The Wit and Humor of America, Volume V. (of X.)

by Finley Peter Dunne

  I have since traveled in the far West, but have never looked upon thecounterpart of that New England hotel.

  ROLLO LEARNING TO PLAY

  BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE

  Early in the afternoon of the same day, Mr. Holliday came home bearing alarge package in his arms. Not only seldom, but rarely, did anythingcome into the Holliday homestead that did not afford the head of thefamily a text for sermonic instruction, if not, indeed, rationaldiscourse. Depositing the package upon a hall table, he called to hisson in a mandatory manner:

  "Rollo, come to me."

  Rollo approached, but started with reluctant steps. He becamereminiscently aware as he hastily reviewed the events of the day, thatin carrying out one or two measures for the good of the house, he hadlaid himself open to an investigation by a strictly partisan committee,and the possibility of such an inquiry, with its subsequent report,grieved him. However, he hoped for the worst, so that in any event hewould not be disagreeably disappointed, and came running to his father,calling "Yes, sir!" in his cheeriest tones.

  This is the correct form in which to meet any possible adversity whichis not yet in sight. Because, if it should not meet you, you are happyanyhow, and if it should meet you, you have been happy before thecollision. See?

  "Now, Rollo," said his father, "you are too large and strong to bespending your leisure time playing baby games with your little brotherThanny. It is time for you to begin to be athletic."

  "What is athletic?" asked Rollo.

  "Well," replied his father, who was an alumnus (pronounced ahloomnoose)himself, "in a general way it means to wear a pair of pantaloons eithereighteen inches too short or six inches too long for you, and standaround and yell while other men do your playing for you. The reputationfor being an athlete may also be acquired by wearing a golf suit tochurch, or carrying a tennis racket to your meals. However, as I wasabout to say, I do not wish you to work all the time, like a woman, oreven a small part of the time, like a hired man. I wish you to adopt foryour recreation games of sport and pastime."

  Rollo interrupted his father to say that indeed he preferred games ofthat description to games of toil and labor, but as he concluded, littleThanny, who was sitting on the porch step with his book, suddenly readaloud, in a staccato measure.

  "I-be-lieve-you-my-boy,-re-plied-the-man-heart-i-ly."

  "Read to yourself, Thanny," said his father kindly, "and do not speakyour syllables in that jerky manner."

  Thanny subsided into silence, after making two or three strange gurglingnoises in his throat, which Rollo, after several efforts, succeeded inimitating quite well. Being older than Thanny, Rollo, of course, couldnot invent so many new noises every day as his little brother. But hecould take Thanny's noises, they being unprotected by copyright, and notonly reproduce them, but even improve upon them.

  This shows the advantage of the higher education. "A little learning isa dangerous thing." It is well for every boy to learn that dynamite isan explosive of great power, after which it is still better for him tolearn of how great power. Then he will not hit a cartridge with a hammerin order to find out, and when he dines in good society he can stilllift his pie gracefully in his hand, and will not be compelled toharpoon it with an iron hook at the end of his fore-arm.

  Rollo's father looked at the two boys attentively as they swallowedtheir noises, and then said:

  "Now, Rollo, there is no sense in learning to play a man's game with atoy outfit. Here are the implements of a game which is called base-ball,and which I am going to teach you to play."

  So saying he opened the package and handed Rollo a bat, a wagon tongueterror that would knock the leather off a planet, and Rollo's eyesdanced as he balanced it and pronounced it a "la-la."

  "It is a bat," his father said sternly, "a base-ball bat."

  "Is that a base-ball bat?" exclaimed Rollo, innocently.

  "Yes, my son," replied his father, "and here is a protector for thehand."

  Rollo took the large leather pillow and said:

  "That's an infielder."

  "It is a mitt," his father said, "and here is the ball."

  As Rollo took the ball in his hands he danced with glee.

  "That's a peach," he cried.

  "It is a base-ball," his father said, "that is what you play base-ballwith."

  "Is it?" exclaimed Rollo, inquiringly.

  "Now," said Mr. Holliday, as they went into the back yard, followed byThanny, "I will go to bat first, and I will let you pitch, so that I mayteach you how. I will stand here at the end of the barn, then when youmiss my bat with the ball, as you may sometimes do, for you do not yetknow how to pitch accurately, the barn will prevent the ball from goingtoo far."

  "That's the back-stop," said Rollo.

