Literary Lapses Read online

  But even the application of the Hydro-magnetic and theRejuvenator do not by any means exhaust the resources ofthe up-to-date barber. He prefers to perform on thecustomer a whole variety of subsidiary services notdirectly connected with shaving, but carried on duringthe process of the shave.

  In a good, up-to-date shop, while one man is shaving thecustomer, others black his boots; brush his clothes, darnhis socks, point his nails, enamel his teeth, polish hiseyes, and alter the shape of any of his joints which theythink unsightly. During this operation they often standseven or eight deep round a customer, fighting for achance to get at him.

  All of these remarks apply to barber-shops in the city, andnot to country places. In the country there is only one barberand one customer at a time. The thing assumes the aspect ofa straight-out, rough-and-tumble, catch-as-catch-can fight,with a few spectators sitting round the shop to see fair play.In the city they can shave a man without removing any of hisclothes. But in the country, where the customer insists ongetting the full value for his money, they remove the collarand necktie, the coat and the waistcoat, and, for a reallygood shave and hair-cut, the customer is stripped to thewaist. The barber can then take a rush at him from the otherside of the room, and drive the clippers up the full length ofthe spine, so as to come at the heavier hair on the back ofthe head with the impact of a lawn-mower driven into long grass.

  Getting the Thread of It

  Have you ever had a man try to explain to you what happenedin a book as far as he has read? It is a most instructivething. Sinclair, the man who shares my rooms with me,made such an attempt the other night. I had come in coldand tired from a walk and found him full of excitement,with a bulky magazine in one hand and a paper-cuttergripped in the other.

  "Say, here's a grand story," he burst out as soon as Icame in; "it's great! most fascinating thing I ever read.Wait till I read you some of it. I'll just tell you whathas happened up to where I am--you'll easily catch thethread of it--and then we'll finish it together."

  I wasn't feeling in a very responsive mood, but I saw noway to stop him, so I merely said, "All right, throw meyour thread, I'll catch it."

  "Well," Sinclair began with great animation, "this countgets this letter..."

  "Hold on," I interrupted, "what count gets what letter?"

  "Oh, the count it's about, you know. He gets this letterfrom this Porphirio."

  "From which Porphirio?"

  "Why, Porphirio sent the letter, don't you see, he sentit," Sinclair exclaimed a little impatiently--"sent itthrough Demonio and told him to watch for him with him,and kill him when he got him."

  "Oh, see here!" I broke in, "who is to meet who, and whois to get stabbed?"

  "They're going to stab Demonio."

  "And who brought the letter?"

  "Demonio."

  "Well, now, Demonio must be a clam! What did he bring itfor?"

  "Oh, but he don't know what's in it, that's just the slickpart of it," and Sinclair began to snigger to himself atthe thought of it. "You see, this Carlo Carlotti theCondottiere..."

  "Stop right there," I said. "What's a Condottiere?"

  "It's a sort of brigand. He, you understand, was in leaguewith this Fra Fraliccolo..."

  A suspicion flashed across my mind. "Look here," I saidfirmly, "if the scene of this story is laid in theHighlands, I refuse to listen to it. Call it off."

  "No, no," Sinclair answered quickly, "that's all right.It's laid in Italy...time of Pius the something. Hecomes in--say, but he's great! so darned crafty. It'shim, you know, that persuades this Franciscan..."

  "Pause," I said, "what Franciscan?"

  "Fra Fraliccolo, of course," Sinclair said snappishly."You see, Pio tries to..."

  "Whoa!" I said, "who is Pio?"

  "Oh, hang it all, Pio is Italian, it's short for Pius.He tries to get Fra Fraliccolo and Carlo Carlotti theCondottiere to steal the document from...let me see;what was he called?...Oh, yes...from the Dog of Venice,so that...or...no, hang it, you put me out, that's allwrong. It's the other way round. Pio wasn't clever atall; he's a regular darned fool. It's the Dog that'scrafty. By Jove, he's fine," Sinclair went on; warmingup to enthusiasm again, "he just does anything he wants.He makes this Demonio (Demonio is one of those hirelings,you know, he's the tool of the Dog)...makes him stealthe document off Porphirio, and..."

  "But how does he get him to do that?" I asked.

  "Oh, the Dog has Demonio pretty well under his thumb, sohe makes Demonio scheme round till he gets old Pio--er--getshim under his thumb, and then, of course, Pio thinks thatPorphirio--I mean he thinks that he has Porphirio--er--hashim under his thumb."

  "Half a minute, Sinclair," I said, "who did you say wasunder the Dog's thumb?"

  "Demonio."

  "Thanks. I was mixed in the thumbs. Go on."

  "Well, just when things are like this..."

  "Like what?"

  "Like I said."

  "All right."

  "Who should turn up and thwart the whole scheme, but thisSignorina Tarara in her domino..."

  "Hully Gee!" I said, "you make my head ache. What thedeuce does she come in her domino for?"

  "Why, to thwart it."

  "To thwart what?"

  "Thwart the whole darned thing," Sinclair exclaimedemphatically.

