The Idiot at Home

by John Kendrick Bangs

  I

  BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION

  "My dear," said the Idiot one morning, as he and his good wife and thetwo little ones, Mollie and Tommy, sat down at the breakfast-table, "nowthat we are finally settled in our new house I move we celebrate. Let'sgive a dinner to my old friends of Mrs. Smithers's; they were nice oldpeople, and I should like to get them together again. I saw Dr. Pedagogin the city yesterday, and he inquired most affectionately, not to sayanxiously, about the children."

  "Why should he be anxious about the children?" asked Mrs. Idiot,placidly, as she sweetened her husband's coffee. "Does he suspect themof lacking completeness or variety?"

  The Idiot tapped his forehead significantly.

  "He didn't know whether they take after you or after me, but I relievedhis mind on that score," he said. "I told him that they didn't takeafter anybody that either of us ever knew. They have started in on aline of Idiocy that is entirely their own. He seemed very much pleasedwhen I said that, and observed that he was glad to hear it."

  Mrs. Idiot laughed.

  "It was very nice of the Doctor to ask about them, but I am a littleafraid he wants to take a hand in their bringing up," she said.

  "No doubt of it," said the Idiot. "Pedagog always was anxious toexperiment. Many a time I have suspected him of having designs even onme."

  "Mrs. Pedagog told me last year that he had devised an entirely newsystem of home training," observed Mrs. Idiot, "and they both regrettedthat they had no children of their own to try it on."

  "And of course you offered to lend Tommy to them?" said the Idiot, witha sly glance at his son, who was stowing away his oatmeal at a rate thatbade fair to create a famine.

  "Of course," said Mrs. Idiot. "He's got to get raw material somewhere,and I thought Tommy would be just the thing."

  "Well, I ain't a-goin'," said Tommy, helping himself liberally and forthe third time to the oatmeal.

  "My son," said the Idiot, with a mock show of sternness, "if your motherchooses to lend you to any one it is not for you to say that you 'ain'ta-goin'. It may be that I shall interfere to the extent of demanding toknow what security for your safe return is offered, but otherwiseneither you nor I shall intervene. What your mother says is law for youas well as for me. Please understand that, Thomas."

  "All right, pa," said Tommy; and then he added in an undertone,presumably to the butter, "But I ain't a-goin', just the same."

  "I'll go," said Mollie, who rather liked the idea of being lent tosomebody, since it involved a visit to some strange and thereforefascinating spot away from home. "Lend me to somebody, will you, mamma?"

  "Yes, ma, lend Mollie to 'em," said Tommy, with, a certain dryenthusiasm, "and then maybe you can borrow a boy from somebody else forme to play with. I don't see why you don't swap her off for a boy,anyhow. I like her well enough, but what you ever wanted to buy her forin the beginning I don't know. Girls isn't any good."

  "Thomas," said the Idiot, "you talk too much, and, what is more, you sayvain things which some day you will regret. When you get older you willrecall this dictum of yours, that 'girls isn't any good,' with a blushof shame, and remember that your mother was once a girl."

  "Well, she's outgrown it," said Tommy; and then reverting to hisfather's choice of words, he added, "What is dictums, anyhow?"

  "Pooh!" cried the little girl. "Smarty don't know what dictums is!"

  "Suppose you two young persons subside for a few minutes!" interruptedthe Idiot. "I wish to talk to your mother, and I haven't got all day.You'll be wanting some bread and butter to-morrow, and I must go to townand earn it."

  "All right, pa," said Tommy. "I ain't got anything to say that I can'tsay to myself. I'd rather talk to myself, anyhow. You can be as sassy--"

  "Thomas!" said the Idiot, severely.

  "All right, pa," said Tommy; and with a side remark to the cream-jug,that he still thought Mollie ought to be swapped off for something, itdidn't matter what as long as it wasn't another girl, the boy lapsedinto a deep though merely temporary silence.

  "You said you'd like to give a dinner to Mr. and Mrs. Pedagog and theothers," said Mrs. Idiot. "I quite approve."

  "I think it would be nice," returned the Idiot. "It has been more thansix years since we were all together."

  "You wouldn't prefer having them at breakfast, would you?" asked Mrs.Idiot, with a smile. "I remember hearing you say once that breakfast wasyour best time."

  "How long is six years, pa?" asked Tommy.

  "Really, Thomas," replied the Idiot, severely, "you are the most absurdcreature. How long is six years!"

  "I meant in inches," said Tommy, unabashed. "You always told me to askyou when I wanted to know things. Of course, if you don't know--"

  "It's more'n a mile, I guess," observed Mollie, with some superiority ofmanner. "Ain't it, pa?"

  The Idiot glanced at his wife in despair.

  "I don't think, my dear, that I am as strong at breakfast as I used tobe," said he. "There was a time when I could hold my own, but thingsseem to have changed. Make it dinner; and, Tommy, when you have deepproblems to solve, like how long is six years in inches, try to workthem out for yourself. It will fix the results more firmly in yourmind."

  "All right, pa," replied Tommy; "I thought maybe you knew. I thought yousaid you knew everything."

