human
Last summer there was a play put on at one of our theatres in which there was a scene at a race-track. At one side was a tally-ho coach. For the first week the coach was an utterly valueless accessory, because the people on it were the ordinary supers in the employ of the theatre. They did not know how to behave on a coach, and nobody was interested. The management were suddenly seized with a bright idea. They invited several swell young men who knew how things were done on coaches to come and do these things on their coach. The young men came and imparted a realism to the scene that made that coach the centre of attraction. People who went to that play departed educated in coach etiquette. Now there lies my scheme in a nutshell. If these twenty-five, the Old Guard of society, which dines but never surrenders, will give once a week a social function in some place like Madison Square Garden, to which the million may go merely as spectators, not as participators, is there any doubt that they would fail to be instructed? The Garden will seat eight or ten thousand people. Suppose, for an instance, that a dozen of your best exponents of what is what were to give a dinner in the middle of the arena, with ten thousand people looking on. Do you mean to say that of all that vast audience no one would learn thereby how to behave at a dinner?
gpt
It is a great scheme,
human
It is! said the Idiot,
gpt
It would be instructive, no doubt, said the Bibliomaniac;
human
Most assuredly, said the Idiot.
gpt
At the end of the season I should have a rigid examination of all who chose to apply. I would make them dine in the presence of a committee of expert diners, I would have them pass a searching examination in the Art of Wearing a Dress Suit, in the Science of Entering a Drawing-room, in the Art of Behavior at Afternoon Teas, and all the men who applied should also be compelled to pass a physical examination as an assurance that they were equal to the task of getting an ice for a young lady at a ball.
human
Society would get to be too inclusive and would cease to be exclusive,
gpt
I think not, said the Idiot.
human
I should not give a man or a woman the degree of B.S. unless he or she had passed an examination of one hundred per cent.
gpt
B.S.?
human
Yes, returned the Idiot.
gpt
Bachelor of Society--a degree which, once earned, should entitle one to recognition as a member of the upper ten anywhere in Christendom.
human
It is superb!
gpt
Yes, said the Idiot.
human
At ten cents a function it would beat University Extension out of sight, and, further, it would preserve society. If we lose society we lose caste, and, worse than all, our funny men would have to go out of business, for there would be no fads or Willieboys left to ridicule.
gpt
Mr. Idiot, said the Poet one morning, as the waffles were served,
human
I have thought of that, said the Idiot.
gpt
And yet the great fortunes have been made in a way which involved very little labor, comparatively speaking. You, for instance, probably work harder over a yard of poetry that brings you in ten dollars than any of our great railroad magnates have over a mile of railroad which has brought them in a million.
human
Which simply proves that it is ideas that count rather than labor,
gpt
Not exactly, said the Idiot.
human
If you put a hundred ideas into a quatrain you will get less money for it than you would for a two-volume epic in which you have possibly only half an idea. It isn't idea so much as nerve that counts. The man who builds railroads doesn't advance any particular idea, but he shows lots of nerve, and it is nerve that makes wealth. I believe that if you literary men would show more nerve force and spare the public the infliction of what you call your ideas, you would make more money.
gpt
How would you show nerve in writing?
human
If I knew I'd write and make my fortune, said the Idiot.
gpt
Unfortunately, I don't know how one can show nerve in writing, unless it be in taking hold of some particularly popular idiosyncrasy of mankind and treating it so contemptuously that every one would want to mob you. If you could get the public mad enough at you to want to mob you they'd read everything you'd write, simply to nourish their wrath, and you'd soon be cutting coupons for a living, and could then afford to take up more ideas--coupon-cutters can afford theories. For my own part, one reason why I do not myself take up literature for a profession is that I have neither the nerve nor the coupons. I'd probably run along in the rut like a majority of the writers of to-day, and wouldn't have the grit to strike out in a new line of my own. Men say, and perhaps very properly, this is the thing that has succeeded in the past. I'll do this. Something else that appears alluring enough in the abstract has never been done, and for that reason I won't do it. There have been clever men before me, men clever enough to think of this something that I fondly imagine is original, and they haven't done it. Doubtless they refrained from doing it for good and sufficient reasons, and I am not going to be fool enough to set my judgment up against theirs. In other words, I lack the nerve to go ahead and write as I feel. I prefer to study past successes, with the result that I am moderately successful only. It's the same way in every line of business. Precedent guides in all things, but where occasionally you find a man courageous enough to cast precedent to the winds, one of two things happens. Either fortune or ruin follows. Hence, the thing to do if you want to make a fortune is to eliminate the possibility of ruin as far as may be. You cannot ruin a man who has nothing. He is down on bed-rock, anyhow; so for a receipt for fortune I should say, start a pauper, show your nerve, and you'll make a pile, or you won't make a pile. If you make it you are fortunate. If you fail to make it you are no more unfortunate than you were before you started.
