IV
"I see the men are at work on the pavements this morning," said theSchool-Master, gazing out through the window at a number of laborers atwork in the street.
"Yes," said the Idiot, calmly, "and I think Mrs. Pedagog ought to sue theDepartment of Public Works for libel. If she hasn't a case no malignedperson ever had."
"What are you saying, sir?" queried the landlady, innocently.
"I say," returned the Idiot, pointing out into the street, "that youought to sue the Department of Public Works for libel. They've got theirsign right up against your house. _No Thorough Fare_ is what it says.That's libel, isn't it, Mr. Brief?"
"It is certainly a fatal criticism of a boarding-house," observed Mr.Brief, with a twinkle in his eye, "but Mrs. Pedagog could hardly securedamages on that score."
"I don't know about that," returned the Idiot. "As I understand it, it isan old maxim of the law that the greater the truth the greater the libel.Mrs. Pedagog ought to receive a million----By-the-way, what have we thismorning?"
"We have steak and fried potatoes, sir," replied Mrs. Pedagog, frigidly."And I desire to add, that one who criticises the table as much as you dowould do well to get his meals outside."
"That, Mrs. Pedagog, is not the point. The difficulty I find here lies ingetting my meals inside," said the Idiot.
"Mary, you may bring in the mush," observed Mrs. Pedagog, pursing herlips, as she always did when she wished to show that she was offended.
"Yes, Mary," put in the School-Master; "let us have the mush as quicklyas possible--and may it not be quite such mushy mush as the remarks wehave just been favored with by our talented friend the Idiot."
"You overwhelm me with your compliments, Mr. Pedagog," replied the Idiot,cheerfully. "A flatterer like you should live in a flat."
"Has your friend completed his article on old jokes yet?" queried theBibliomaniac, with a smile and some apparent irrelevance.
"HAS YOUR FRIEND COMPLETED HIS ARTICLE ON OLD JOKES?"]
"Yes and no," said the Idiot. "He has completed his labors on it bygiving it up. He is a very thorough sort of a fellow, and he intendedto make the article comprehensive, but he found he couldn't, because,judging from comments of men like you, for instance, he was forced toconclude that there never was a _new_ joke. But, as I was saying theother morning----"
"Do you really remember what you say?" sneered Mr. Pedagog. "You musthave a great memory for trifles."
"Sir, I shall never forget you," said the Idiot. "But to revert to whatI was saying the other morning, I'd like to begin life all over again, sothat I could prepare myself for the profession of architecture. It's thegreatest profession in the world, and one which is surest to bringimmortality to its successful follower. A man may write a splendid book,and become a great man for a while and within certain limits, but thechances are that some other man will come along later and supplant him.Then the book's sale will die out after a time, and with this will comea diminution of its author's reputation, in extent anyway. An actor or agreat preacher becomes only a name after his death, but the architect whobuilds a cathedral or a fine public building really erects a monument tohis own memory."
"He does if he can build it so that it will stay up," said theBibliomaniac. "I think you, however, are better off as you are. If youhad a more extended reputation or a lasting name you would probably belocked up in some retreat; or if you were not, posterity would want toknow why."
"I am locked up in a retreat of Nature's making," said the Idiot, with asigh. "Nature has set around me certain limitations which, while they arenot material, might as well be so as far as my ability to soar above themis concerned--and it's well she has. If it were otherwise, my life wouldnot be safe or bearable in this company. As it is, I am happy and not atall afraid of the effects your jealousy of me might entail if I were anybetter than the rest of you."
"I like that," said Mr. Pedagog.
"I thought you would," said the Idiot. "That's why I said it. I aim toplease, and for once seem to have hit the bull's-eye. Mary, kindly breakopen this biscuit for me."
"Have you ideas on the subject of architecture that you so desire tobecome an architect?" queried Mr. Whitechoker, who was always full ofsympathy for aspiring natures.
"A few," said the Idiot.
Mr. Pedagog laughed outright.
"Let's test his ideas," he said, in an amused way. "Take a cathedral, forinstance. Suppose, Mr. Idiot, a man should come to you and say: 'Idiot,we have a fund of $800,000 in our hands, actual cash. We think ofbuilding a cathedral, and we think of employing you to draw up our plans.Give us some idea of what we should do.' Do you mean to tell me that youcould say anything reasonable or intelligent to that man?"
"Well, that depends upon what you call reasonable and intelligent. I havenever been able to find out what you mean by those terms," the Idiotanswered, slowly. "But I could tell him something that I considerreasonable and intelligent."