  "But can't she thwart it without her domino?"

  "I should think not! You see, if it hadn't been for thedomino, the Dog would have spotted her quick as a wink.Only when he sees her in the domino with this rose inher hair, he thinks she must be Lucia dell' Esterolla."

  "Say, he fools himself, doesn't he? Who's this last girl?"

  "Lucia? Oh, she's great!" Sinclair said. "She's one ofthose Southern natures, you know, full of--er--full of..."

  "Full of fun," I suggested.

  "Oh, hang it all, don't make fun of it! Well, anyhow,she's sister, you understand, to the Contessa Carantarata,and that's why Fra Fraliccolo, or...hold on, that's notit, no, no, she's not sister to anybody. She's cousin,that's it; or, anyway, she thinks she is cousin to FraFraliccolo himself, and that's why Pio tries to stab FraFraliccolo."

  "Oh, yes," I assented, "naturally he would."

  "Ah," Sinclair said hopefully, getting his paper-cutterready to cut the next pages, "you begin to get the threadnow, don't you?"

  "Oh, fine!" I said. "The people in it are the Dog andPio, and Carlo Carlotti the Condottiere, and those othersthat we spoke of."

  "That's right," Sinclair said. "Of course, there are morestill that I can tell you about if..."

  "Oh, never mind," I said, "I'll work along with those,they're a pretty representative crowd. Then Porphirio isunder Pio's thumb, and Pio is under Demonio's thumb, andthe Dog is crafty, and Lucia is full of something allthe time. Oh, I've got a mighty clear idea of it," Iconcluded bitterly.

  "Oh, you've got it," Sinclair said, "I knew you'd likeit. Now we'll go on. I'll just finish to the bottom ofmy page and then I'll go on aloud."

  He ran his eyes rapidly over the lines till he came tothe bottom of the page, then he cut the leaves and turnedover. I saw his eye rest on the half-dozen lines thatconfronted him on the next page with an expression ofutter consternation.

  "Well, I will be cursed!" he said at length.

  "What's the matter?" I said gently, with a great joy atmy heart.

  "This infernal thing's a serial," he gasped, as he pointedat the words, "To be continued," "and that's all thereis in this number."

  Telling His Faults

  "Oh, do, Mr. Sapling," said the beautiful girl at thesummer hotel, "do let me read the palm of your hand! Ican tell you all your faults."

  Mr. Sapling gave an inarticulate gurgle and a roseateflush swept over his countenance as he surrendered hispalm to the grasp of the fair enchantress.

  "Oh, you're just full of faults, just full of them, Mr.Sapling!" she cried.

  Mr. Sapling looked it.

  "To begin with," said the beautiful girl, slowly andreflectingly, "you are dreadfully cynical: you hardlyb
elieve in anything at all, and you've utterly no faithin us poor women."

  The feeble smile that had hitherto kindled the featuresof Mr. Sapling into a ray of chastened imbecility, wasdistorted in an effort at cynicism.

  "Then your next fault is that you are too determined;much too determined. When once you have set your will onany object, you crush every obstacle under your feet."

  Mr. Sapling looked meekly down at his tennis shoes, butbegan to feel calmer, more lifted up. Perhaps he had beenall these things without knowing it.

  "Then you are cold and sarcastic."

  Mr. Sapling attempted to look cold and sarcastic. Hesucceeded in a rude leer.

  "And you're horribly world-weary, you care for nothing.You have drained philosophy to the dregs, and scoff ateverything."

  Mr. Sapling's inner feeling was that from now on he wouldsimply scoff and scoff and scoff.

  "Your only redeeming quality is that you are generous.You have tried to kill even this, but cannot. Yes,"concluded the beautiful girl, "those are your faults,generous still, but cold, cynical, and relentless. Goodnight, Mr. Sapling."

  And resisting all entreaties the beautiful girl passedfrom the verandah of the hotel and vanished.

  And when later in the evening the brother of the beautifulgirl borrowed Mr. Sapling's tennis racket, and his bicyclefor a fortnight, and the father of the beautiful girlgot Sapling to endorse his note for a couple of hundreds,and her uncle Zephas borrowed his bedroom candle and usedhis razor to cut up a plug of tobacco, Mr. Sapling feltproud to be acquainted with the family.

  Winter Pastimes

  It is in the depth of winter, when the intense coldrenders it desirable to stay at home, that the reallyPleasant Family is wont to serve invitations upon a fewfriends to spend a Quiet Evening.

