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

by Ambrose Bierce

  "Getting hotter, I believe, John."

  "I presume it is, sir." The Major sat with his elbow resting on a desk,and about him were stacked threatening bundles of papers; and old Gidknew that in those commercial romances he himself was a familiarcharacter.

  "Are you busy, John?"

  "Yes, but you may come in."

  "No, I thank you. Don't believe I've got time."

  "Then take time. I want to talk to you. Come in."

  "No, not to-day, John. Fact is I'm not feeling very well. Head's allstopped up with a cold, and these summer colds are awful, I tell you.It was a summer cold that took my father off."

  "How's your cotton in that low strip along the bayou?"

  "Tolerable, John; tolerable."

  "Come in. I want to talk to you about it."

  "Don't believe I can stand the air in there, John. Head all stopped up.Don't believe I'm going to live very long."

  "Nonsense. You are as strong as a buck."

  "You may think so, John, but I'm not. I thought father was strong, too,but a summer cold got him. I am getting along in years, John, and I findthat I have to take care of myself. But if you really want to talk to meabout that piece of cotton, come out where it's cool."

  The Major shoved back his papers and arose, but hesitated; and Gid stoodlooking on, fanning himself. The Major stepped out and Gid's face wassplit asunder with a broad smile.

  "I gad. I've been up town and had a set-to with old Baucum and the restof them. Pulled up fifty winner at poker and jumped. Devilish glad tosee you; miss you every minute of the time I'm away. Let's go over hereand sit down on that bench."

  They walked toward a bench under a live-oak tree, and upon Gid'sshoulder the Major's hand affectionately rested. They halted to laugh,and old Gid shoved the Major away from him, then seized him and drew himback. They sat down, still laughing, but suddenly the Major becameserious.

  "Gid, I'm in trouble," he said.

  "Nonsense, my boy, there is no such thing as trouble. Throw it off. Lookat me. I've had enough of what the world calls trouble to kill a dozenordinary men, but just look at me--getting stronger every day. Throw itoff. What is it anyway?"

  "Louise declares that she is going to marry Pennington."

  "What!" old Gid exclaimed, turning with a bouncing flounce and lookingstraight at the Major. "Marry Pennington! Why, she shan't, John. That'sall there is of it. We object and that settles it. Why, what the deucecan she be thinking about?"

  "Thinking about him," the Major answered.

  "Yes, but she must quit it. Why, it's outrageous for as sensible a girlas she is to think of marrying that fellow. You leave it to me; hearwhat I said? Leave it to me."

  This suggested shift of responsibility did not remove the shadow ofsadness that had fallen across the Major's countenance.

  "You leave it to me and I'll give her a talk she'll not forget. I'llmake her understand that she's a queen, and a woman is pretty devilishskittish about marrying anybody when you convince her that she's aqueen. What does your wife say about it?"

  "She hasn't said anything. She's out visiting and I haven't seen hersince Louise told me of her determination to marry him."

  "Don't say determination, John. Say foolish notion. But it's all right."

  "No, it's not all right."

  "What, have you failed to trust me? Is it possible that you have lostfaith in me? Don't do that, John, for if you do it will be a neverfailing source of regret. You don't seem to remember what my powers ofpersuasion have accomplished in the past. When I was in the legislature,chairman of the Committee on County and County Lines, what did myprotest do? It kept them from cutting off a ten-foot strip of thiscounty and adding it to Jefferson. You must remember those things,John, for in the factors of persuasion lie the shaping of human life.I've been riding in the hot sun and I think that a mint julep would hitme now just about where I live. Say, there, Bill, bring us some mint,sugar and whisky. And cold water, mind you."

  "Ah," said old Gideon, sipping his scented drink, "virtue may becomewearisome, and we may gape during the most fervent prayer, but I gad,John, there is always the freshness of youth in a mint julep. Pour justa few more drops of liquor into mine, if you please--want it to rassleme a trifle, you know. Recollect those come-all ye songs we used tosing, going down the river? Remember the time I snatched the sword outof my cane and lunged at a horse trader from Tennessee? Scoundrelgrabbed it and broke it off and it was all I could do to keep him fromestablishing a close and intimate relationship with me. Great old days,John; and I gad, they'll never come again."

