The Idiot Page 3

  III

  "I wish I were beginning life all over again," said the Idiot one springmorning, as he took his accustomed place at Mrs. Pedagog's table.

  "I wish you were," said Mr. Pedagog from behind his newspaper. "Then yourparents would have you shut up in a nursery, and it is even conceivablethat you would be receiving those disciplinary attentions with a slipperthat you seem to me so frequently to deserve, were you at this presentmoment in the nursery stage of your development."

  "My!" ejaculated the Idiot. "What a wonder you are, Mr. Pedagog! It is agood thing you are not a justice in a criminal court."

  "And what, may I venture to ask," said Mr. Pedagog, glancing at the Idiotover his spectacles--"what has given rise to that extraordinary remark,the connection of which with anything that has been said or done thismorning is distinctly not apparent?"

  "I only meant that a man who was so given over to long sentences as youare would probably make too severe a judge in a criminal court," repliedthe Idiot, meekly. "Do you make use of the same phraseology in theclass-room that you dazzle us with, I should like to know?"

  "And why not, pray?" said Mr. Pedagog.

  "No special reason," said the Idiot; "only it does seem to me that aninstructor of youth ought to be more careful in his choice of adverbsthan you appear to be. Of course Doctor Bolus here is under no obligationto speak more grammatically or correctly than he does. People call him into prescribe, not to indulge in rhetorical periods, and he can write hisprescriptions in a sort of intuitive Latin and nobody be the wiser, butyou, who are said to be sowing the seeds of knowledge in the brain ofyouth, should be more careful."

  "Hear the grammarian talk!" returned Mr. Pedagog. "Listen to thisembryonic Samuel Johnson the Second. What have I said that so offends thelinguistic taste of Lindley Murray, Jun.?"

  "Nothing," returned the Idiot. "I cannot say that you have said anything.I never heard you say anything in my life; but while you can no doubtfind good authority for making use of the words 'distinctly notapparent,' you ought not to throw such phrases around carelessly. Thething which is distinct is apparent, therefore to say 'distinctly notapparent' to a mind that is not given to analysis sounds strange. Youmight as well say of a beautiful girl that she is plainly pretty, meaningof course that she is evidently pretty; but those who are unacquaintedwith the idiomatic peculiarities of your speech might ask you if youmeant that she was pretty in a plain sort of way. Suppose, too, you werewriting a novel, and, in a desire to give your reader a fair idea of thepersonal appearance of a homely but good creature, you should say, 'Itcannot be denied that Rosamond Follansbee was pretty plain?' It wouldn'ttake a very grave error of the types to change your entire meaning. Tosave a line on a page, for instance, it might become necessary toeliminate a single word; and if that word should chance to be the word'plain' in the sentence I have given, your homely but good person wouldbe set down as being undeniably pretty. Which shows, it seems to me, thattoo great care cannot be exercised in the making of selections from ourvocabu--"

  "You are the worst I _ever_ knew!" snapped Mr. Pedagog.

  "Which only proves," observed the Idiot, "that you have not heeded theScriptural injunction that you should know thyself. Are those buckwheatcakes or doilies?"

  Whether the question was heard or not is not known. It certainly was notanswered, and silence reigned for a few minutes. Finally Mrs. Pedagogspoke, and in the manner of one who was somewhat embarrassed. "I am in anembarrassing position," said she.

  "Good!" said the Idiot, _sotto-voce_, to the genial gentleman whooccasionally imbibed. "There is hope for the landlady yet. If she can beembarrassed she is still human--a condition I was beginning to think shewotted not of."

  "She whatted what?" queried the genial gentleman, not quite catching theIdiot's words.

  "Never mind," returned the Idiot. "Let's hear how she ever came to beembarrassed."

  "I have had an application for my first-floor suite, and I don't knowwhether I ought to accept it or not," said the landlady.

  "She has a conscience, too," whispered the Idiot; and then he added,aloud, "And wherein lies the difficulty, Mrs. Pedagog?"

  "The applicant is an actor; Junius Brutus Davenport is his name."

  "A tragedian or a comedian?" asked the Bibliomaniac.

  "Or first walking gentleman, who knows every railroad tie in thecountry?" put in the Idiot.

  "That I do not know," returned the landlady. "His name sounds familiarenough, though. I thought perhaps some of you gentlemen might know ofhim."

  "I have heard of Junius Brutus," observed the Doctor, chuckling slightlyat his own humor, "and I've heard of Davenport, but Junius BrutusDavenport is a combination with which I am not familiar."