  "POSSESSED A LIBRARY OF FIRST EDITIONS"]

  In accordance with the Idiot's suggestion the invitations were sent out.It was a most agreeable proposition as far as his wife was concerned,for the Idiot's old associates, his fellow-boarders at Mrs.Smithers-Pedagog's "High-Class Home for Single Gentlemen," had provedto be the stanchest of his friends. They had, as time passed on, gonetheir several ways. The Poet had made himself so famous that even hisbad things got into print; the Bibliomaniac, by an unexpected stroke offortune, had come into possession of his own again, and now possessed alibrary of first editions that auctioneers looked upon with enviouseyes, and which aroused the hatred of many another collector. The Doctorhad prospered equally, and was now one of the most successful operatorsfor appendicitis; in fact, could now afford to refuse all other practicethan that involved in that delicate and popular line of work. The genialgentleman who occasionally imbibed had not wholly reformed, but, as theIdiot put it, had developed into one who occasionally did _not_ imbibe.Mr. Brief had become an assistant district attorney, and was prominentlymentioned for a judgeship, and Mr. and Mrs. Pedagog lived placidly alongtogether, never for an instant regretting the inspiration which led themto economize by making two into one. In short, time and fortune haddealt kindly with all, even with Mary, the housemaid, who was nowgeneral manager of the nursery in the Idiot's household.

  The home life of "Mr. and Mrs. Idiot" had been all that either of theyoung people could have wished for, and prosperity had waited upon themin all things. The Idiot had become a partner in the business of hisfather-in-law, and even in bad times had managed to save something,until now, with two children, aged five and six, he found himself thepossessor of his own home in a suburban city. It had been finished onlya month when the proposed dinner was first mentioned, and the naturalpride of its master and mistress was delightful to look upon.

  "Why, do you know, my dear," said the Idiot one evening, on his returnfrom town, "they are talking of asking me to resign from the clubbecause they say I am offensive about this place, and Watson says myconversation has become a bore to everybody because the burden of mysong yesterday was pots and pans and kettles and things like that?"

  "I suppose clubmen are not interested in pots and pans and kettles andthings," Mrs. Idiot observed. "Some people aren't, you know."

  "Not interested?" echoed the Idiot. "What kind of people can they be notto be interested in pots and pans and kettles and things? I guess it'sbecause of their dense ignorance."

  "'THEY NEVER HAD THE FUN OF BUYING THEM'"]

  "They never had the fun of buying them, perhaps," suggested Mrs. Idiot.

  "'GUARANTEED TO HANG ONTO A GARMENT IN A GALE
'"]

  "Possibly," assented the Idiot. "And I'll tell you one thing, Pollie,dear," he added, "if they had had that fun just once, instead ofsquandering their savings on clothes and the theatre, and on horses,you'd find every blessed one of those chaps thronging the hardware shopsall day and spending their money there. Why, do you know I even enjoyedgetting the clothes-pins, and what is more, it was instructive. I neverknew before what countless varieties of clothes-pins there were. There'sthe plain kind of commerce that look like a pair of legs with a polo-capon. I was brought up on those, and I used to steal them when I was asmall boy, to act as understudies for Noah and Shem and Ham and Japhethin my Noah's ark. Then there's the patent kind with a spring to it thatis guaranteed to hang onto a garment in a gale if it has to let go ofthe rope. Very few people realize the infinite variety of theclothes-pin, and when I try to tell these chaps at the club about itthey yawn and try to change the subject to things like German opera andimpressionism and international complications."

  "How foolish of them!" laughed Mrs. Idiot. "The idea of preferring totalk of Wagner when one can discourse upon clothes-pins!"

  "I am afraid you are sarcastic," rejoined the Idiot. "But you needn'tbe; if you'd only reason it out you'd see at once that my view iscorrect. Anybody can talk about Wagner. Any person who knows a picturefrom a cable-car can talk with seeming intelligence on art, and even amember of Congress can talk about international complications off-handfor hours; but how many of these people know about clothes-pins?"

  "Very few," said Mrs. Idiot, meekly.

  "Very few, indeed," observed the Idiot. "And the same way withegg-beaters. I'll bet you a laundry-stove that if I should write to the_Recorder_ to-morrow morning, and ask a question about Wagner, themusical editor would give me an answer within twenty-four hours; butwith reference to egg-beaters it would take 'em a week to find out. Andthat's just the trouble. The newspapers are filled up with stuff thateverybody knows about, but they don't know a thing about other things onthe subject of which the public is ignorant."

  "I think," said Mrs. Idiot, reflectively, "that that is probably due tothe fact that they consider Wagner more important than an egg-beater."

  "'AND SOME PEOPLE SAY WAGNER IS MORE IMPORTANT THANTHAT'"]

  "Well, then, they don't know, that's all," rejoined the Idiot, risingand walking out into the kitchen and taking the fascinating object overwhich he was waxing so enthusiastic from the dresser drawer. "Just lookat that!" he cried, turning the cog-wheel which set the threeintersecting metal loops whizzing like a squirrel in its wheel-cage."Just look at that! It's beautiful, and some people say Wagner is moreimportant than that."

  "Well, I must say, my dear," said Mrs. Idiot, "that I have a leaningthat way myself. Of course, I admit the charm of the egg-beater, but--"

  "Tell me one thing," demanded the Idiot. "Can you get along withoutWagner?"

  "Why, yes," Mrs. Idiot replied, "if I have to."

  "And can you get along without an egg-beater?" he cried, triumphantly.

  The evidence was overwhelming, and Mrs. Idiot, with an appreciativeebullition of mirth, acknowledged herself defeated, and so charminglywithal, that the next day when her husband returned home he brought hertwo tickets for the opera of Siegfried as a reward for her gracefulsubmission.

  "I could have bought ten dozen muffin-rings for the same money," saidhe, as he gave them to her, "but people who know when to give in, and dogive in as amiably as you do, my dear, deserve to be rewarded; and, onthe whole, when you use these tickets, if you'll ask me, I think I'llescort you to Siegfried myself."