Weejee had his tail sideways between his legs and was moving towards me + again. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on,” said Sopley in a stern tone, “let me throw + him in.” + </p> + <p> + “Do be careful, Charles,” said his wife. + </p> + <p> + Sopley picked Weejee up by the collar and carried him to the edge of the + water—it was about six inches deep,—and threw him in,—with + much the same force as, let us say, a pen is thrown into ink or a brush + dipped into a pot of varnish. + </p> + <p> + “That’s enough; that’s quite enough, Charles,” + exclaimed Mrs. Sopley. “I think he’d better not swim. The + water in the evening is always a little cold. Good dog, good doggie, good + Weejee!” + </p> + <p> + Meantime “good Weejee” had come out of the water and was + moving again towards me. + </p> + <p> + “He goes straight to you,” said my hostess. “I think he + must have taken a fancy to you.” + </p> + <p> + He had. + </p> + <p> + To prove it, Weejee gave himself a rotary whirl like a twirled mop. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m SO sorry,” said Mrs. Sopley. “I am. He’s + wetted you. Weejee, lie down, down, sir, good dog, bad dog, lie down!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right,” I said. “I’ve another + white suit in my valise.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must be wet through,” said Mrs. Sopley. “Perhaps + we’d better go in. It’s getting late, anyway, isn’t it?” + And then she added to her husband, “I don’t think Weejee ought + to sit out here now that he’s wet.” + </p> + <p> + So we went in. + </p> + <p> + “I think you’ll find everything you need,” said Sopley, + as he showed me to my room, “and, by the way, don’t mind if + Weejee comes into your room at night. We like to let him run all over the + house and he often sleeps on this bed.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” I said cheerfully, “I’ll look after + him.” + </p> + <p> + That night Weejee came. + </p> + <p> + And when it was far on in the dead of night—so that even the lake + and the trees were hushed in sleep, I took Weejee out and—but there + is no need to give the details of it. + </p> + <p> + And the Sopleys are still wondering where Weejee has gone to, and waiting + for him to come back, because he is so clever at finding his way. + </p> + <p> + But from where Weejee is, no one finds his way back. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV.—SIDELIGHTS ON THE SUPERMEN + </h2> + <h3> + An Interview with General Bernhardi + </h3> + <p> + He came into my room in that modest, Prussian way that he has, clicking + his heels together, his head very erect, his neck tightly gripped in his + forty-two centimeter collar. He had on a Pickelhaube, or Prussian helmet, + which he removed with a sweeping gesture and laid on the sofa. + </p> + <p> + So I knew at once that it was General Bernhardi. + </p> + <p> + In spite of his age he looked—I am bound to admit it—a fine + figure of a man. There was a splendid fullness about his chest and + shoulders, and a suggestion of rugged power all over him. I had not heard + him on the stairs. He seemed to appear suddenly beside me. + </p> + <p> + “How did you get past the janitor?” I asked. For it was late + at night, and my room at college is three flights up the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “The janitor,” he answered carelessly, “I killed him.” + </p> + <p> + I gave a gasp. + </p> + <p> + “His resistance,” the general went on, “was very slight. + Apparently in this country your janitors are unarmed.” + </p> + <p> + “You killed him?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “We Prussians,” said Bernhardi, “when we wish an + immediate access anywhere, always kill the janitor. It is quicker: and it + makes for efficiency. It impresses them with a sense of our Furchtbarkeit. + You have no word for that in English, I believe?” + </p> + <p> + “Not outside of a livery stable,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. I was thinking of the janitor. It seemed in a sort of + way—I admit that I have a sentimental streak in me—a + deplorable thing. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down,” I said presently. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” answered the General, but remained standing. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” I said, “do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he repeated, without moving. + </p> + <p> + “I forgot,” I said. “Perhaps you CAN’T sit down.” + </p> + <p> + “Not very well,” he answered; “in fact, we Prussian + officers”—here he drew himself up higher still—“never + sit down. Our uniforms do not permit of it. This inspires us with a kind + of Rastlosigkeit.” Here his eyes glittered. + </p> + <p> + “It must,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “In fact, with an Unsittlichkeit—an Unverschamtheit—with + an Ein-fur-alle-mal-un-dur-chaus—” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” I said, for I saw that he was getting excited, + “but pray tell me, General, to what do I owe the honour of this + visit?” + </p> + <p> + The General’s manner changed at once. + </p> + <p> + “Highly learned, and high-well-born-professor,” he said, + “I come to you as to a fellow author, known and honoured not merely + in England, for that is nothing, but in Germany herself, and in Turkey, + the very home of Culture.” + </p> + <p> + I knew that it was mere flattery. I knew that in this same way Lord + Haldane had been so captivated as to come out of the Emperor’s + presence unable to say anything but “Sittlichkeit” for weeks; + that good old John Burns had been betrayed by a single dinner at Potsdam, + and that the Sultan of Turkey had been told that his Answers to Ultimatums + were the wittiest things written since Kant’s Critique of Pure + Reason. Yet I was pleased in spite of myself. + </p> + <p> + “What!” I exclaimed, “they know my works of humour in + Germany?” + </p> + <p> + “Do they know them?” said the General. “Ach! Himmel! How + they laugh. That work of yours (I think I see it on the shelf behind you), + The Elements of Political Science, how the Kaiser has laughed over it! And + the Crown Prince! It nearly killed him!” + </p> + <p> + “I will send him the new edition,” I said. “But tell me, + General, what is it that you want of me?” + </p> + <p> + “It is about my own book,” he answered. “You have read + it?” + </p> + <p> + I pointed to a copy of Germany and the Next War, in its glaring yellow + cover—the very hue of Furchtbarkeit—lying on the table. + </p> + <p> + “You have read it? You have really read it?” asked the General + with great animation. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said, “I won’t go so far as to say that. + But I have TRIED to read it. And I talk about it as if I had read it.” + </p> + <p> + The General’s face fell. + </p> + <p> + “You are as the others,” he said, “They buy the book, + they lay it on the table, they talk of it at dinner,—they say + ‘Bernhardi has prophesied this, Bernhardi foresaw that,’ but + read it,—nevermore.” + </p> + <p> + “Still,” I said, “you get the royalties.” + </p> + <p> + “They are cut off. The perfidious British Government will not allow + the treacherous publisher to pay them. But that is not my complaint.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, then?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “My book is misunderstood. You English readers have failed to grasp + its intention. It is not meant as a book of strategy. It is what you call + a work of humour. The book is to laugh. It is one big joke.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t say so!” I said in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly,” answered the General. “Here”—and + with this he laid hold of the copy of the book before me and began rapidly + turning over the leaves—“let me set it out asunder for you, + the humour of it. Listen, though, to this, where I speak of Germany’s + historical mission on page 73,—‘No nation on the face of the + globe is so able to grasp and appropriate all the elements of culture as + Germany is?’ What do you say to that? Is it not a joke? Ach, Himmel, + how our officers have laughed over that in Belgium! With their booted feet + on the mantelpiece as they read and with bottles of appropriated champagne + beside them as they laugh.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, General,” I said, “you will forgive my + not laughing out loud, but you are a great humorist.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I not? And listen further still, how I deal with the theme of + the German character,—‘Moral obligations such as no nation had + ever yet made the standard of conduct, are laid down by the German + philosophers.’” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” I said, “gloriously funny; read me some more.” + </p> + <p> + “This, then, you will like,—here I deal with the permissible + rules of war. It is on page 236 that I am reading it. I wrote this chiefly + to make laugh our naval men and our Zeppelin crews,—‘A + surprise attack, in order to be justified, must be made only on the armed + forces of the state and not on its peaceful inhabitants. Otherwise the + attack becomes a treacherous crime.’ Eh, what?” + </p> + <p> + Here the General broke into roars of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful,” I said. “Your book ought to sell well in + Scarborough and in Yarmouth. Read some more.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to read you what I say about neutrality, and how + England is certain to violate our strategical right by an attack on + Belgium and about the sharp measures that ought to be taken against + neutral ships laden with contraband,—the passages are in Chapters + VII and VIII, but for the moment I fail to lay the thumb on them.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me the book, General,” I said. “Now that I + understand what you meant by it, I think I can show you also some very + funny passages in it. These things, for example, that you say about Canada + and the colonies,—yes, here it is, page 148,—‘In the + event of war the loosely-joined British Empire will break into pieces, and + the colonies will consult their own interests,’—excellently + funny,—and this again,—‘Canada will not permanently + retain any trace of the English spirit,’—and this too,—‘the + Colonies can be completely ignored so far as the European theatre of war + is concerned,’—and here again,—‘Egypt and South + Africa will at once revolt and break away from the empire,’ —really, + General, your ideas of the British Colonies are superbly funny. Mark Twain + wasn’t a circumstance on you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” said Bernhardi, and his voice reverted to his + habitual Prussian severity, “these are not jokes. They are facts. It + is only through the folly of the Canadians in not reading my book that + they are not more widely known. Even as it is they are exactly the views + of your great leader Heinrich Bauratze—” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Heinrich Bauratze, your great Canadian leader—” + </p> + <p> + “Leader of what?” + </p> + <p> + “That I do not know,” said Bernhardi. “Our intelligence + office has not yet heard what he leads. But as soon as he leads anything + we shall know it. Meantime we can see from his speeches that he has read + my book. Ach! if only your other leaders in Canada,—Sir Robert + Laurier, Sir Osler Sifton, Sir Williams Borden,—you smile, you do + not realize that in Germany we have exact information of everything: all + that happens, we know it.” + </p> + <p> + Meantime I had been looking over the leaves of the book. + </p> + <p> + “Here at least,” I said, “is some splendidly humorous + stuff,—this about the navy. ‘The completion of the Kiel Canal,’ + you write in Chapter XII, ‘is of great importance as it will enable + our largest battleships to appear unexpectedly in the Baltic and in the + North Sea!’ Appear unexpectedly! If they only would! How exquisitely + absurd—” + </p> + <p> + “Sir!” said the General. “That is not to laugh. You err + yourself. That is Furchtbarkeit. I did not say the book is all humour. + That would be false art. Part of it is humour and part is Furchbarkeit. + That passage is specially designed to frighten Admiral Jellicoe. And he + won’t read it! Potztausand, he won’t read it!”