  "Do not try to be funny, my son," replied his father, "in this greatrepublic only a President of the United States is permitted to coinphrases which nobody can understand. Now, observe me; when you are atbat you stand in this manner."

  And Mr. Holliday assumed the attitude of a timid man who has juststepped on the tail of a strange and irascible dog, and is holding hislegs so that the animal, if he can pull his tail out, can escape withoutbiting either of them. He then held the bat up before his face as thoughhe was carrying a banner.

  "Now, Rollo, you must pitch the ball directly toward the end of my bat.Do not pitch too hard at first, or you will tire yourself out before webegin."

  Rollo held the ball in his hands and gazed at it thoughtfully for amoment; he turned and looked at the kitchen windows as though he hadhalf a mind to break one of them; then wheeling suddenly he sent theball whizzing through the air like a bullet. It passed so close to Mr.Holliday's face that he dropped the bat and his grammar in hisnervousness and shouted:

  "Whata you throw nat? That's no way to pitch a ball! Pitch it as thoughyou were playing a gentleman's game; not as though you were trying tokill a cat! Now, pitch it right here; right at this place on my bat. Andpitch more gently; the first thing you know you'll sprain your wrist andhave to go to bed. Now, try again."

  This time Rollo kneaded the ball gently, as though he suspected it hadbeen pulled before it was ripe. He made an offer as though he wouldthrow it to Thanny. Thanny made a rush back to an imaginary "first," andRollo, turning quickly, fired the ball in the general direction of Mr.Holliday. It passed about ten feet to his right, but none the less hemade what Thanny called "a swipe" at it that turned him around threetimes before he could steady himself. It then hit the end of the barnwith a resounding crash that made Cotton Mather, the horse, snort withterror in his lonely stall. Thanny called out in nasal, sing-song tone:

  "Strike--one!"

  "Thanny," said his father, severely, "do not let me hear a repetition ofsuch language from you. If you wish to join our game, you may do so, ifyou will play in a gentlemanly manner. But I will not permit the use ofslang about this house. Now, Rollo, that was better; much better. Butyou must aim more accurately and pitch less violently. You will neverlearn anything until you acquire it, unless you pay attention whilegiving your mind to it. Now, play ball, as we say."

  This time Rollo stooped and rubbed the ball in the dirt until his fathersharply reprimanded him, saying, "You untidy boy; that ball will not befit to play with!" Then Rollo looked about him over the surroundingcountry as though admiring the pleasant view, and with the samestartling abruptness as before, faced his father and shot the ball in soswiftly that Thanny said he could see it smoke. It passed about six feetto the left of the batsman, but Mr. Holliday, judging that it was coming"dead for him," dodged, and the ball struck his high silk hat with aboom like a drum, carrying it on to the "back-stop" in its wild career.

  "Take your base!" shouted Thanny, but suddenly checked himself,remembering the new rules on the subject of his umpiring.

  "Rollo!" exclaimed his father, "why do you not follow my instructionsmore carefully? That was a little better, but still the ball was badlyaimed. You must not stare around all over creation when you are playingball
. How can you throw straight when you look at everything in theworld except at the bat you are trying to hit? You must aim right at thebat--try to hit it--that's what the pitcher does. And Thanny, let me sayto you, and for the last time, that I will not permit the slang of theslums to be used about this house. Now, Rollo, try again, and be morecareful and more deliberate."

  "Father," said Rollo, "did you ever play base-ball when you were a youngman?"

  "Did I play base-ball?" repeated his father, "did I play ball? Well,say, I belonged to the Sacred Nine out in old Peoria, and I was a holyterror on third, now I tell you. One day--"

  But just at this point in the history it occurred to Rollo to send theball over the plate. Mr. Holliday saw it coming; he shut both eyes anddodged for his life, but the ball hit his bat and went spinning straightup in the air. Thanny shouted "Foul!" ran under it, reached up, took itout of the atmosphere, and cried:

  "Out!"

  "Thanny," said his father sternly, "another word and you shall gostraight to bed! If you do not improve in your habit of language I willsend you to the reform school. Now, Rollo," he continued, kindly, "thatwas a great deal better; very much better. I hit that ball with almostno difficulty. You are learning. But you will learn more rapidly if youdo not expend so much unnecessary strength in throwing the ball. Oncemore, now, and gently; I do not wish you to injure your arm."

