II
A LITTLE DINNER TO SOME OLD FRIENDS
"TOMMY AND MOLLIE GAVE THE COOK A GREAT DEAL OF TROUBLE"]
Ten days later all was excitement at the Idiot's new home. Tommy andMollie were in a state bordering upon frenzy, and gave the cook a greatdeal of trouble, requesting a taste of this, that, and the other thing,which she was preparing for the dinner to Mr. and Mrs. Pedagog, theBibliomaniac, and the others. Inwardly, too, they were somewhatwrathful, for they could not understand why they were not permitted todine with their parents as usual.
"I guess maybe it's your manners that keeps you away, Tommy," saidMollie.
"Hoh!" said Tommy. "It can't be that, because pa says I ain't got any.It's because you're too young to be introdoosed into society, and I'vegot to stay up-stairs and look after you. If you weren't a girl!"
Here Tommy clenched his fists and looked unutterable things. Mollieshuddered and was glad she was a girl as she imagined the awful thingsTommy would do to her had she been a boy.
"Neither of 'em's it, Tommy," she said, in a conciliatory manner. "It'sbecause they ain't got enough dining-room chairs, that's why. I know,because I counted 'em, and there's only eight, and there's nine peoplecomin'."
"I guess maybe that's it," said Tommy, pacified somewhat. "And anyhow, Idon't care. I saw that piece of paper ma gave Jennie, and she wrote downall the things they're goin' to have, and it's goin' to be two hoursbetween the soup and the ice-cream. I couldn't ever wait that long forthe ice-cream. I don't see why they don't begin with ice-cream."
"I guess maybe we're better off as it is," said Mollie. "Popper andmommer ain't likely to forget us, and, besides, we can talk."
And with this comforting reflection the little ones retired to theirnursery contented in mind and spirit--and they didn't suffer a bit.Their "popper and mommer" didn't forget them. The ice-cream wasexcellent, and they had their share of it almost before the guests beganwith their oysters.
At seven o'clock Mr. and Mrs. Pedagog had arrived, and at seven-ten allthe invited guests were present.
"If it hadn't been for my wife," Mr. Pedagog whispered in his host'sear, "I should have been late, too."
"Don't apologize, old man," replied the Idiot, gripping theSchoolmaster's hand warmly. "I sometimes go to dinners on time myself."
In a few moments dinner was announced, and shortly after all wereseated, and in memory of old times the guests naturally waited for theIdiot to begin.
"Do you know," he said, as he squeezed the juice from a luscious lemonover an unprotesting oyster, at the same time glancing affectionatelyover the company, "I haven't felt so much at home for years as I donow."
"Not very complimentary to your wife," said Mr. Brief.
"Oh, I know what he means," observed Mrs. Idiot.
"And I have so many other opportunities to compliment her," said theIdiot.
"But really, Mrs. Pedagog," he added, addressing the good lady who satat his right, "I feel absolutely contented to-night. All the good thingsof the past and of the present seem to be concentrated about thisboard--except the three up-stairs, who can't very well be here."
"Three?" asked Mr. Pedagog. "I thought there were only two--"
"Certainly," said the Idiot. "Tommy and Mollie, but there is Mary, yourold housemaid. We can't very well ask them to dine with us, you know."
"I don't see why Tommy and Mollie can't be invited," said Mr. Pedagog,much to the Idiot's surprise, it seemed so like a violation of hissystem, as it might be presumed to be.
"You believe in having children at table, then, Mr. Pedagog?" asked Mrs.Idiot.
"Most certainly," said the Schoolmaster. Mrs. Pedagog glanced smilinglyat Mrs. Idiot, as much as to say, "Oh, these men!"
"I certainly do approve of having children at table on all occasions,"he continued. "How else are they to learn how to conduct themselves? Thediscipline of the nursery is apt to be lax, and it is my belief thatmany of the bad table manners of the present-day child are due to thesense of freedom which eating dinner in the nursery naturallyinculcates."
"There is something in what you say," said the Idiot. "Tommy, forinstance, never learned to throw a French pancake across the table athis sister by watching his mother and myself here in the dining-room,yet in the freedom of the nursery I have known it done."
"Precisely," said Mr. Pedagog. "That very little incident illustrates mypoint exactly. And I have no doubt that in the nursery the offenceseemed less heinous than it would had it occurred in the dining-room,and hence did not meet with the full measure of punishment that itdeserved."