human
For plausibility, Mr. Idiot, said Mr. Pedagog,
gpt
Precisely, said the Idiot.
human
There is nothing like having a clean slate to work on. If you are not a beggar you have something, and having something promotes caution and tends to destroy nerve. As a beggar you have everything to gain and nothing to lose, so you can plunge. You can swim better in deep water than in the shallow.
gpt
Well, said the Doctor,
human
He'd probably take a bag of dynamite into a millionaire's office and threaten to blow him to pieces if he didn't give him a house and lot,
gpt
Not at all, said the Idiot.
human
That's cowardice, not nerve. If I went into a millionaire's office and demanded a million--or a house and lot even--armed with a bag full of newspapers, pretending it held dynamite, it might be more like nerve; but my beggar would do nothing contrary to the law. He'd simply be nervy, that's all--cheeky, perhaps you'd call it. For instance, I believe that if I were to hire in the elevated cars one of those advertising spaces above the windows, and were to place in that space a placard saying that I was by nature too lazy to work, too fond of life to starve, too poor to live, and too honest to steal, and would be placed in affluence if every man and woman who saw that sign would send me ten cents a week in two-cent postage-stamps for five weeks running, I should receive enough money to enable me to live at the most expensive hotel in town during that period. By living at that hotel and paying my bills regularly I could get credit enough to set myself up in business, and with credit there is practically no limit to the possibilities of fortune. It is simply honest nerve that counts. The beggar who asks you on the street for five cents to keep his family from starving is rebuffed. You don't believe his story, and you know that five cents wouldn't keep a family from starving very long. But the fellow who accosts you frankly for a dime because he is thirsty, and hasn't had a drink for two hours, in nine cases out of ten properly selected ones will get a quarter for his nerve.
gpt
You ought to write a _Manual for Beggars_, said the Bibliomaniac.
human
I have no doubt that the Idiot Publishing Company would publish it.
gpt
Yes, said Mr. Pedagog.
human
A sort of beggar's _Don't_, for instance. It would be a benefit to all men, as well as a boon to the beggars. That mendicancy is a profession to-day there is no denying, and anything which could make of it a polite calling would be of inestimable value.
gpt
I have had it in mind for some time, said the Idiot, blandly.
human
I intended to call it _Mendicancy Made Easy_, or _the Beggar's Don't: With Two Chapters on Etiquette for Tramps_.
gpt
The chief trouble with such a book I should think, said the Poet,
human
That wouldn't interfere with its circulation, returned the Idiot.
gpt
It's a poor tramp who can't steal. Every suburban resident in creation would buy a copy of the book out of sheer curiosity. I'd get my royalties from them; the tramps could get the books by helping themselves to the suburbanites' copies as they do to chickens, fire-wood, and pies put out to cool. As for the beggars, I'd have it put into their hands by the people they beg from. When a man comes up to a wayfarer, for instance, and says, 'Excuse me, sir, but could you spare a nickel to a hungry man?' I'd have the wayfarer say, 'Excuse _me_, sir, but unfortunately I have left my nickels in my other vest; but here is a copy of the Idiot's _Mendicancy Made Easy, or the Beggar's Don't_.'
human
And you think the beggar would read it, do you?
gpt
I don't know whether he would or not. He'd probably either read it or pawn it, the Idiot answered.
