XI
"I wonder what would have happened if Columbus had not discoveredAmerica?" said the Bibliomaniac, as the company prepared to partake ofthe morning meal.
"He would have gone home disappointed," said the Idiot, with a look ofsurprise on his face, which seemed to indicate that in his opinion theBibliomaniac was very dull-witted not to have solved the problem forhimself. "He would have gone home disappointed, and we would now beforeigners, like most other Americans. Mr. Pedagog would doubtless beinstructing the young scions of the aristocracy of Tipperary, Mr.Whitechoker would be Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bibliomaniac would beraising bulbs in Holland, and----"
"THE BIBLIOMANIAC WOULD BE RAISING BULBS"]
"And you would be wandering about with the other wild men of Borneo atthe present time," put in the School-Master.
"No," said the Idiot. "Not quite. I should be dividing my time up betweenHolland, France, Switzerland, and Spain."
"You are an international sort of Idiot, eh?" queried the Lawyer, with achuckle at his own wit.
"Say rather a cosmopolitan Idiot," said the Idiot. "Among my ancestorsI number individuals of various nations, though I suppose that if we goback far enough we were all in the same boat as far as that is concerned.One of my great-great-grandfathers was a Scotchman, one of them was aDutchman, another was a Spaniard, a fourth was a Frenchman. What theothers were I don't know. It's a nuisance looking up one's ancestors,I think. They increase so as you go back into the past. Every manhas had two grandfathers, four great-grandfathers, eightgreat-great-grandfathers, sixteen great-great-great-grandfathers,thirty-two fathers raised to the fourth power of great-grandness, andso on, increasing in number as you go further back, until it is hardlypossible for any one to throw a brick into the pages of history withouthitting somebody who is more or less responsible for his existence. Idare say there is a streak of Julius Caesar in me, and I haven't a doubtthat if our friend Mr. Pedagog here were to take the trouble toinvestigate, he would find that Caesar and Cassius and Brutus could benumbered among his early progenitors--and now that I think of it,I must say that in my estimation he is an unusually amiable man,considering how diverse the nature of these men were. Think of it fora minute. Here a man unites in himself Caesar and Cassius and Brutus,two of whom killed the third, and then, having quarrelled together,went out upon a battle-field and slaughtered themselves, after makingextemporaneous remarks, for which this miserable world gives Shakespeareall the credit. It's worse than the case of a friend of mine, one ofwhose grandfathers was French and the other German."
"How did it affect him?" asked Mr. Whitechoker.
"It made him distrust himself," said the Idiot, with a smile, "and forthat reason he never could get on in the world. When his Teutonic naturesuggested that he do something, his Gallic blood would rise up and spoileverything, and _vice versa_. He was eternally quarrelling with himself.He was a victim to internal disorder of the worst sort."
"And what, pray, finally became of him?" asked the Clergyman.
"He shot himself in a duel," returned the Idiot, with a wink at thegenial old gentleman who occasionally imbibed. "It was very sad."
"I've known sadder things," said Mr. Pedagog, wearily. "Your elaboratejokes, for instance. They are enough to make strong men weep."
"You flatter me, Mr. Pedagog," said the Idiot. "I have never in all myexperience as a cracker of jests made a man laugh until he cried, but Ihope to some day. But, really, do you know I think Columbus is animmensely overrated man. If you come down to it, what did he do? He wentout to sea in a ship and sailed for three months, and when he leastexpected it ran slam-bang up against the Western Hemisphere. It was likeshooting at a barn door with a Gatling gun. He was bound to hit it sooneror later."
"You don't give him any credit for tenacity of purpose or good judgment,then?" asked Mr. Brief.
"Of course I do. Plenty of it. He stuck to his ship like a hero whodidn't know how to swim. His judgment was great. He had too much senseto go back to Spain without any news of something, because he fullyunderstood that unless he had something to show for the trip, there wouldhave been a great laugh on Queen Isabella for selling her jewels toprovide for a ninety-day yacht cruise for him and a lot of commonsailors, which would never have done. So he kept on and on, and finallysome unknown lookout up in the bow discovered America. Then Columbuswent home and told everybody that if it hadn't been for his own eagle eyeemigration wouldn't have been invented, and world's fairs would have beenlocal institutions. Then they got up a parade in which the King and Queengraciously took part, and Columbus became a great man. Meanwhile theunknown lookout who did discover the land was knocking about the town andthinking he was a very lucky fellow to get an extra glass of grog. Itwasn't anything more than the absolute justice of fate that caused thenew land to be named America and not Columbia. It really ought to havebeen named after that fellow up in the bow."