  "I remember it all, Gid, and it was along there that you fell in lovewith a woman that lived at Mortimer's Bend."

  "Easy, now, John. A trifle more liquor, if you please. Thank you. Yes, Iused to call her the wild plum. Sweet thing, and I had no idea that shewas married until her lout of a husband came down to the landing with adouble-barrel gun. Ah, Lord, if she had been single and worth money Icould have made her very happy. Fate hasn't always been my friend,John."

  "Possibly not, Gid, but you know that fate to be just should divide herfavors, and this time she leaned toward the woman."

  "Slow, John. I gad, there's your wife."

  A carriage drew up at the yard gate and a woman stepped out. She did notgo into the house, but seeing the Major, came toward him. She was tall,with large black eyes and very gray hair. In her step was suggested thepride of an old Kentucky family, belles, judges and generals. She smiledat the Major and bowed stiffly at old Gid. The two men arose.

  "Thank you, I don't care to sit down," she said. "Where is Louise?"

  "I saw her down by the river just now," the Major answered.

  "I wish to see her at once," said his wife.

  "Shall I go and call her, madam?" Gid asked.

  She gave him a look of surprise and answered: "No, I thank you."

  "No trouble, I assure you," Gid persisted. "I am pleased to say that agehas not affected my voice, except to mellow it with more of reverencewhen I address the wife of a noble man and the mother of a charminggirl."

  She had dignity, but humor was never lost upon her, and she smiled. Thiswas encouraging, and old Gid proceeded: "I was just telling the Major ofmy splendid prospects for a bountiful crop this year, and I feel thatwith this blessing of Providence I shall soon be able to meet all myobligations. I saw our rector, Mr. Mills, this morning, and he spoke ofhow thankful I ought to be--he had just passed my bayou field--and Itold him that I would not only assert my gratitude, but would prove itwith a substantial donation to the church at the end of the season."

  In the glance which she gave him there was refined and gentle contempt;and then she looked down upon the decanter of whisky. Old Gideon drewdown the corners of his mouth, as was his wont when he strove to excitecompassion.

  "Yes," he said with a note of pity forced upon his voice, "I amexceedingly thankful for all the blessings that have come to me, but Ihaven't been very well of late; rather feeble to-day, and the kind Majornoticing it, insisted upon my taking a little liquor, the medicine ofour sturdy and gallant fathers, madam."

  The Major sprawled himself back with a roaring laugh, and hereupon Gidadded: "It takes the Major a long time to get over a joke. Told him onejust now and it tickled him mighty nigh to death. Well, I must be goingnow, and, madam, if I should chance to see anything of your charmingdaughter, I will tell her that you desire a conference with her.William," he called, "my horse, if you please."

  * * * * *

  The Major's wife went into the house as Batts came up, glancing back athim as she passed through the door; and in her eyes there was nothing assoft as a tear. The old fellow winced, as he nearly always did when shegave him a direct look.

  "Are you all well?" Gideon asked, lifting the tails of his long coat andseating himself in a rocking chair.

  "First-rate," the Major answered, drawing forward another rocker; andwhen he had sat down, he added: "Somewhat of an essence of November in
the air."

  "Yes," Gid assented; "felt it in my joints before I got up thismorning." From his pocket he took a plug of tobacco.

  "I thought you'd given up chewing," said the Major. "Last time I saw youI understood you to say that you had thrown your tobacco away."