—repeated + the general, his eyes flashing and his clenched fist striking in the air—“What + sort of combatants are these of the British Navy who refuse to read our + war-books? The Kaiser’s Heligoland speech! They never read a word of + it. The Furchtbarkeit-Proklamation of August,—they never looked at + it. The Reichstags-Rede with the printed picture of the Kaiser shaking + hands with everybody,—they used it to wrap up sandwiches! What are + they, then, Jellicoe and his men? They sit there in their ships and they + read nothing! How can we get at them if they refuse to read? How can we + frighten them away if they haven’t culture enough to get frightened. + Beim Himmel,” shouted the General in great excitement— + </p> + <p> + But what more he said can never be known. For at this second a sudden + catastrophe happened. + </p> + <p> + In his frenzy of excitement the General struck with his fist at the table, + missed it, lost his balance and fell over sideways right on the point of + his Pickelhaube which he had laid on the sofa. There was a sudden sound as + of the ripping of cloth and the bursting of pneumatic cushions and to my + amazement the General collapsed on the sofa, his uniform suddenly + punctured in a dozen places. + </p> + <p> + “Schnapps,” he cried, “fetch brandy.” + </p> + <p> + “Great Heavens! General,” I said, “what has happened?” + </p> + <p> + “My uniform!” he moaned, “it has burst! Give me + Schnapps!” + </p> + <p> + He seemed to shrink visibly in size. His magnificent chest was gone. He + was shrivelling into a tattered heap. He appeared as he lay there, a very + allegory and illustration of Prussian Furchtbarkeit with the wind going + out of it. + </p> + <p> + “Fetch Schnapps,”—he moaned. + </p> + <p> + “There are no Schnapps here,” I said, “this is McGill + University.” + </p> + <p> + “Then call the janitor,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You killed him,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t. I was lying. I gave him a look that should have + killed him, but I don’t think it did. Rouse yourself from your + chair, and call him—” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” I said, and started up from my seat. + </p> + <p> + But as I did so, the form of General Bernhardi, which I could have sworn + had been lying in a tattered heap on the sofa on the other side of the + room, seemed suddenly to vanish from my eyes. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing before me but the empty room with the fire burned low in + the grate, and in front of me an open copy of Bernhardi’s book. + </p> + <p> + I must,—like many another reader,—have fallen asleep over it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV.—THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST + </h2> + <p> + A bell tinkled over the door of the little drug store as I entered it; + which seemed strange in a lighted street of a great city. + </p> + <p> + But the little store itself, dim even in the centre and dark in the + corners was gloomy enough for a country crossroads. + </p> + <p> + “I have to have the bell,” said the man behind the counter, + reading my thought, “I’m alone here just now.” + </p> + <p> + “A toothbrush?” he said in answer to my question. “Yes, + I guess I’ve got some somewhere round here.” He was stooping + under and behind his counter and his voice came up from below. “I’ve + got some somewhere—” And then as if talking to himself he + murmured from behind a pile of cardboard boxes, “I saw some Tuesday.” + </p> + <p> + Had I gone across the street to the brilliant premises of the Cut Rate + Pharmaceutical where they burn electric light by the meterfull I should no + sooner have said “tooth brush,” than one of the ten clerks in + white hospital jackets would have poured a glittering assortment over the + counter—prophylactic, lactic and every other sort. + </p> + <p> + But I had turned in, I don’t know why, to the little store across + the way. + </p> + <p> + “Here, I guess these must be tooth brushes,” he said, + reappearing at the level of the counter with a flat box in his hand. They + must have been presumably, or have once been,—at some time long ago. + </p> + <p> + “They’re tooth brushes all right,” he said, and started + looking over them with an owner’s interest. + </p> + <p> + “What is the price of them?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” the man said musingly, “I don’t—jest—know. + I guess it’s written on them likely,” and he began to look at + the handles. + </p> + <p> + Over at the Pharmaceutical across the way the words “what price?” + would have precipitated a ready avalanche of figures. + </p> + <p> + “This one seems to be seventy-five cents,” he said and handed + me one. + </p> + <p> + “Is it a good tooth brush?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “It ought to be,” he said, “you’d think, at that + price.” + </p> + <p> + He had no shop talk, no patter whatever. + </p> + <p> + Then he looked at the brush again, more closely. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it IS seventy-five,” he muttered, + “I think it must be fifteen, don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + I took it from his hand and looked and said,—for it is well to take + an occasional step towards the Kingdom of Heaven,—that I was certain + it was seventy-five. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the man, “perhaps it is, my sight is not so + good now. I’ve had too much to do here and the work’s been + using me up some.” + </p> + <p> + I noticed now as he said this how frail he looked as he bent over his + counter wrapping up the tooth brush. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve no sealing wax,” he said, “or not handy.” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn’t matter,” I answered, “just put it in + the paper.” + </p> + <p> + Over the way of course the tooth brush would have been done up almost + instantaneously, in white enamel paper, sealed at the end and stamped with + a label, as fast as the money paid for it went rattling along an automatic + carrier to a cashier. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve been very busy, eh?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, not so much with customers,” he said, “but with + fixing up the place,”—here he glanced about him. Heaven only + knows what he had fixed. There were no visible signs of it. + </p> + <p> + “You see I’ve only been in here a couple of months. It was a + pretty tough looking place when I came to it. But I’ve been getting + things fixed. First thing I did I put those two carboys in the window with + the lights behind them. They show up fine, don’t they?” + </p> + <p> + “Fine!” I repeated; so fine indeed that the dim yellow light + in them reached three or four feet from the jar. But for the streaming + light from the great store across the street, the windows of the little + shop would have been invisible. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a good location here,” he said. Any one could have + told him that it was the worst location within two miles. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll get it going presently,” he went on. “Of + course it’s uphill just at first. Being such a good location the + rent is high. The first two weeks I was here I was losing five dollars a + day. But I got those lights in the window and got the stock overhauled a + little to make it attractive and last month I reckon I was only losing + three dollars a day.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s better,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” he went on, and there was a clear glint of purpose + in his eye that contrasted with his sunken cheeks. “I’ll get + it going. This last two weeks I’m not losing more than say two and a + half a day or something like that? The custom is bound to come. You get a + place fixed up and made attractive like this and people are sure to come + sooner or later.” + </p> + <p> + What it was that was fixed up, and wherein lay the attractiveness I do not + know. It could not be seen with the outward eye. Perhaps after two months’ + work of piling dusty boxes now this way, now that, and putting little + candles behind the yellow carboys to try the effect, some inward vision + came that lighted the place up with an attractiveness wanting even in the + glass and marble glitter of the Pharmacy across the way. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” continued the man, “I mean to stay with it. + I’ll get things into shape here, fix it up a little more and soon I’ll + have it,”—here his face radiated with a vision of hope—“so + that I won’t lose a single cent.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at him in surprise. So humble an ambition it had never been my + lot to encounter. + </p> + <p> + “All that bothers me,” he went on, “is my health. It’s + a nice business the drug business: I like it, but it takes it out of you. + You’ve got to be alert and keen all the time; thinking out plans to + please the custom when it comes. Often I don’t sleep well nights for + the rush of it.” + </p> + <p> + I looked about the little shop, as gloomy and sleepful as the mausoleum of + an eastern king, and wondered by what alchemy of the mind the little + druggist found it a very vortex of activity. + </p> + <p> + “But I can fix my health,” he returned—“I may have + to get some one in here and go away for a spell. Perhaps I’ll do it. + The doctor was saying he thought I might take a spell off and think out a + few more wrinkles while I’m away.” + </p> + <p> + At the word “doctor” I looked at him more warmly, and I saw + then what was plain enough to see but for the dim light of the little + place,—the thin flush on the cheek, the hopeful mind, the contrast + of the will to live and the need to die, God’s little irony on man, + it was all there plain enough to read. The “spell” for which + the little druggist was going is that which is written in letters of + sorrow over the sunlit desolation of Arizona and the mountains of + Colorado. + </p> + <p> + A month went by before I passed that way again. I looked across at the + little store and I read the story in its drawn blinds and the padlock on + its door. + </p> + <p> + The little druggist had gone away for a spell. And they told me, on + enquiry, that his journey had been no further than to the cemetery behind + the town where he lies now, musing, if he still can, on the law of the + survival of the fittest in this well-adjusted world. + </p> + <p> + And they say that the shock of the addition of his whole business to the + great Pharmacy across the way scarcely disturbed a soda siphon. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI—THE FIRST NEWSPAPER + </h2> + <h3> + A Sort of Allegory + </h3> + <p> + How likes it you, Master Brenton?” said the brawny journeyman, + spreading out the news sheet on a smooth oaken table where it lay under + the light of a leaded window. + </p> + <p> + “A marvellous fair sheet,” murmured Brenton Caxton, seventh of + the name, “let me but adjust my glasses and peruse it further lest + haply there be still aught in it that smacks of error.” + </p> + <p> + “It needs not,” said the journeyman, “‘tis the + fourth time already from the press.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay,” answered Master Brenton softly, as he adjusted his + great horn-rimmed spectacles and bent his head over the broad damp news + sheet before him. “Let us grudge no care in this. The venture is a + new one and, meseems, a very parlous thing withal. ‘Tis a venture + that may easily fail and carry down our fortunes with it, but at least let + it not be said that it failed for want of brains in the doing.” + </p> + <p> + “Fail quotha!” said a third man, who had not yet spoken, old, + tall and sour of visage and wearing a printer’s leather apron. He + had moved over from the further side of the room where a little group of + apprentices stood beside the wooden presses that occupied the corner, and + he was looking over the shoulder of Master Brenton Caxton. + </p> + <p> + “How can it do aught else? ‘Tis a mad folly. Mark you, Master + Brenton and Master Nick, I have said it from the first and let the