"But, my dear Idiot," put in the Bibliomaniac, "the scheme itself wasColumbus's own. He evolved the theory that the earth is round like aball."
"To quote Mr. Pedagog--" began the Idiot.
"You can't quote me in your own favor," snapped the School-Master.
"Wait until I have finished," said the Idiot. "I was only going to quoteyou by saying 'Tutt!' that's all; and so I repeat, in the words of Mr.Pedagog, tutt, tutt! Evolved the theory? Why, man, how could he helpevolving the theory? There was the sun rising in the east every morningand setting in the west every night. What else was there to believe? Thatsomebody put the sun out every night, and sneaked back east with it undercover of darkness?"
"But you forget that the wise men of the day laughed at his idea," saidMr. Pedagog, surveying the Idiot after the fashion of a man who has dealtan adversary a stinging blow.
"That only proves what I have always said," replied the Idiot. "Wise mencan't find fun in anything but stern facts. Wise men always do laugh attruth. Whenever I advance some new proposition, you sit up there next toMrs. Pedagog and indulge in tutt-tutterances of the most intolerant sort.If you had been one of the wise men of Columbus's time there isn't anydoubt in my mind that when Columbus said the earth was round, you'd haveremarked tutt, tutt, in Spanish." There was silence for a minute, andthen the Idiot began again. "There's another point about this wholebusiness that makes me tired," he said. "It only goes to prove theconceit of these Europeans. Here was a great continent inhabited bycountless people. A European comes over here and is said to be thediscoverer of America and is glorified. Statues of him are scatteredbroad-cast all over the world. Pictures of him are printed in thenewspapers and magazines. A dozen different varieties of portraits ofhim are printed on postage-stamps as big as circus posters--and all forwhat? Because he discovered a land that millions of Indians had knownabout for centuries. On the other hand, when Columbus goes back to Spainseveral of the native Americans trust their precious lives to his oldtubs. One of these savages must have been the first American to discoverEurope. Where are the statues of the Indian who discovered Europe? Whereare the postage-stamps showing how he looked on the day when Europe firststruck his vision? Where is anybody spending a billion of dollars gettingup a world's fair in commemoration of Lo's discovery of Europe?"
"He didn't know it was Europe," said the Bibliomaniac.
"Columbus didn't know this was America," retorted the Idiot. "In fact,Columbus didn't know anything. He didn't know any better than to write aletter to Queen Isabella and mail it in a keg that never turned up. Hedidn't even know how to steer his old boat into a real solid continent,instead of getting ten days on the island. He was an awfully wise man. Hesaw an island swarming with Indians, and said, 'Why, this must be India!'And worst of all, if his pictures mean anything, he didn't even knowenough to choose his face and stick to it. Don't talk Columbus to meunless you want to prove that luck is the greatest factor of success."
"DIDN'T KNOW ENOUGH TO CHOOSE HIS OWN FACE"]
"Ill-luck is sometimes a factor of success," said Mr. Pedagog. "You are asuccess as a
n Idiot, which appears to me to be extremely unfortunate."
"I don't know about that," said the Idiot. "I adapt myself to my company,and of course--"
"Then you are a school-master among school-masters, a lawyer amonglawyers, and so forth?" queried the Bibliomaniac.
"What are you when your company is made up of widely diverse characters?"asked Mr. Brief before the Idiot had a chance to reply to theBibliomaniac's question.
"I try to be a widely diverse character myself."
"And, trying to sit on many stools, fall and become just an Idiot," saidMr. Pedagog.
"That's according to the way you look at it. I put my company to the testin the crucible of my mind. I analyze the characters of all about me, andwhatever quality predominates in the precipitate, that I become. Thus inthe presence of my employer and his office-boy I become a mixture ofboth--something of the employer, something of an office-boy. I runerrands for my employer, and boss the office-boy. With you gentlemen Igo through the same process. The Bibliomaniac, the School-Master, Mr.Brief, and the rest of you have been cast into the crucible, and I havetried to approximate the result."