human
In either event he would be better off, and I would have got my ten per cent. royalty on the book. After the _Beggars' Manual_ I should continue my good work if I found the class for whom it was written had benefited by my first effort. I should compile as my contribution to the literature of mendicancy for the following season what I should call _The Beggar's 匜ite Directory_. This would enlarge my sphere a trifle. It would contain as complete lists as could be obtained of persons who give to street beggars, with their addresses, so that the beggars, instead of infesting the streets at night might go to the houses of these people and collect their incomes in a more business-like and less undignified fashion. Added to this would be two lists, one for tramps, stating what families in the suburbs kept dogs, what families gave, whether what they gave was digestible or not, rounding up with a list of those who do not give, and who have telephone connection with the police station. This would enable them to avoid dogs and rebuffs, would save the tramp the time he expends on futile efforts to find work he doesn't want, and as for the people who have to keep the dogs to ward off the tramps, they, too, would be benefited, because the tramps would begin to avoid them, and in a short while they would be able to dispense with the dogs. The other list would be for organ-grinders, who are, after all, only beggars of a different type. This list would comprise the names of persons who are musical and who would rather pay a quarter than listen to a hand-organ. By a judicious arrangement with these people, carried on by correspondence, the organ-grinder would be able to collect a large revenue without venturing out, except occasionally to play before the house of a delinquent subscriber in order to remind him that he had let his contract expire. So, by slow degrees, we should find beggars doing their work privately and not publicly, tramps circulating only among those whose sympathies they have aroused, and organ-grinding only a memory.
gpt
The last, I think, would not come about, said Mr. Pedagog.
human
For there are people who like the music of hand-organs.
gpt
True--I'm one of 'em. I'd hire a hansom to follow a piano-organ about the city if I could afford it, but as a rule the hand-organ lovers are of the one-cent class, returned the Idiot.
human
The quarter class are people who would rather not hear the hand-organ, and it is to them that a grinder of business capacity would naturally address himself. It is far pleasanter to stay at home and be paid large money for doing nothing than to undertake a weary march through the city to receive small sums for doing something. That's human nature, Mr. Pedagog.
gpt
I presume it is, said Mr. Pedagog;
human
Well, of course, said the Idiot,
gpt
You appear to have the writing of a library in mind,
human
I have, said the Idiot.
gpt
If I write all the books I have in mind, the public library will be a small affair beside mine.
human
And your other book is to be what?
gpt
said the Idiot.
human
If the beggar could only tell an interesting story he'd be surer of an ear in which to whisper it. The usual beggar's tale is commonplace. There's no art in it. There are no complications of absorbing interest. There is not a soul in creation, I venture to say, but would be willing to have a beggar stop right in the middle of his story. The tales I'd write for them would be so interesting that the attention of the wayfarer would be arrested at once. His mind would be riveted on the situation at once, and, instead of hurrying along and trying to leave the beggar behind, he would stop, button-hole him, and ask him to sit down on a convenient doorstep and continue. If a beggar could have such a story to tell as would enable him in the midst of one of its most exciting episodes to whisper hoarsely into the ear of the man whose nickel he was seeking, 'The rest of this interesting story I will tell you in Central Park at nine o'clock to-morrow night,' in such a manner as would impel the listener to meet him in the Park the following evening, his fortune would be made. Such a book I hope some day to write.
gpt
I have no doubt, said Mr. Whitechoker,
human
Nor have I, said the Idiot.
gpt
It will make the writers of to-day green with envy, and, as for the beggars, if it is not generally known that it is I and not they who are responsible for the work, the beggars will shortly find themselves in demand as writers of fiction for the magazines.
human
And you?
gpt
I shall be content. Mere gratitude will force the beggars to send me the magazine orders, and _I'll_ write their articles and be glad of the opportunity, giving them ten per cent. of the profits. I know a man who makes fifty dollars a year at magazine work, and one of my ambitions is to rival the Banker-Poets and Dry Goods Essayists by achieving fame as the Boarding-house Dickens.
human
I am afraid, said Mr. Pedagog, in a loud whisper to the Bibliomaniac,
gpt
Tutt!
human
He's off, said the Bibliomaniac.
gpt
Whenever he says 'Tutt!' you can make up your mind that his vocabulary is about to be loosed.
human
If my vocabulary were as warped as some other vocabularies I might mention, said the Idiot, helping himself to another waffle modelled after the six of hearts,
gpt
I'd keep it in a cage. A man who observes that I have eaten three fish-cakes and a waffle without opening my mouth hasn't a very good command of language. He simply states as a fact what is in reality an impossibility, granting that I eat with my mouth, which I am told I do.
human
You know what I mean, retorted Mr. Pedagog, impatiently.