"I have forgotten exactly what was done on that occasion," said theIdiot, calmly. "It is my impression that I compelled Thomas to eat thepancake."
"I am sure I never heard of the incident before," said Mrs. Idiot, hercheeks growing very red. "He didn't really, did he, dear?"
"By jove!" cried the Idiot, snapping his forefinger against his thumb,"what a traitor I am, to be sure. I promised Thomas never to tell, andhere I've given the poor little chap away; but the boy was excusable, Iassure you all--that is, he was excusable in a sense. Mollie hadpreviously hit him in the eye with a salted almond, and--"
"It is quite evident," put in Mrs. Pedagog, her womanly sympathy leadingher to rush to the aid of Mrs. Idiot, who seemed somewhat mortified overthe Idiot's confidences, "that you were not at home, my dear. I havemyself observed that extraordinary episodes of this nature generallyhappen when it is the father who is left in charge of the children."
"Quite right, Mrs. Pedagog," said the Doctor, nodding his head gravely."I have noticed the same thing in my professional practice. As long asthe mother is about discipline is maintained, but once leave the fatherin charge and riot is the order of the day."
"That's exactly what I was going to say," said the Idiot. "Many a timewhen Mrs. Idiot has gone out shopping, as she did on the day inquestion, and I have remained at home for a rest, I have wishedbefore evening came that I had gone shopping and let my wife have therest. As a matter of fact, the bringing up of children should be left tothe mother--"
"Oh, but the father should have something to do with it," interruptedMrs. Idiot. "It is too great a responsibility to place on a woman'sshoulders."
"You didn't let me finish, my dear," said the Idiot, amiably. "I wasgoing to say that the mother should bring the children up, and thefather should take 'em down when they get up too high."
"My views to a dot," said Mr. Pedagog, with more enthusiasm than he hadever yet shown over the Idiot's dicta. "Just as in ordinary colonialgovernment, the home authorities should govern, and when necessary astronger power should intervene."
"Ideal--is it not?" laughed Mrs. Idiot, addressing Mrs. Pedagog. "Themother, Spain. The children, Cuba. Papa, the great and glorious UnitedStates!"
"Ahem! Well," said Mr. Pedagog, "I didn't mean that exactly, you know--"
"But it's what you said, John," said Mrs. Pedagog, somewhat severely.
"'LET THE FATHERS LOOK AFTER THE CHILDREN AT NIGHT'"]
"Well, I don't see why there can't be a division of responsibility,"said the Poet, who had never married, and who knew children only as atheory. "Let the mothers look after them in the daytime, and the fathersat night."
This sally was greeted with an outburst of applause, it was sopractical.
"Excuse me!" said the Idiot. "I'm not selfish, but I don't want to havecharge of the children at night. Why, when Tommy was cutting his teeth Isuffered agonies when night came on. I was down-town all day, and sowasn't very much bothered then, but at night it was something awful. Notonly Tommy's tooth, but the fear that his mother would tread on a tack."
"That was unselfish," said Mr. Pedagog, dryly. "You weren't afraid oftreading on one yourself."
"How could I?" said the Idiot. "I had all I could do trying to keep mywife from knowing that I was disturbed. It is bad enough to be worriedover a crying babe, without being bothered by an irritated husband, so Isimply lay there pretending to be asleep and snoring away f
or dearlife."
"You are the most considerate man I ever heard of," said Mrs. Pedagog,smiling broadly.
"You don't mean to say," said the Poet, with a frown, "that you madeyour wife get up and take all the trouble and bother--"
"I'd only have been in the way," said the Idiot, meekly.
"So he kept quiet and pretended to snore like the good old Idiot that heis," put in the Doctor. "And he did the right thing, too," he added. "Ifall fathers would obliterate themselves on occasions of that sort, andlet the mothers rule, the Tommys and Dickies and Harrys would go tosleep a great deal more quickly."
"We are rambling," said Mr. Pedagog. "The question of a father's dutytowards a teething son has nothing to do with the question of a child'sright to dine with his parents."
"Oh, I don't know," said the Idiot. "If we are to consider this matterscientifically we must start right. Teething is a natural first step,for if a child hath no teeth, wherewithal shall he eat dinners with hisparents or without them?"