  "I did, John; but, I gad, I watched pretty close where I threw it.Fellow over here gave me some stuff that he said would cure me of theappetite, and I took it until I was afraid it would, and then threw itaway. I find that when a man quits tobacco he hasn't anything to lookforward to. I quit for three days once, and on the third day, about thetime I got up from the dinner table, I asked myself: 'Well, now, gotanything to come next?' And all I could see before me was hours ofhankering; and, I gad, I slapped a negro boy on a horse and told him togallop over to the store and fetch me a hunk of tobacco. And after Ibroke my resolution I thought I'd have a fit there in the yard waitingfor that boy to come back. I don't believe that it's right for a man tokill any appetite that the Lord has given him. Of course, I don'tbelieve in the abuse of a good thing, but it's better to abuse it alittle sometimes than not to have it at all. If virtue consists indeadening the nervous system to all pleasurable influences, why, you mayjust mark my name off the list. There was old man Haskill. I sat up withhim the night after he died, and one of the men with me was harping uponthe great life the old fellow had lived--never chewed, never smoked,never was drunk, never gambled, never did anything except to stand stilland be virtuous--and I couldn't help but feel that he had lost nothingby dying."

  THE TWO YOUNG MEN

  BY CAROLYN WELLS

  Once on a Time there were Two Young Men of Promising Capabilities.

  One pursued no Especial Branch of Education, but Contented himself witha Smattering of many different Arts and Sciences, exhibiting a ModerateProficiency in Each. When he Came to Make a Choice of some means ofEarning a Livelihood, he found he was Unsuccessful, for he had noSpecialty, and Every Employer seemed to Require an Expert in his Line.

  The Other, from his Earliest Youth, bent all his Energies towardLearning to play the Piano. He studied at Home and Abroad with GreatestMasters, and he Achieved Wonderful Success. But as he was about to Beginhis Triumphant and Profitable Career, he had the Misfortune to lose bothThumbs in a Railway Accident.

  Thus he was Deprived of his Intended Means of Earning a Living, and ashe had no other Accomplishment he was Forced to Subsist on Charity.

  MORALS:

  This Fable teaches that a Jack of all Trades is Master of None, and thatIt Is Not Well to put All our Eggs in One Basket.

  THE TWO HOUSEWIVES

  BY CAROLYN WELLS

  Once on a Time there were Two Housewives who must Needs go to Market topurchase the Day's Supplies.

  One of Them, who was of a Dilatory Nature, said:

  "I will not Hurry Myself, for I Doubt Not the Market contains Plenty forall who come."

  She therefore Sauntered Forth at her Leisure, and on reaching the Marketshe found to her Dismay that the Choicest Cuts and the Finest Producehad All been Sold, and there remained for her only the Inferior Meatsand Some Withered Vegetables.

  The Other, who was One of the Hustling, Wide-awake Sort, said:

  "I will Bestir myself Betimes and Hasten to Market that I may Take myPick ere my Neighbors appear on the Scene."

  She did so, and when she Reached the Market she Discovered that theFresh Produce had not yet Arrived, and she must Content herself with theRemnants of Yesterday's Stock.

  MORALS:

  This Fable teaches that The Early Bird Gets the Worm, and that There AreAlways as Good Fish In the Sea as Ever were Caught.

  IN PHILISTIA

  BY BLISS CARMAN

  Of all the places on the map, Some queer and others queerer, Arcadia is dear to me, Philistia is dearer.

  There dwell the few who never knew The pangs of heavenly hunger As fresh and fair and fond and frail As when the world was younger.

  If there is any sweeter sound Than bobolinks or thrushes, It is the _frou-frou_ of their silks-- The roll of their barouches.

  I love them even when they're good, As well as when they're sinners-- When they are sad and worldly wise And when they are beginners.

  (I say I do; of course the fact, For better or for worse, is, My unerratic life denies My too erotic verses.)

  I dote upon their waywardness, Their foibles and their follies. If there's a madder pate than Di's, Perhaps it may be Dolly's.

  They have no "problems" to discuss, No "theories" to discover; They are not "new"; and I--I am Their very grateful lover.

  I care not if their minds confuse Alastor with Aladdin; And Cimabue is far less To them than Chimmie Fadden.

  They never heard of William Blake, Nor saw a Botticelli; Yet one is, "Yours till death, Louise," And one, "Your loving Nelly."

  They never tease me for my views, Nor tax me with my grammar; Nor test me on the latest news, Until I have to stammer.