  Rollo leaned forward and tossed the ball toward his father very gentlyindeed, much as his sister Mary would have done, only, of course, in amore direct line. Mr. Holliday's eyes lit up with their old fire as hesaw the on-coming sphere. He swept his bat around his head in a fiercesemi-circle, caught the ball fair on the end of it, and sent it overRollo's head, crashing into the kitchen window amid a jingle of glassand a crash of crockery, wild shrieks from the invisible maid servantand delighted howls from Rollo and Thanny of "Good boy!" "You own thetown!" "All the way round!"

  Mr. Holliday was a man whose nervous organism was so sensitive that hecould not endure the lightest shock of excitement. The confusion andgeneral uproar distracted him.

  "Thanny!" he shouted, "go into the house! Go into the house and go rightto bed!"

  "Thanny," said Rollo, in a low tone, "you're suspended; that's what youget for jollying the umpire."

  "Rollo," said his father, "I will not have you quarreling with Thanny. Ican correct him without your interference. And, besides, you havewrought enough mischief for one day. Just see what you have done withyour careless throwing. You have broken the window, and I do not knowhow many things on the kitchen table. You careless, inattentive boy. Iwould do right if I should make you pay for all this damage out of yourown pocket-money. And I would, if you had any. I may do so,nevertheless. And there is Jane, bathing her eye at the pump. You haveprobably put it out by your wild pitching. If she dies, I will make youwash the dishes until she returns. I thought all boys could throwstraight naturally without any training. You discourage me. Now comehere and take this bat, and I will show you how to pitch a ball withoutbreaking all the glass in the township. And see if you can learn to batany better than you can pitch."

  Rollo took the bat, poised himself lightly, and kept up a gentleoscillation of the stick while he waited.

  "Hold it still!" yelled his father, whose nerves were sorely shaken."How can I pitch a ball to you when you keep flourishing that club likean anarchist in procession. Hold it still, I tell you!"

  Rollo dropped the bat to an easy slant over his shoulder and lookedattentively at his father. The ball came in. Rollo caught it right onthe nose of the bat and sent it whizzing directly at the pitcher. Mr.Holliday held his hands straight out before him and spread his fingers.

  "I've got her!" he shouted.

  And then the ball hit his hands, scattered them, and passed on againsthis chest with a jolt that shook his system to its foundations. Amelancholy howl rent the air as he doubled up and tried to rub his chestand knead all his fingers on both hands at the same time.

  "Rollo," he gasped, "you go to bed, too! Go to bed and stay there sixweeks. And when you get up, put on one of your sister's dresses and playgolf. You'll never learn to play ball if you practice a thousand years.I never saw such a boy. You have probably broken my lung. And I do notsuppose I shall ever use my hands again. You can't play tiddle-de-winks.Oh, dear; oh, dear!"

  Rollo sadly laid away the bat and the ball and went to bed, where he andThanny sparred with pillows until tea time, when they were bailed out ofprison by their mother. Mr. Holliday had recovered his good humor. Hisfingers were multifariously bandaged and he smelled of arnica like adrug store. But he was reminiscent and animated. He talked of the oldtimes and the old days, and of Peoria and Hinman's, as was his wont oftas he felt boyish.

  "And town ball," he said, "good old town ball! There was no limit to thenumber on a side. The ring was anywhere from three hundred feet to amile in circumference, according to whether we played on a vacantPingree lot or out on the open prairie. We tossed up a bat--wet ordry--for first choice, and then chose the whole school on the sides. Thebat was a board, about the general shape of a Roman galley oar and notquite so wide as a barn door. The ball was of solid India rubber; alittle fellow could hit it a hundred yards, and a big boy, with ahickory club, could send it clear over the bluffs or across the lake. Webroke all the windows in the school-house the first day, and finished upevery pane of glass in the neighborhood before the season closed. Theside that got its innings first kept them until school was out or thelast boy died. Fun? Good game? Oh, boy of these golden days, payingfifty cents an hour for the privilege of watching a lot of hired men doyour playing for you--it beat two-old-cat."