"And are an Idiot," said the School-Master.
"It is your own name for me, gentlemen," returned the Idiot. "I presumeyou have recognized your composite self, and have chosen the titleaccordingly."
* * * * *
"You were a little hard on me this morning, weren't you?" asked thegenial old gentleman who occasionally imbibed, that evening, when he andthe Idiot were discussing the morning's chat. "I didn't like to sayanything about it, but I don't think you ought to have thrown me into thecrucible with the rest."
"I wish you had spoken," said the Idiot, warmly. "It would have given mea chance to say that the grain of sense that once or twice a year leavensthe lump of my idiocy is directly due to the ingredient furnished byyourself. Here's to you, old man. If you and I lived alone together, whata wise man I should be!"
And then the genial old gentleman went to the cupboard and got out abottle of port-wine that he had been preserving in cobwebs for ten years.This he opened, and as he did so he said, "I've been keeping this foryears, my boy. It was dedicated in my youth to the thirst of the firstman who truly appreciated me. Take it all."
"I'll divide with you," returned the Idiot, with a smile. "For really,old fellow, I think you--ah--I think you appreciate yourself as much asI do."
XII
"I wonder what it costs to run a flat?" said the Idiot, stirring hiscoffee with the salt-spoon--a proceeding which seemed to indicate that hewas thinking of something else.
"Don't you keep an expense account?" asked the Bibliomaniac, slyly.
"Hee-hee!" laughed Mrs. Pedagog.
"First-rate joke," said the Idiot, with a smile. "But really, now,I should like to know for how little an apartment could be run. I aminterested."
Mrs. Pedagog stopped laughing at once. The Idiot's words were ominous.She did not always like his views, but she did like his money, and shewas not at all anxious to lose him as a boarder.
"It's very expensive," she said, firmly. "I shouldn't ever advise anyone to undertake living in a flat. Rents are high. Butcher bills areenormous, because the butchers have to pay commissions, not only to thecook, so that she'll use twice as much lard as she can, and give awaythree or four times as much to the poor as she ought, but janitors haveto be seen to, and elevator-boys, and all that. Groceries come high forthe same reason. Oh, no! Flat life isn't the life for anybody, I say.Give me a good, first-class boarding-house. Am I not right, John?"
"JANITORS HAVE TO BE SEEN TO"]
"Yes, indeed," said Mr. Pedagog. "Every time. I lived in a flat once,and it was an awful nuisance. Above me lived a dancing-master who gavelessons at every hour of the day in the room directly over my study,so that I was always being disturbed at my work, while below me was amusic-teacher who was practising all night, so that I could hardly sleep.Worst of all, on the same floor with me was a miserable person ofconvivial tendencies, who always mistook my door for his when he camehome after midnight, and who gave some quite estimable people twofloors below to believe that it was I, and not he, who sang comic songsbetween three and four o'clock in the morning. There has not been toomuch love lost between the Idiot and myself, but I cannot be sovindictive as to recommend him to live in a flat."
"I can bear testimony to the same effect," put in Mr. Brief, who was twoweeks in arrears, and anxious to conciliate his landlady.
"Testimony to the effect that Mr. Pedagog sang comic songs in the earlymorning?" said the Idiot. "Nonsense! I don't believe it. I have lived inthis house for two years with Mr. Pedagog, and I've never heard him raisehis voice in song yet."
"I didn't mean anything of the sort," retorted Mr. Brief. "You know Ididn't."
"Don't apologize to me," said the Idiot. "Apologize to Mr. Pedagog. He isthe man you have wronged."
"What did he say?" put in Mr. Pedagog, with a stern look at Mr. Brief. "Ididn't hear what he said."
"I didn't say anything," said the lawyer, "except that I could beartestimony to the effect that your experience with flat life was similarto mine. This young person, with his customary nerve, tries to make itappear that I said you sang comic songs in the early morning."
"I try to do nothing of the sort," said the Idiot. "I simply expressed mybelief that in spite of what you said Mr. Pedagog was innocent, and I doso because my experience with him has taught me that he is not the kindof man who would do that sort of thing. He has neither time, voice, norinclination. He has an ear--two of them, in fact--and an impressionablemind, but--"
"Oh, tutt!" interrupted the School-Master. "When I need a defender, youmay spare yourself the trouble of flying to my rescue."