"From your own point of view, then, as to reasonableness andintelligence, what should you say to him?"
"I'd make him out a plan providing for the investment of his $800,000 infive-per-cent, gold bonds, which would bring him in an income of $40,000a year; after which I should call his attention to the fact that $40,000a year would enable him to take 10,000 poor children out of thissweltering city into the country, to romp and drink fresh milk and eatwholesome food for two weeks every summer from now until the end of time,which would build up a human structure that might be of more benefit tothe world than any pile of bricks, marble, and wrought-iron I or anyother architect could conceive of," said the Idiot. "The structure wouldstand up, too."
"You call that architecture, do you?" said Mr. Pedagog.
"Yes," said the Idiot, "of the renaissance order. But that, of course,you term idiocy--and maybe it is. I like to be that kind of an idiot. Ido not claim to be able to build a cathedral, however. I don't supposeI could even build a boarding-house like this, but what I should like todo in architecture would be to put up a $5000 dwelling-house for $5000.That's a thing that has never been done, and I think I might be able todo it. If I did, I'd patent the plan and make a fortune. Then I shouldlike to know enough about the science of planning a building to find outwhether my model hotel is practicable or not."
"You have a model hotel in your mind, eh?" said the Bibliomaniac.
"It must be a very small hotel if it's in his mind," said the Doctor.
"That's tantamount to saying that it isn't anywhere," said Mr. Pedagog.
"Well, it's a great hotel just the same," said the Idiot. "Although Ipresume it would be expensive to build. It would have movable rooms, inthe first place. Each room would be constructed like an elevator, withappliances at hand for moving it up and down. The great thing about thiswould be that persons could have a room on any floor they wanted it, solong as they got the room in the beginning. A second advantage would liein the fact, that if you were sleeping in a room next door to another inwhich there was a crying baby, you could pull the rope and go up two orthree flights until you were free from the noise. Then in case of firethe room in which the fire started could be lowered into a sliding tanklarge enough to immerse the whole thing in, which I should haveconstructed in the cellar. If the whole building were to catch fire,there would be no loss of life, because all the rooms could be loweredto the ground-floor, and the occupants could step right out upon solidground. Then again, if you were down on the ground-floor, and desired toget an extended view of the surrounding country, it would be easy toraise your room to the desired elevation. Why, there's no end to theadvantages to be gained from such an arrangement."
"It's a fine idea," said Mr. Pedagog, "and one worthy of your mammothintellect. It couldn't possibly cost more than a million of dollars toerect such a hotel, could it?"
"No," said the Idiot. "And that is cheap alongside some of the hotelsthey are putting up nowadays."
"It could be built on less than four hundred acres of ground, too,I presume?" said the Biblio
maniac, with a wink at the Doctor.
"Certainly," said the Idiot, meekly.
"And if anybody fell sick in one of the rooms," said the Doctor, "andneeded a change of air, you could have a tower over each, I suppose, sothat the room could be elevated high enough to secure the differentquality in the ether?"
"Undoubtedly," said the Idiot. "Although that would add materially to theexpense. A scarlet-fever patient, however, in a hotel like that couldvery easily be isolated from the rest of the house by the maintenance ofwhat might be called the hospital floor."
"Superb!" said the Doctor. "I wonder you haven't spoken to somearchitectural friend about it."
"I have," said the Idiot. "You must remember that young fellow with ablack mustache I had here to dinner last Saturday night."
"Yes, I remember him," said the Doctor. "Is he an architect?"
"He is--and a good one. He can take a brown-stone dwelling and turn itinto a colonial mansion with a pot of yellow paint. He's a wonder. Isubmitted the idea to him."
"And what was his verdict?"
"I don't like to say," said the Idiot, blushing a little.
"Ha! ha!" laughed Mr. Pedagog. "I shouldn't think you would like to say.I guess we know what he said."
"I doubt it," said the Idiot; "but if you guess right, I'll tell you."
"He said you had better go and live in a lunatic asylum," said Mr.Pedagog, with a chuckle.
"Not he," returned the Idiot, nibbling at his biscuit. "On the contrary.He advised me to stop living in one. He said contact with the rest of youwas affecting my brain."
This time Mr. Pedagog did not laugh, but mistaking his coffee-cup for apiece of toast, bit a small section out of its rim; and in the midst ofMrs. Pedagog's expostulation, which followed the School-Master's carelesserror, the Idiot and the Genial Old Gentleman departed, with smiles ontheir faces which were almost visible at the back of their respectivenecks.
THEY DEPARTED]