Volume VIII Part 26 (2/2)
”Then he'd curl up on edge like a shaving, in bed, And puff and smoke pipes in his sleep, it is said:
”And would snore oftentimes, as the legends relate, Till his folks were wrought up to a terrible state,--
”Then he'd snort, and rear up, and roll over; and there In the subsequent hush they could hear him chew air.
”And so glaringly bald was the top of his head That many's the time he has musingly said,
”As his eyes journeyed o'er its reflex in the gla.s.s,-- 'I must set out a few signs of _Keep Off the Gra.s.s!_'
”So remarkably deaf was my grandfather Squeers That he had to wear lightning-rods over his ears
”To even hear thunder--and oftentimes then He was forced to request it to thunder again.”
THE GENTLE ART OF BOOSTING
BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
The Idiot was very late at breakfast, so extremely late in fact that some apprehension was expressed by his fellow boarders as to the state of his health.
”I hope he isn't ill,” said Mr. Whitechoker. ”He is usually so prompt at his meals that I fear something is the matter with him.”
”He's all right,” said the Doctor, whose room adjoins that of the Idiot in Mrs. Smithers-Pedagog's Select Home for Gentlemen. ”He'll be down in a minute. He's suffering from an overdose of vacation--rested too hard.”
Just then the subject of the conversation appeared in the doorway, pale and haggard, but with an eye that boded ill for the larder.
”Quick!” he cried, as he entered. ”Lead me to a square meal. Mary, please give me four bowls of mush, ten medium soft-boiled eggs, a barrel of sautee potatoes and eighteen dollars' worth of corned beef hash. I'll have two pots of coffee, Mrs. Pedagog, please, four pounds of sugar and a can of condensed milk. If there is any extra charge you may put it on the bill, and some day when Hot Air Common goes up thirty or forty points I'll pay.”
”What's the matter with you, Mr. Idiot?” asked Mr. Brief. ”Been fasting for a week?”
”No,” replied the Idiot. ”I've just taken my first week's vacation, and between you and me I've come back to business so as to get rested up for the second.”
”Doesn't look as though vacation agreed with you,” said the Bibliomaniac.
”It doesn't,” said the Idiot. ”Hereafter I am an advocate of the Russell Sage system. Never take a day off if you can help it. There's nothing so restful as paying attention to business, and no greater promoter of weariness of spirit and vexation of your digestion than the modern style of vacating. No more for mine, if you please.”
”Humph!” sneered the Bibliomaniac. ”I suppose you went to Coney Island to get rested up b.u.mping the b.u.mp and Looping the Loop and doing a lot of other crazy things.”
”Not I,” quoth the Idiot. ”I didn't have sense enough to go to some quiet place like Coney Island, where you can get seven square meals a day, and then climb into a Ferris Wheel and be twirled around in the air until they have been properly shaken down. I took one of the 400 Vacations. Know what that is?”
”No,” said Mr. Brief. ”I didn't know there were 400 Vacations with only 365 days in the year. What do you mean?”
”I mean the kind of Vacation the people in the 400 take,” explained the Idiot. ”I've been to a house-party up in Newport with some friends of mine who're in the swim, and I tell you it's hard swimming. You'll never hear me talking about a leisure cla.s.s in this country again. Those people don't know what leisure is. I don't wonder they're always such a tired-looking lot.”
”I was not aware that you were in with the smart set,” said the Bibliomaniac.
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