  SPELL AND DEFINE:

  InstructionInstantaneityLinimentMiscalculationPastimeContusionParalysisHastySupererogation

  Can a boy learn anything without a teacher?--Does the pupil ever know more than the instructor?--And why not?--How long does it require one to learn to speak and write the Spanish language correctly in six easy lessons, at home, without a master?--And in how many lessons can one be taught to walk Spanish?--What is meant by a "rooter"?--What is the difference between a "rooter" and a "fan"?--Parse "hoodoo."--What is the philology of "crank"?--Describe a closely contested game of "one-old-cat," with diagrams.--What is meant by "a rank decision"?--Translate into colloquial English the phrase, "Good eye Bill!"--Put into bleaching board Latin, "Rotten umpire."--Why is he so called?

  MR. HARE TRIES TO GET A WIFE

  BY ANNE VIRGINIA CULBERTSON

  One day the children's mother told them that she was going to spend afew days at a plantation some miles away, taking with her Aunt Nancy,who was anxious to pay a little visit to a daughter living in thatneighborhood. Aunt 'Phrony, she told them, had promised to come and lookafter them during her absence.

  "Oh, please, mamma," they begged, "let Aunt 'Phrony take us nutting? Shetold us one day that she knew where there were just lots and lots ofwalnuts." So it was arranged that they should take a luncheon with themand make a day of it, Aunt 'Phrony being perfectly willing, for herIndian blood showed itself not only in her appearance, but in her lovefor a free out-of-door life, and her fondness for tramping. She wouldreadily give up a day's work at any time to discharge some whollyinsignificant errand which involved a walk of many miles.

  The day was a bright and beautiful one in October, warm, yet with afaint nip of last night's frost lingering in the air. They made a finelittle procession through the woods, Aunt 'Phrony leading, followed bychildren, a darky with baskets, her grandson "Wi'yum," and lastly thedogs, frisking and frolicking and darting away every now and then inpursuit of small game. A very weary and hungry little party gatheredabout the baskets at one o'clock, and three little pairs of white handswere stained almost as brown as those of Aunt 'Phrony and William. Buteverybody was happy, and there was a nice pile of walnuts to go back inthe large bag which William had brought for the purpose. The dogs sataround and looked longingly on, a squirrel frisked hastily across a lognear-b
y, the birds chattered in the trees high above and lookedcuriously down on the intruders, and presently a foolish hare wentscurrying across the path, so near the dogs that they sat still, amazedat his presumption, and forbore to chase him.

  "Hi! there goes 'ol' Hyar'!'" shouted Ned; "I'm going to see if I can'tcatch him." But he soon gave up the hopeless chase.

  "Was that your 'ol' Hyar',' Aunt 'Phrony; your ol' Hyar' you tell us allabout?" asked little Kit.

  "Bless de chil'!" said she. "Naw, 'twuz de ol', ol' Hyar' I done tol'you 'bout, de gre't-gre't-gre't-sump'n-ru'rr grandaddy er dis one, Ireckon."

  "Aunt 'Phrony," said Janey, "couldn't you tell us some more about theold hare while we sit here and get rested?"

  "Now de laws-a-mussy," said 'Phrony, "ef we gwine 'mence on de ol' talesI reckon I mought ez well mek up my min' ter spen' de res' er de dayright yer on dis spot," and she leaned back against a pine tree andclosed her eyes resignedly. Presently she opened them to ask, "Is I uvertol' you 'bout de time Mistah Hyar' try ter git him a wife? I isn'?Well, den, dat de one I gwine gin you dis trip. Hit happen dis-a-way:Hyar' he bin flyin' all 'roun' de kyountry fer right long time,frolickin' an' cuttin' up, jes' a no-kyount bachelder, an' las' he gitkind er tired uv hit, an' he see all tu'rr creeturs gittin' ma'ied an'he tucken hit inter his haid dat 'twuz time he sottle down an' git him awife; so he primp hisse'f up an' slick his hya'r down wid b'argrease an'stick a raid hank'cher in his ves'-pockit an' pick him a button-holef'um a lady's gyarden, an' den he go co'tin' dis gal an' dat gal an'tu'rr gal. He 'mence wid de good-lookin' ones an' wind up wid de uglyones, but 'twan't nair' one dat 'ud lissen to 'im, 'kase he done done somany mean tricks an' wuz sech a hyarum-skyarum dat dey wuz all 'fearedter tek up wid 'im, an' so dey shet de do' in his face w'en he git tertalkin' sparky, dough dar wan't no pusson cu'd do dat sort er talkin'mo' slicker 'n w'at he cu'd. But he done gin de creeturs jes' li'l toomuch 'havishness, so 'twan't no use.