gpt
I am so much in your society that I have acquired the very bad habit of speaking in the vernacular. When I say you haven't opened your mouth I do not refer to the opening you make for the receipt of waffles and fish-cakes, but for those massive openings which you require for your exuberant loquacity. In other words, I mean that you haven't spoken a word for at least three minutes, which is naturally an indication to us that you aren't feeling well. You and talk are synonymous as far as we are concerned.
human
I _have_ been known to speak--that is true, said the Idiot.
gpt
That I am not feeling very well this morning is also true. I have a headache.
human
A what ache?
gpt
A very bad headache,
human
How singular! said the Bibliomaniac.
gpt
Reminds me of a story I heard of a man who had lost his foot. He'd had his foot shot off at Gettysburg, and yet for years after he could feel the pangs of rheumatism in that foot from which he had previously suffered.
human
Pardon me for repeating, observed the Idiot.
gpt
But, as I have already said, and as I expect often to have to say again, Tutt! I can't blame you for thinking that I have no head, however. I find so little use for one here that in most instances I do not obtrude it upon you.
human
I haven't noticed any lack of head in the Idiot, put in the School-master.
gpt
As a rule, I can agree to almost anything my friend the Bibliomaniac says, but in this case I cannot accept his views. You have a head. I have always said you had a head--in fact, that is what I complain about chiefly, it is such a big head.
human
Thank you, said the Idiot, ignoring the shaft.
gpt
I shall never forget your kindness in coming to my aid, though I can't say that I think I needed it. Even with a racking headache sustained by these delicious waffles, I believe I can handle the Doctor and my bookish friend without assistance. I am what the mathematicians would call an arithmetical absurdity--I am the one that is equal to the two they represent. At present, however, I prefer to let them talk on. I am too much absorbed in thought and waffles to bandy words.
human
If I had a headache, said Mrs. Smithers-Pedagog, without, it must be said, in any way desiring to stem the waffle tide which was slowly but surely eating into the profits of the week--
gpt
I suppose I ought not to, replied the Idiot,
human
Many thanks, said the Idiot, transferring the waffle to his plate.
gpt
Let me see--that is how many?
human
Five,
gpt
Eight,
human
Dear me! ejaculated the Idiot.
gpt
Why can't you agree? I never eat less than twelve waffles, and now that you have failed to keep tab I shall have to begin all over again. Mary, bring me one dozen fresh waffles in squads of four. This is an ideal breakfast, Mrs. Smithers-Pedagog.
human
I am glad you are pleased, said the landlady, graciously.
gpt
My one aim is to satisfy.
human
You are a better shot than most women, said the Idiot.
gpt
I wonder why it is, he added,
human
Fifty-two waffles, said Mr. Whitechoker,
gpt
Fifty-three, including the joker,
human
What do _you_ know about cards, John?
gpt
Did you ever hear that pretty little song of Gilbert and Sullivan's, Mr. Poet, 'Things are seldom what they seem'?
human
Why shouldn't I know about playing-cards? said Mr. Pedagog, acridly.
gpt
Mr. Whitechoker seems to be aware that a pack holds fifty-two cards--if he, why not I?
human
I--ah--I of course have to acquaint myself with many vicious things with which I have very little sympathy, observed Mr. Whitechoker, blandly.
gpt
I regard cards as an abomination.
human
So do I, said Mr. Pedagog--
gpt
Bob-tail flush,
human
Sir, said Mr. Pedagog,
gpt
I am not well up in poker terms.
human
Then you ought to play, said the Idiot.
gpt
The man who doesn't know the game has usually great luck. But I am sorry, Mrs. Pedagog, that you are so strongly opposed to cards, for I was going to make a suggestion which I think would promote harmony in our little circle on waffle days. If you regard cards as wholly immoral, of course the suggestion is without value, since it involves two complete packs of cards--one cardboard pack and one waffle pack.
human
I don't object to cards as cards, Mr. Idiot, said the landlady.
gpt
It is the games people play with cards that I object to. They bring a great deal of unnecessary misery into the world, and for that reason I think it is better to avoid them altogether.
human
That is quite true, said the Idiot.