blame + be none of mine. ‘Tis a mad thing you do here. See then,” he + went on, turning and waving his hand, “this vast room, these great + presses, yonder benches and tools, all new, yonder vats of ink straight + out of Flanders, how think you you can recover the cost of all this out of + yonder poor sheets? Five and forty years have I followed this mystery of + printing, ever since thy grandfather’s day, Master Brenton, and + never have I seen the like. What needed this great chamber when your + grandfather and father were content with but a garret place, and yonder + presses that can turn off four score copies in the compass of a single + hour,—‘Tis mad folly, I say.” + </p> + <p> + The moment was an interesting one. The speakers were in a great room with + a tall ceiling traversed by blackened beams. From the street below there + came dimly through the closed casements the sound of rumbling traffic and + the street cries of the London of the seventeenth century. Two vast + presses of such colossal size that their wooden levers would tax the + strength of the stoutest apprentice, were ranged against the further wall. + About the room, spread out on oaken chairs and wooden benches, were flat + boxes filled with leaden type, freshly molten, and a great pile of paper, + larger than a man could lift, stood in a corner. + </p> + <p> + The first English newspaper in history was going to press. Those who in + later ages,—editors, printers, and workers—have participated + in the same scene, can form some idea of the hopes and fears, the doubts + and the difficulties, with which the first newspaper was ushered into the + world. + </p> + <p> + Master Brenton Caxton turned upon the last speaker the undisturbed look of + the eye that sees far across the present into the years to come. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, Edward,” he said, “you have laboured over much in + the past and see not into the future. You think this chamber too great for + our purpose? I tell you the time will come when not this room alone but + three or four such will be needed for our task. Already I have it in my + mind that I will divide even this room into portions, with walls shrewdly + placed through its length and breadth, so that each that worketh shall sit + as it were in his own chamber and there shall stand one at the door and + whosoever cometh, to whatever part of our task his business appertains, he + shall forthwith be brought to the room of him that hath charge of it. + Cometh he with a madrigal or other light poesy that he would set out on + the press, he shall find one that has charge of such matters and can + discern their true value. Or, cometh he with news of aught that happens in + the realm, so shall he be brought instant to the room of him that + recordeth such events. Or, if so be, he would write a discourse on what + seemeth him some wise conceit touching the public concerns, he shall find + to his hand a convenient desk with ink and quills and all that he needeth + to set it straightway on paper; thus shall there be a great abundance of + written matter to our hand so that not many days shall elapse after one of + our news sheets goes abroad before there be matter enough to fill another.” + </p> + <p> + “Days!” said the aged printer, “think you you can fill + one of these news sheets in a few days! Where indeed if you search the + whole realm will you find talk enough in a single week to fill out this + great sheet half an ell wide!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, days indeed!” broke in Master Nicholas, the younger + journeyman. “Master Brenton speaks truth, or less than truth. For + not days indeed, but in the compass of a single day, I warrant you, shall + we find the matter withal.” Master Nicholas spoke with the same + enthusiasm as his chief, but with less of the dreamer in his voice and + eye, and with more swift eagerness of the practical man. + </p> + <p> + “Fill it, indeed,” he went on. “Why, Gad Zooks! man! who + knoweth what happenings there are and what not till one essays the + gathering of them! And should it chance that there is nothing of greater + import, no boar hunt of his Majesty to record, nor the news of some great + entertainment by one of the Lords of the Court, then will we put in lesser + matter, aye whatever comes to hand, the talk of his Majesty’s + burgesses in the Parliament or any such things.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear him!” sneered the printer, “the talk of his + Majesty’s burgesses in Westminster, forsooth! And what clerk or + learned person would care to read of such? Or think you that His Majesty’s + Chamberlain would long bear that such idle chatter should be bruited + abroad. If you can find no worthier thing for this our news sheet than the + talk of the Burgesses, then shall it fail indeed. Had it been the speech + of the King’s great barons and the bishops twere different. But dost + fancy that the great barons would allow that their weighty discourses be + reduced to common speech so that even the vulgar may read it and haply + here and there fathom their very thought itself,—and the bishops, + the great prelates, to submit their ideas to the vulgar hand of a common + printer, framing them into mere sentences! ‘Tis unthinkable that + they would sanction it!” + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” murmured Caxton in his dreaming voice, “the time + shall come, Master Edward, when they will not only sanction it but seek + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Look you,” broke in Master Nick, “let us have done with + this talk? Whether there be enough happenings or not enough,”—and + here he spoke with a kindling eye and looked about him at the little group + of apprentices and printers, who had drawn near to listen, “if there + be not enough, then will I MAKE THINGS HAPPEN. What is easier than to tell + of happenings forth of the realm of which no man can know,—some talk + of the Grand Turk and the war that he makes, or some happenings in the New + Land found by Master Columbus. Aye,” he went on, warming to his + words and not knowing that he embodied in himself the first birth on earth + of the telegraphic editor,—“and why not. One day we write it + out on our sheet ‘The Grand Turk maketh disastrous war on the + Bulgars of the North and hath burnt divers of their villages.’ And + that hath no sooner gone forth than we print another sheet saying, It + would seem that the villages be not burnt but only scorched, nor doth it + appear that the Turk burnt them but that the Bulgars burnt divers villages + of the Turk and are sitting now in his mosque in the city of Hadrian.’ + Then shall all men run to and fro and read the sheet and question and ask, + ‘Is it thus?’ And, ‘Is it thus?’ and by very + uncertainty of circumstances, they shall demand the more curiously to see + the news sheet and read it.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay, Master Nick,” said Brenton, firmly, “that + will I never allow. Let us make it to ourselves a maxim that all that + shall be said in this news sheet, or ‘news paper,’ as my + conceit would fain call it, for be it not made of paper (here a merry + laugh of the apprentices greeted the quaint fancy of the Master), shall be + of ascertained verity and fact indisputable. Should the Grand Turk make + war and should the rumour of it come to these isles, then will we say + ‘The Turk maketh war,’ and should the Turk be at peace, then + we will say ‘The Turk it doth appear is now at peace.’ And + should no news come, then shall we say ‘In good sooth we know not + whether the Turk destroyeth the Bulgars or whether he doth not, for while + some hold that he harasseth them sorely, others have it that he harasseth + them not, whereby we are sore put to it to know whether there be war or + peace, nor do we desire to vex the patience of those who read by any + further discourse on the matter, other than to say that we ourselves are + in doubt what be and what be not truth, nor will we any further speak of + it other than this.’” + </p> + <p> + Those about Caxton listened with awe to this speech. They did not,—they + could not know,—that this was the birth of the Leading Article, but + there was something in the strangely fascinating way in which their chief + enlarged upon his own ignorance that foreshowed to the meanest + intelligence the possibilities of the future. + </p> + <p> + Nicholas shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis a poor plan, Master Brenton,” he said, “the + folk wish news, give them the news. The more thou givest them, the better + pleased they are and thus doth the news sheet move from hand to hand till + it may be said (if I too may coin a phrase) to increase vastly its ‘circulation’—” + </p> + <p> + “In sooth,” said Master Brenton, looking at Nicholas with a + quiet expression that was not exempt from a certain slyness, “there + I do hold thou art in the wrong, even as a matter of craft or policie. For + it seems to me that if our paper speaketh first this and then that but + hath no fixed certainty of truth, sooner or later will all its talk seem + vain, and no man will heed it. But if it speak always the truth, then + sooner or later shall all come to believe it and say of any happening, + ‘It standeth written in the paper, therefore it is so.’ And + here I charge you all that have any part in this new venture,” + continued Master Brenton, looking about the room at the listening faces + and speaking with great seriousness, “let us lay it to our hearts + that our maxim shall be truth and truth alone. Let no man set his hand to + aught that shall go upon our presses save only that which is assured + truth. In this way shall our venture ever be pleasing to the Most High, + and I do verily believe,”—and here Caxton’s voice sank + lower as if he were thinking aloud,—“in the long run, it will + be mighty good for our circulation.” + </p> + <p> + The speaker paused. Then turning to the broad sheet before him, he began + to scan its columns with his eye. The others stood watching him as he + read. + </p> + <p> + “What is this, Master Edward,” he queried presently, “here + I see in this first induct, or column, as one names it, the word King + fairly and truly spelled. Lower down it standeth Kyng, and yet further in + the second induct Kynge, and in the last induct where there is talk of His + Majesty’s marvelous skill in the French game of palm or tennis, lo + the word stands Quhyngge! How sayeth thou?” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldst have it written always in but one and the same way?” + asked the printer in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, truly,” said Caxton. + </p> + <p> + “With never any choice, or variation to suit the fancy of him who + reads so that he who likes it written King may see it so, and yet also he + who would prefer it written in a freer style, or Quhyngge, may also find + it so and thus both be pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “That will I never have!” said Master Brenton firmly, “dost + not remember, friend, the old tale in the fabula of Aesopus of him who + would please all men. Here will I make another maxim for our newspaper. + All men we cannot please, for in pleasing one belike we run counter to + another. Let us set our hand to write always without fear. Let us seek + favour with none. Always in our news sheet we will seek to speak dutifully + and with all reverence of the King his Majesty: let us also speak with all + respect and commendation of His Majesty’s great prelates and nobles, + for are they not the exalted of the land? Also I would have it that we say + nothing harsh against our wealthy merchants and burgesses, for hath not + the Lord prospered them in their substances. Yea, friends, let us speak + ever well of the King, the clergy, the nobility and of all persons of + wealth and substantial holdings. But beyond this”—here Brenton + Coxton’s eye flashed,—“let us speak with utter + fearlessness of all men. So shall we be, if I may borrow a mighty good + word from Tacitus his Annals, of a complete independence, hanging on to no + man. In fact our venture shall be an independent newspaper.” + </p> + <p> + The listeners felt an instinctive awe at the words, and again a strange + prescience of the future made itself felt in every mind. Here for the + first time in history was being laid down that fine, fearless creed that + has made the independent press what it is. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Caxton continued to glance his eye over the news sheet, murmuring + his comments on what he saw,—“Ah! vastly fine, Master + Nicholas,—this of the sailing of His Majesty’s ships for + Spain,—and this, too, of the Doge of Venice, his death, ‘tis + brave reading and maketh a fair discourse. Here also this likes me, + ‘tis shrewdly devised,” and here he placed his finger on a + particular spot on the news sheet,—“here in speaking of the + strange mishap of my Lord Arundel, thou useth a great S for strange, and + setteth it in a line all by itself whereby the mind of him that reads is + suddenly awakened, alarmed as it were by a bell in the night. ‘Tis + good. ‘Tis well. But mark you, friend Nicholas, try it not too + often, nor use your great letters too easily. In the case of my Lord + Arundel, it is seemly, but for a mishap to a lesser person, let it stand + in a more modest fashion.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. Then suddenly Caxton looked up again. + </p> + <p> + “What manner of tale is this! What strange thing is here! In faith, + Master Nicholas, whence hast thou so marvelous a thing! The whole world + must know of it. Harken ye all to this! + </p> + <p> + “‘Let all men that be troubled of aches, spavins, rheums, + boils, maladies of the spleen or humours of the blood, come forthwith to + the sign of the Red Lantern in East Cheap. There shall they find one that + hath a marvelous remedy for all such ailments, brought with great dangers + and perils of the journey from a far distant land. This wonderous balm + shall straightway make the sick to be well and the lame to walk. Rubbed on + the eye it restoreth sight and applied to the ear it reviveth the hearing. + Tis the sole invention of Doctor Gustavus Friedman, sometime of Gottingen + and brought by him hitherwards out of the sheer pity of his heart for them + that be afflicted, nor shall any other fee be asked for it save only such + a light and tender charge as shall defray the cost of Doctor Friedman his + coming and going.’” + </p> + <p> + Caxton paused and gazed at Master Nicholas in wonder. “Whence hadst + thou this?” + </p> + <p> + Master Nicholas smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I had it of a chapman, or travelling doctor, who was most urgent + that we set it forth straightway on the press.” + </p> + <p> + “And is it true?” asked Caxton; “thou hast it of a full + surety of knowledge?” + </p> + <p> + Nicholas laughed lightly. + </p> + <p> + “True or false, I know not,” he said, “but the fellow + was so curious that we should print it that he gave me two golden laurels + and a new sovereign on the sole understanding that we should set it forth + in print.” + </p> + <p> + There was deep silence for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “He PAYETH to have it printed!” said Caxton, deeply impressed. + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” said Master Nicholas, “he payeth and will pay + more. The fellow hath other balms equally potent. All of these he would + admonish, or shall I say advert, the public.” + </p> + <p> + “So,” said Caxton, thoughtfully, “he wishes to make, if + I may borrow a phrase of Albertus Magnus, an advertisement of his goods.” + </p> + <p> + “Even so,” said Nicholas. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said the Master, “he payeth us. We advert the + goods. Forthwith all men buy them. Then hath he more money. He payeth us + again. We advert the goods more and still he payeth us. That would seem to + me, friend Nick, a mighty good busyness for us.” + </p> + <p> + “So it is,” rejoined Nicholas, “and after him others + will come to advert other wares until belike a large part of our news + sheet,—who knows? the whole of it, perhaps, shall be made up in the + merry guise of advertisements.” + </p> + <p> + Caxton sat silent in deep thought. + </p> + <p> + “But Master Caxton”—cried the voice of a young + apprentice, a mere child, as he seemed, with fair hair and blue eyes + filled with the native candour of unsullied youth,—“is this + tale true!” + </p> + <p> + “What sayest thou, Warwick?” said the master printer, almost + sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Good master, is the tale of the wonderous balm true?” + </p> + <p> + “Boy,” said Caxton, “Master Nicholas, hath even said, we + know not if it is true.” + </p> + <p> + “But didst thou not charge us,” pleaded the boy, “that + all that went under our hand into the press should be truth and truth + alone?” + </p> + <p> + “I did,” said Caxton thoughtfully, “but I spoke perhaps + somewhat in overhaste. I see that we must here distinguish. Whether this + is true or not we cannot tell. But it is PAID FOR, and that lifts it, as + who should say, out of the domain of truth. The very fact that it is paid + for giveth it, as it were, a new form of merit, a verity altogether its + own.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay,” said Nicholas, with a twinkle in his shrewd eyes, + “entirely its own.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed so,” said Caxton, “and here let us make to + ourselves another and a final maxim of guidance. All things that any man + will pay for, these we will print, whether true or not, for that doth not + concern us. But if one cometh here with any strange tale of a remedy or + aught else and wishes us to make advertisement of it and hath no money to + pay for it, then shall he be cast forth out of this officina, or office, + if I may call it so, neck and crop into the street. Nay, I will have me + one of great strength ever at the door ready for such castings.” + </p> + <p> + A murmur of approval went round the group. + </p> + <p> + Caxton would have spoken further but at the moment the sound of a bell was + heard booming in the street without. + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis the Great Bell,” said Caxton, “ringing out + the hour of noon. Quick, all of you to your task. Lay me the forms on the + press and speed me the work. We start here a great adventure. Mark well + the maxims I have given you, and God speed our task.” + </p> + <p> + And in another hour or so, the prentice boys of the master printer were + calling in the streets the sale of the first English newspaper. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII—IN THE GOOD TIME AFTER THE WAR + </h2> + <p> + [Footnote: An extract from a London newspaper of 1916.] + </p> + <h3> + HOUSE OF COMMONS REPORT + </h3> + <p> + The Prime Minister in rising said that he thought the time had now come + when the House might properly turn its attention again to domestic + affairs. The foreign world was so tranquil that there was really nothing + of importance which need be brought to the attention of the House. + Members, however, would, perhaps, be glad to learn incidentally that a new + and more comfortable cage had been supplied for the ex-German Emperor, and + that the ex-Crown Prince was now showing distinct signs of intelligence, + and was even able to eat quite quietly out of his keeper’s hand. + Members would be gratified to know that at last the Hohenzollern family + were able to abstain from snapping at the hand that fed them. But he would + now turn to the subject of Home Rule. + </p> + <p> + Here the House was seen to yawn noticeably, and a general lack of interest + was visible, especially among the Nationalist and Ulster members. A number + of members were seen to rise as if about to move to the refreshment- room. + Mr. John Redmond and Sir Edward Carson were seen walking arm in arm + towards the door. + </p> + <p> + The Prime Minister. “Will the members kindly keep their seats? We + are about to hold a discussion on Home Rule. Members will surely recall + that this form of discussion was one of our favourite exercises only a + year or so ago. I trust that members have not lost interest in the + subject.” (General laughter among the members, and cries of “Cut + it out!” “What is it?”) + </p> + <p> + The Prime Minister (with some asperity). “Members are well aware + what Home Rule meant. It was a plan—or rather it was a scheme—that + is to say, it was an act of parliament, or I should say a bill, in fact, + Mr. Speaker, I don’t mind confessing that, not having my papers with + me, I am unable to inform the House just what Home Rule was. I think, + perhaps, the Ex-Minister of Munitions has a copy of last year’s + bill.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lloyd George rising, with evident signs of boredom. “The House + will excuse me. I am tired. I have been out all day aeroplaning with Mr. + Churchill and Mr. Bonar Law, with a view to inspect the new national + training camp. I had the Home Rule Bill with me along with the Welsh + Disestablishment Bill and the Land Bill, and I am afraid that I lost the + whole bally lot of them; dropped them into the sea or something. I hope + the Speaker will overlook the term ‘bally.’ It may not be + parliamentary.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Speaker (laughing). “Tut, tut, never mind a little thing like + that. I am sure that after all that we have gone through together, the + House is quite agreed that a little thing like parliamentary procedure + doesn’t matter.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lloyd George (humbly). “Still I am sorry for the term. I’d + like to withdraw it. I separate or distinguish in any degree the men of + Ulster from the men of Tipperary, and the heart of Belfast from the heart + of Dublin.” (Loud cheers.) + </p> + <p> + Mr. Redmond (springing forward). “And I’ll say this: Not I, + nor any man of Ireland, Dublin, Belfast, or Connaught will ever set our + hands or names to any bill that shall separate Ireland in any degree from + the rest of the Empire. Work out, if you like, a new scheme of government. + If the financial clauses are intricate, get one of your treasury clerks to + solve them. If there’s trouble in arranging your excise on your + customs, settle it in any way you please. But it is too late now to + separate England and Ireland. We’ve held the flag of the Empire in + our hand. We mean to hold it in our grasp forever. We have seen its + colours tinged a brighter red with the best of Ireland’s blood, and + that proud stain shall stay forever as the symbol of the unity of Irish + and the English people.” + </p> + <p> + (Loud cheers ring through the House; several members rise in great + excitement, all shouting and speaking together.) There is heard the voice + of Mr. Angus McCluskey, Member for the Hebrides, calling—“And + ye’ll no forget Scotland, me lad, when you talk of unity! Do you + mind the Forty-Second, and the London Scottish in the trenches of the + Aisne? Wha carried the flag of the Empire then? Unity, ma friends, ye’ll + never break it. It may involve a wee bit sacrifice for Scotland + financially speaking. I’ll no say no to a reveesion of the monetairy + terms, if ye suggest it,—but for unita—Scotland and the + Empire, now and forever!” + </p> + <p> + A great number of members have risen in their seats. Mr. Open Ap Owen + Glendower is calling: “Aye and Wales! never forget Wales.” Mr. + Trevelyan Trendinning of Cornwall has started singing “And shall + Trelawney Die?”—while the deep booming of “Rule + Britannia” from five hundred throats ascends to the very rafters of + the House. + </p> + <p> + The Speaker laughing and calling for order, while two of the more elderly + clerks are beating with the mace on the table,—“Gentlemen, + gentlemen, I have a proposal to make. I have just learned that there is at + the Alhambra in Leicester Square, a real fine moving picture show of the + entrance of the Allies into Berlin. Let’s all go to it. We can leave + a committee of the three youngest members to stay behind and draw up a new + government for Ireland. Even they can’t go wrong now as to what we + want.” + </p> + <p> + Loud Cheers as the House empties, singing “It was a Long Way to + Tipperary, but the way lay through Berlin.” + </p> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOONBEAMS FROM THE LARGER LUNACY ***</div> + </body> +</html> |