"I know I _may_," said the Idiot, "but with me it's a question of can andcan't. I'm willing to attack you personally, but while I live no othershall do so. Wherefore I tell Mr. Brief plainly, and to his face, that ifhe says you ever sang a comic song he says what is not so. You might humone, but sing it--never!"
"We were talking of flats, I believe," said Mr. Whitechoker.
"Yes," said the Idiot, "and these persons have changed it from flat talkto sharp talk."
"Well, anyhow," put in Mr. Brief, "I lived in a flat once, and it wasanything but pleasant. I lost a case once for the simple and only reasonthat I lived in a flat. It was a case that required a great deal ofstrategy on my part, and I invited my client to my home to unfold my planof action. I got interested in the scheme as I unfolded it, and spoke inmy usual impassioned manner, as though addressing a jury, and, would youbelieve it, the opposing counsel happened to be visiting a friend on thenext floor, and my eloquence floated up through the air-shaft, and gaveour whole plan of action away. We were routed on the point we hadsupposed would pierce the enemy's armor and lay him at our feet, for thewholly simple reason that that abominable air-shaft had made my strategicmove a matter of public knowledge."
"MY ELOQUENCE FLOATED UP THE AIR-SHAFT"]
"That's a good idea for a play," said the Idiot. "A roaring farce couldbe built up on that basis. Villain and accomplice on one floor, innocentvictim on floor above. Plot floats up air-shaft. Innocent victimoverhears; villain and accomplice say 'ha ha' for three acts and takea back seat in the fourth, with a grand transformation showing theconspirators in the county jail as a finale. Write it up with lots oflive-stock wandering in and out, bring in janitors and elevator-boysand butchers, show up some of the humors of flat life, if there be anysuch, call it _A Hole in the Flat_, and put it on the stage. Nine hundrednights is the very shortest run it could have, which at fifty dollars anight for the author is $45,000 in good hard dollars. Mr. Poet, the ideais yours for a fiver. Say the word."
"Thanks," said the Poet, with a smile; "I'm not a dramatist."
"Then I'll have to do it myself," said the Idiot. "And if I do, good-byeShakespeare."
"That's so," said Mr. Pedagog. "Nothing could more effectually ruin thedramatic art than to h
ave you write a play. People, seeing your work,would say, here, this will never do. The stage must be discouraged at allcosts. A hypocrite throws the ministry into disgrace, an ignoramus bringsshame upon education, and an unpopular lawyer gives the bar a bad name. Ithink you are just the man to ruin Shakespeare."
"Then I'll give up my ambition to become a playwright and stick toidiocy," said the Idiot. "But to come back to flats. Your feeling inregard to them is entirely different from that of a friend of mine, whohas lived in one for ten years. He thinks flat life is ideal. Hischildren can't fall down-stairs, because there aren't any stairs to falldown. His roof never leaks, because he hasn't any roof to leak; and whenhe and his family want to go off anywhere, all he has to do is to lockhis front door and go. Burglars never climb into his front window,because they are all eight flights up. Damp cellars don't trouble him,because they are too far down to do him any injury, even if theyoverflow. The cares of house-keeping are reduced to a minimum. His cookdoesn't spend all her time in the front area flirting with the postman,because there isn't any front area to his flat; and in a social way hiswife is most delightfully situated, because most of her friends live inthe same building, and instead of having to hire a carriage to go callingin, all she has to do is to take the elevator and go from one floor toanother. If he pines for a change of scene, he is high enough up in theair to get it by looking out of his windows, over the tops of otherbuildings, into the green fields to the north, or looking westward intothe State of New Jersey. Instead of taking a drive through the Park, ora walk, all he and his wife need to do is to take a telescope and followsome little sylvan path with their eyes. Then, as for expense, he findsthat he saves money by means of a co-operative scheme. For instance, ifhe wants shad for dinner, and he and his wife cannot eat a whole one, hegoes shares on the shad and its cost with his neighbors above and below."
"Yes, and his neighbors above and below borrow tea and eggs and butterand ice and other things whenever they run short, so that in that way heloses all he saves," said Mr. Pedagog, resolved not to give in.