gpt
They do bring about much unhappiness. I know a young woman who became a victim of insomnia once because in a series of ten games of old maid she got the odd card seven times. Of course it wasn't entirely the cards' fault. Superstition had something to do with it. In fact, I sometimes think the fault lies with the people who play, and not with the cards. I owe much to the game of whist. It taught me to control my tongue. I should have been a regular talk-fiend if it hadn't been for whist.
human
Are you laboring under the delusion that you have any control over your tongue?
gpt
Most certainly,
human
Well, I'll have to make a note of that, said Mr. Pedagog.
gpt
I have a friend who is making a collection of hallucinations.
human
If you'll give me his address, said the Idiot,
gpt
I'll send him thousands. For five dollars a dozen I'll invent hallucinations for him that people ought to have but haven't.
human
No, returned the School-master.
gpt
In his behalf, however, I thank you. He collects only real hallucinations, and he finds there are plenty of them without retaining a professional lunatic to supply him.
human
Very well, said the Idiot, returning to his waffles.
gpt
If at any time he finds the supply running short, I shall be glad to renew my offer.
human
You haven't unfolded your Harmony Promoting Scheme for Waffle Days, suggested the Poet.
gpt
It has aroused my interest.
human
Oh, it is simple, said the Idiot.
gpt
I have noticed that on waffle days here most of us leave the table more or less dissatisfied. We find ourselves plunged into acrimonious discussions, which, to my mind, arise entirely from the waffles. Mr. Pedagog is a most amiable gentleman, and yet we find him this morning full of acerbity. On the surface of things I seem to be the cause of his anger, but in reality it is not I, but the waffles. He has seen me gradually absorbing them and it has irritated him. Every waffle that I eat _he_ might have had if I had not been here. If there had been no one here but Mr. Pedagog, he would have had all the waffles; as it is, his supply is limited. This affects his geniality. It makes him--
human
Pardon me, said Mr. Pedagog.
gpt
But you are all wrong. I haven't thought of the things at all.
human
Consciously to yourself you have not, said the Idiot.
gpt
Subconsciously, however, you have. The Philosophy of the Unconscious teaches us that unknown to ourselves our actions are directly traceable to motives we wot not of. The truth of this is conclusively proven in this case. Even when I point out to you the facts in the case you deny their truth, thereby showing that you are not conscious of the real underlying motive for your irritation. Now, why is that irritation there? Because our several rights to the individual waffles that are served here are not clearly defined at the outset. When Mary brings in a steaming platter full of these delicious creations of the cook, Mr. Pedagog has quite as much right to the one with the six of hearts on it as I have, but I get it. He does not. Hence he is irritated, although he does not know it. So with Mr. Whitechoker. Five minutes ago he was hastening through the four of spades in order that he might come into possession of the ten of diamonds that lay smoking before him. As he was about to put the last spade in his mouth I requested him to hand me the ten of diamonds, having myself gulped down the deuce of clubs to get ahead of him. He couldn't decline to give me that waffle because he wanted it himself. He had to give it to me. He was irritated--though he did not know it. He sighed and gave me the waffle.
human
I did want it, said Mr. Whitechoker.
gpt
But I did not know that I sighed.
human
There you are, said the Idiot.
gpt
It is the Philosophy of the Unconscious again. If you are not conscious of so actual a thing as a sigh, how much the more unconscious must you be of something so subtle as motive?
human
And your waffle-deck? said the Genial Old Gentleman who occasionally imbibes.
gpt
How will that solve the problem? It seems to me to complicate the problem. As it is, we have about thirty waffles, each one of which is a germ of irritation in the breast of the man who _doesn't_ eat it. If you have fifty-two waffles you have twenty-two more germs to sow discord in our midst.
human
You would have but for my scheme, said the Idiot.
gpt
I'd have a pack of cards at the table, and I'd deal them out just as you do in whist. Each card would represent the corresponding waffle. We'd begin breakfast by playing one hand after the manner of whist. Each man would keep his tricks, and when the waffles were served he would receive those, and those only, represented by the cards in the tricks he had taken. If you took a trick with the king of diamonds in it, you'd get the waffle with the king of diamonds on it, and so on. Every man would be clearly entitled through his skill in the game to the waffles that he ate.
human
Very good, said Mr. Whitechoker.
gpt
But suppose you had bad luck and took no tricks?
human
Then, said the Idiot,
gpt
Tutt!