"That is all very well," retorted Mr. Pedagog, "but to discussfire-engines intelligently it is not necessary to go back to the timesof Elisha to begin it."
Mr. Whitechoker--now the Rev. Theophilus Whitechoker, D.D., for he, too,had prospered--smiled deprecatingly. There is no man in the world whomore thoroughly appreciates a biblical joke than the prosperousclergyman.
"Well," said the Idiot, reflectively, "I quite agree with yourproposition that children should dine in the dining-room with theirparents and not up-stairs in the nursery, with a lot of tin soldiers andgolliwogs. The manners of parents are no better than those of tinsoldiers and golliwogs, but their conversation is apt to prove moreinstructive; and as for the stern father who says his children must dinein the kitchen until they learn better manners, I never had muchconfidence in him or in his manners, either."
"I don't see," said the genial old gentleman who occasionally imbibed,"how you can discipline children in the nursery. If they misbehave inthe dining-room you can send them up-stairs to the nursery, but if theymisbehave in the nursery, where the deuce can you send them?"
"To bed," said Mr. Brief.
"Never!" cried the Idiot. "Children, Mr. Brief, as I understandthem--and I have known three very well; myself as a boy, and Tommy andMollie--children, as I understand them, are never naughty for the merefun of being so. Their wickedness grows out of their wonderful stores ofunexpended and unexpendable energy. Take my son Thomas on last Saturdayafternoon, for instance. It was a rainy Saturday, and Tommy, instead ofbeing out-of-doors all morning and afternoon getting rid of hissuperfluous vitality, had been cooped up in the house all day doingnothing. Shortly before dinner we had a difference of opinion whichlasted for more time than I like to think about. I was tired andirritable. Tommy wasn't tired, but he _was_ irritable, and, from hispoint of view, was as right as I was. He had the best of me to theextent that I was tired and he wasn't. I had the best of him to theextent that I had authority and he hadn't--"
"And who came out ahead?" asked Mr. Pedagog.
"I did," said the Idiot, "because I was bigger than he was; but what Iwas going to say was this: Mr. Brief would have sent him to bed,thereby adding to the boy's stock of energy, already too great for hislittle mind to control."
"And what did you do?" asked Mr. Brief.
"Nothin'," said a small but unmistakably masculine voice from behind theportieres.
"Thomas!" said the Idiot, severely, as all turned to see who had spoken.
"A LITTLE FIGURE CLAD IN WHITE"]
A little figure clad in white, ably supported by a still smaller figure,also clad in white, but with an additional ruffle about the neck, bothof them barefooted, appeared in the doorway.
"Why, Mollie!" said Mrs. Idiot.
"We comed down to thee how you wath gettin' along," said the littlegirl.
"Yes, we did," said the boy. "But he didn't do a thing to me that day,"he added, climbing on his father's knee and snuggling down against hisvest-pocket with a sweet little sigh of satisfaction. "Did you, pa?"
"Yes, Thomas," said the Idiot. "Don't you remember that I ignored youutterly?"
"'I'D RATHER BE SPANKED THAN NOT NOTICED AT ALL'"]
"Yes, I do," said Tommy. "But I'd rather be spanked than not noticed atall."
"I am afraid," said Mr. Pedagog a few hours later, as he and Mrs.Pedagog were returning home, "I am very much afraid that the Idiot'schildren are being spoiled."
"I hope they are!" returned the good lady, "for really, John, I neverknew a boy or a girl to grow into man or womanhood and amount toanything who hadn't been spoiled in childhood. Spoiling is another namefor the attitude of parents who make comrades of their children and whodo not set themselves up as tyrants--"
"But the veneration of a child for his father and mother--" Mr. Pedagogbegan.
"Should not degenerate into the awe which one feels for an unrelentingdespot!" interrupted Mrs. Pedagog.
The old gentleman discreetly retired from the field.
As for Mrs. and Mr. Idiot, they retired that night satisfied with theevening's diversion, and just before he turned out the light the Idiotwalked into the nursery to say good-night to the children.
"You're a good old pop!" said Tommy, with an affectionate hug. "_Thebest I ever had!_"
As for Mollie, she was sleeping soundly, with a smile on her placidlittle face which showed that, "spoiled" as she was, she was happy; andwhat should the Idiot or any one else seek to bring into a child's lifebut happiness?
The Idiot at Home Page 3