"He does if he isn't smart," said the Idiot. "I thought of that myself,and asked him about it, and he told me that he kept account of all that,and always made it a point after some neighbor had borrowed two poundsof butter from him to send in before the week was over and borrow threepounds of butter from the neighbor. So far his books show that he issixteen pounds of butter, seven pounds of tea, one bottle of vanillaextract, and a ton of ice ahead of the whole house. He is six eggs anda box of matches behind in his egg and match account, but under thecircumstances I think he can afford it."
"But," said Mrs. Pedagog, anxious to know the worst, "why--er--why areyou so interested?"
"Well," said the Idiot, slowly, "I--er--I am contemplating a change, Mrs.Pedagog--a change that would fill me--I say it sincerely, too--withregret if--" The Idiot paused a minute, and his eye swept fondly aboutthe table. His voice was getting a little husky too, Mr. Whitechokernoticed. "It would fill me with regret, I say, if it were not thatin taking up house-keeping I am--I am to have the assistance of abetter-half."
"What??" cried the Bibliomaniac. "You? You are going to be--to bemarried?"
"Why not?" said the Idiot. "Imitation is the sincerest flattery. Mr.Pedagog marries, and I am going to flatter him as sincerely as I can byfollowing in his footsteps."
"May I--may we ask to whom?" asked Mrs. Pedagog, softly.
"Certainly," said the Idiot. "To Mr. Barlow's daughter. Mr. Barlow is--orwas--my employer."
"Was? Is he not now? Are you going out of business?" asked Mr. Pedagog.
"No; but, you see, when I went to see Mr. Barlow in the matter, he toldme that he liked me very much, and he had no doubt I would make a goodhusband for his daughter, but, after all, he added that I was nothingbut a confidential clerk on a small salary, and he thought his daughtercould do better."
"She couldn't find a better fellow, Mr. Idiot," said Mrs. Pedagog, andMr. Pedagog rose to the occasion by nodding his entire acquiescence inthe statement.
"Thank you very much," said the Idiot. "That was precisely what I toldMr. Barlow, and I suggested a scheme to him by which his sole objectioncould be got around."
"You would start in business for yourself?" said Mr. Whitechoker.
"In a sense, yes," said the Idiot. "Only the way I put it was that a goodconfidential clerk would make a good partner for him, and he, afterthinking it over, thought I was right."
"It certainly was a characteristically novel way out of the dilemma,"said Mr. Brief, with a smile.
"I thought so myself, and so did he, so it was all arranged. On the 1stof next month I enter the firm, and on the 15th I am--ah--to be married."
The company warmly congratulated the Idiot upon his good-fortune, and heshortly left the room, more overcome by their felicitations than he hadbeen by their arguments in the past.
The few days left passed quickly by, and there came a breakfast at Mrs.Pedagog's house that was a mixture of joy and sadness--joy for hishappiness, sadness that that table should know the Idiot no more.
Among the wedding-gifts was a handsomely bound series of volumes,including a cyclopaedia, a dictionary, and a little tome of poems, thefirst output of the Poet. These came together, with a card inscribed,"From your Friends of the Breakfast Table," of whom the Idiot said, whenMrs. Idiot asked for information:
"They, my dear, next to yourself and my parents, are the dearest friendsI ever had. We must have them up to breakfast some morning."
"Breakfast?" queried Mrs. Idiot.
"Yes, my dear," he replied, simply. "I should be afraid to meet them atany other meal. I am always at my best at breakfast, and they--well, theynever are."
THE END
* * * * *
BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
Mr. Bonaparte of Corsica.
Mr. Bangs is probably the generator of more hearty, healthful, purelygood-humored laughs than any other half-dozen men of our countryto-day.--_Interior_, Chicago.
The Idiot.
"The Idiot," continues to be as amusing and as triumphantly bright in thevolume called after his name as in "Coffee and Repartee."--_Evangelist_,N. Y.
The Water Ghost, and Others.
The funny side of the ghost genre is brought out with originality, and,considering the morbidity that surrounds the subject, it is a wholesomething to offer the public a series of tales letting in the sunlight oflaughter.--_Hartford Courant_.
Three Weeks in Politics.
The funny story is most graphically told, and he who can read thisnarrative of a campaigner's trials without laughing must be a stoicindeed.--_Philadelphia Bulletin_.
Coffee and Repartee.
Is delightfully free from conventionality; is breezy, witty, andpossessed of an originality both genial and refreshing.--_SaturdayEvening Gazette_, Boston.
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