  "Well, I can't see why it should make any difference whether the man is atragedian, or a comedian, or a familiar figure to railroad men," said Mr.Whitechoker, firmly. "In any event, he would be an extremely objec--"

  "It makes a great deal of difference," said the Idiot. "I've mettragedians, and I've met comedians, and I've met New York Central stars,and I can assure you they each represent a distinct type. The tragedians,as a rule, are quiet meek individuals, with soft low voices, in privatelife. They are more timid than otherwise, though essentially amiable.I knew a tragedian once who, after killing seventeen Indians, aroad-agent, and a gross of cowboys between eight and ten P.M.every night for sixteen weeks, working six nights a week, was afraid of amild little soft-shell crab that lay defenceless on a plate before him onthe evening of the seventh night of the last week. Tragedians makeagreeable companions, I can tell you; and if J. Brutus Davenport is atragedian, I think Mrs. Pedagog would do well to let him have the suite,provided, of course, that he pays for it in advance."

  "I was about to observe, when our friend interrupted me," said Mr.Whitechoker, with dignity, "that in any event an actor at this boardwould be to me an extremely objec--"

  "Now the comedians," resumed the Idiot, ignoring Mr. Whitechoker'sremark--"the comedians are very different. They are twice as bloodthirstyas the murderers of the drama, and, worse than that, they are given torehearsing at all hours of the day and night. A tragedian is a hardcharacter only on the stage, but the comedian is the comedian always.If we had one of those fellows in our midst, it would not be very longbefore we became part of the drama ourselves. Mrs. Pedagog would findherself embarrassed once an hour, instead of, as at present, once acentury. Mr. Whitechoker would hear of himself as having appeared byproxy in a roaring farce before our comedian had been with us two months.The wise sayings of our friend the School-Master would be spoken nightlyfrom the stage, to the immense delight of the gallery gods, and to theedification of the orchestra circle, who would wonder how so muchinformation could have got into the world and they not know it before.The out-of-town papers would literally teem with witty extracts from ourcomedian's plays, which we should immediately recognize as the dicta ofmy poor self."

  "THEY ARE GIVEN TO REHEARSING AT ALL HOURS"]

  "All of which," put in Mr. Whitechoker, "but proves the truth of myassertion that such a person would be an extremely objec--"

  "Then, as I said before," continued the Idiot, "he is continuallyrehearsing, and his objectionableness as a fellow-boarder would begreater or less, according to his play. If he were impersonating ashiftless wanderer, who shows remarkable bravery at a hotel fire, weshould have to be prepared at any time to hear the fire-engines rushingup to the front door, and to see our comedian scaling the fire-escapewith Mrs. Pedagog and her account-books in his arms, simply in the lineof rehearsal. If he were impersonating a detective after a criminalmasquerading as a good citizen, the School-Master would be startled somenight by a hoarse voice at his key-hole exclaiming: 'Ha! ha! I have himnow. There is no escape save by the back window, and that's so coveredo'er with dust 'twere suffocation sure to try it.' I hesitate to say whatwould happen if he were a tank comedian."

  "'HA! HA! I HAVE HIM NOW!'"]

  "Perhaps," said Mr. Whitechoker, with a trifle more
impatience than wascompatible with his calling--"perhaps you will hesitate long enough forme to state what I have been trying to state ever since this soliloquyof yours began--that in any event, whether this person be a tragedian, ora comedian, or a walking gentleman, or a riding gentleman in a circus, Iobject to his being admitted to this circle, and I deem it well to sayright here that as he comes in at the front door I go out at the back. Asa clergyman, I do not approve of the stage."

  "That ought to settle it," said the Idiot. "Mr. Whitechoker is too gooda friend to us all here for us to compel him to go out of that back doorinto the rather limited market-garden Mrs. Pedagog keeps in the yard. Myindirect plea for the admission of Mr. Junius Brutus Davenport was basedentirely upon my desire to see this circle completed or nearer completionthan it is at present. We have all the professions represented here butthe stage, and why exclude it, granting that no one objects? The menwhose lives are given over to the amusement of mankind, and who arewilling to place themselves in the most outrageous situations night afternight in order that we may for the time being seem to be lifted out ofthe unpleasant situations into which we have got ourselves, are in myopinion doing a noble work. The theatre enables us to woo forgetfulnessof self successfully for a few brief hours, and I have seen the time whenan hour or two of relief from actual cares has resulted in great good.Nevertheless, the gentleman is not elected; and if Mrs. Pedagog willkindly refill my cup, I will ask you to join me in draining a toast tothe health of the pastor of this flock, whose conscience, paradoxical asit may seem, is the most frequently worn and yet the least thread-bareof the consciences represented at this table."

  This easy settlement of her difficulty was so pleasing to Mrs. Pedagogthat the Idiot's request was graciously acceded to, and Mr. Whitechoker'shealth was drank in coffee, after which the Idiot requested the genialgentleman who occasionally imbibed to join him privately in eatingbuckwheat cakes to the health of Mr. Davenport.

  "I haven't any doubt that he is worthy of the attention," he said; "andif you will lend me the money to buy the tickets, I'll take you aroundto the Criterion to-night, where he is playing. I don't know whether heplays Hamlet or A Hole in the Roof; but, at any rate, we can have a goodtime between the acts."