  They never talk about their "moods," They never know they have them; The world is good enough for them, And that is why I love them.

  They never puzzle me with Greek, Nor drive me mad with Ibsen; Yet over forms as fair as Eve's They wear the gowns of Gibson.

  THE DYING GAG

  BY JAMES L. FORD

  There was an affecting scene on the stage of a New York theater theother night--a scene invisible to the audience and not down on thebills, but one far more touching and pathetic than anything enactedbefore the footlights that night, although it was a minstrel companythat gave the entertainment.

  It was a wild, blustering night, and the wind howled mournfully aroundthe street corners, blinding the pedestrians with the clouds of dustthat it caught up from the gutters and hurled into their faces.

  Old man Sweeny, the stage doorkeeper, dozing in his little glazed box,was awakened by a sudden gust that banged the stage door and then wenthowling along the corridor, almost extinguishing the gas-jets and makingthe minstrels shiver in their dressing-rooms.

  "What! You here to-night!" exclaimed old man Sweeny, as a frail figure,muffled up in a huge ulster, staggered through the doorway and stoodleaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

  "Yes; I felt that I couldn't stay away from the footlights to-night.They tell me I'm old and worn out and had better take a rest, but I'llgo on till I drop," and with a hollow cough the Old Gag plodded slowlydown the dim and drafty corridor and sank wearily on a sofa in the bigdressing-room, where the other Gags and Conundrums were awaiting theircues.

  "Poor old fellow!" said one of them, sadly. "He can't hold out muchlonger."

  "He ought not to go on except at matinees," replied another veteran, whowas standing in front of the mirror trimming his long, silvery beard,and just then an attendant came in with several basins of gruel, and theold Jests tucked napkins under their chins and sat down to partake of alittle nourishment before going on.

  The bell tinkled and the entertainment began. One after another theJokes and Conundrums heard their cues, went on, and returned to thedressing-room, for they all had to go on again in the after-piece. Thehouse was crowded to the dome, and there was scarcely a dry eye in thevast audience as one after another of the old Quips and Jests that hadbeen treasured household words in many a family came on and thendisappeared to make room for others of their kind.

  As the evening wore on the whisper ran through the theater that the OldGag was going on that night--perhaps for the last time; and many an eyegrew dim, many a pulse beat quicker at the thought of listening oncemore to that hoary Jest, about whose head were clustered so many sacredmemories.

  Meanwhile the Old Gag was sitting in his corner of the dressing-room,his head bowed on his breast, his gruel untasted on the tray before him.The other Gags came and went, but he heeded them not. His thoughts werefar away. He was dreami
ng of old days, of his early struggles for fame,and of his friends and companions of years ago. "Where are they now?" heasked himself, sadly. "Some are wanderers on the face of the earth, incomic operas. Two of them found ignoble graves in the 'Tourists''company. Others are sleeping beneath the daisies in Harper's 'Editor'sDrawer.'"

  "You're called, sir!"

  The Old Gag awoke from his reverie, started to his feet, and, throwingaside his heavy ulster, staggered to the entrance and stood therepatiently waiting for his cue.

  "You're hardly strong enough to go on to-night," said a Merry Jest,touching him kindly on the arm; but the gray-bearded one shook him off,saying hoarsely:

  "Let be! Let be! I must read those old lines once more--it may be forthe last time."

  And now a solemn hush fell upon the vast audience as a sad-facedminstrel uttered in tear-compelling accents the most pathetic words inall the literature of minstrelsy:

  "And so you say, Mr. Johnson, that all the people on the ship wereperishing of hunger, and yet you were eating fried eggs. How do youaccount for that?"

  For one moment a deathlike silence prevailed. Then the Old Gag steppedforward and in clear, ringing tones replied:

  "The ship lay to, and I got one."

  A wild, heartrending sob came from the audience and relieved the tensionas the Old Gag staggered back into the entrance and fell into thefriendly arms that were waiting to receive him.

  Sobbing Conundrums bore him to a couch in the dressing-room. WeepingJokes strove in vain to bring back the spark of life to his inanimateform. But all to no avail.