  It is at these gatherings that that gay thing, the indoorwinter game, becomes rampant. It is there that the oldeuchre deck and the staring domino become fair andbeautiful things; that the rattle of the Loto counterrejoices the heart, that the old riddle feels the sapstirring in its limbs again, and the amusing spilikincompletes the mental ruin of the jaded guest. Then doesthe Jolly Maiden Aunt propound the query: What is thedifference between an elephant and a silk hat? Or declarethat her first is a vowel, her second a preposition, andher third an archipelago. It is to crown such a quietevening, and to give the finishing stroke to those ofthe visitors who have not escaped early, with a fiercepurpose of getting at the saloons before they have timeto close, that the indoor game or family reservoir offun is dragged from its long sleep. It is spread out uponthe table. Its paper of directions is unfolded. Its cards,its counters, its pointers and its markers are distributedaround the table, and the visitor forces a look of recklesspleasure upon his face. Then the "few simple directions"are read aloud by the Jolly Aunt, instructing eachplayer to challenge the player holding the golden lettercorresponding to the digit next in order, to name a deadauthor beginning with X, failing which the player mustdeclare himself in fault, and pay the forfeit of handingover to the Jolly Aunt his gold watch and all his money,or having a hot plate put down his neck.

  With a view to bringing some relief to the guests atentertainments of this kind, I have endeavoured toconstruct one or two little winter pastimes of a novelcharacter. They are quite inexpensive, and as they needno background of higher arithmetic or ancient history,they are within reach of the humblest intellect. Here isone of them. It is called Indoor Football, or Footballwithout a Ball.

  In this game any number of players, from fifteen tothirty, seat themselves in a heap on any one player,usually the player next to the dealer. They then challengehim to get up, while one player stands with a stop-watchin his hand and counts forty seconds. Should the firstplayer fail to rise before forty seconds are counted,the player with the watch declares him suffocated. Thisis called a "Down" and counts one. The player who wasthe Down is then leant against the wall; his wind issupposed to be squeezed out. The player called the refereethen blows a whistle and the players select another playerand score a down off him. While the player is supposedto be down, all the rest must remain seated as before,and not rise from him until the referee by counting fortyand blowing his whistle announces that in his opinionthe other player is stifled. He is then leant againstthe wall beside the first player. When the whistle againblows the player nearest the referee strikes him behindthe right ear. This is a "Touch," and counts two.

  It is impossible, of course, to give all the rules indetail. I might add, however, that while it counts TWOto strike the referee, to kick him counts THREE. To breakhis arm or leg counts FOUR, and to kill him outright iscalled GRAND SLAM and counts one game.

  Here is another little thing that I have worked out,which is superior to parlour games in that it combinestheir intense excitement with sound out-of-door exercise.

  It is easily comprehended, and can be played by any numberof players, old and young. It requires no other apparatusthan a trolley car of the ordinary type, a mile or twoof track, and a few thousand volts of electricity. It iscalled:

  The Suburban Trolley Car A Holiday Game for Old and Young.

  The chief part in the game is taken by two players whostation themselves one at each end of the car, and whoadopt some distinctive costumes to indicate that theyare "it." The other players occupy the body of the car,or take up their position at intervals along the track.

  The object of each player should be to enter the car asstealthily as possible in such a way as to escape thenotice of the players in distinctive dress. Should hefail to do this he must pay the philopena or forfeit. Ofthese there are two: philopena No. 1, the payment of fivecents, and philopena No. 2, being thrown off the car bythe neck. Each player may elect which philopena he willpay. Any player who escapes paying the philopena scoresone.

  The players who are in the car may elect to adopt astanding attitude, or to seat themselves, but no playermay seat himself in the lap of another without the secondplayer's consent. The object of those who elect to remainstanding is to place their feet upon the toes of thosewho sit; when they do this they score. The object ofthose who elect to sit is to elude the feet of the standingplayers. Much merriment is thus occasioned.

  The player in distinctive costume at the front of thecar controls a crank, by means of which he is enabled tobring the car to a sudden stop, or to cause it to plungeviolently forward. His aim in so doing is to cause allthe standing players to fall over backward. Every timehe does this he scores. For this purpose he is generallyin collusion with the other player in distinctive costume,whose business it is to let him know by a series of bellsand signals when the players are not looking, and can beeasily thrown down. A sharp fall of this sort gives riseto no end of banter and good-natured drollery, directedagainst the two players who are "it."

  Should a player who is thus thrown backward save himselffrom falling by sitting down in the lap of a femaleplayer, he scores one. Any player who scores in thismanner is entitled to remain seated while he may countsix, after which he must remove himself or pay philopenaNo. 2.

  Should the player who controls the crank perceive a playerupon the street desirous of joining in the game by enteringthe car, his object should be: primo, to run over himand kill him; secundo, to kill him by any other means inhis power; tertio, to let him into the car, but to exactthe usual philopena.

  Should a player, in thus attempting to get on the carfrom without, become entangled in the machinery, theplayer controlling the crank shouts "huff!" and the caris supposed to pass over him. All within the car scoreone.

  A fine spice of the ludicrous may be added to the gameby each player pretending that he has a destination orstopping-place, where he would wish to alight. It nowbecomes the aim of the two players who are "it" to carryhim past his point. A player who is thus carried beyondhis imaginary stopping-place must feign a violent passion,and imitate angry gesticulations. He may, in addition,feign a great age or a painful infirmity, which will befound to occasion the most convulsive fun for the otherplayers in the g
ame.

  These are the main outlines of this most amusing pastime.Many other agreeable features may, of course, be readilyintroduced by persons of humour and imagination.

  Number Fifty-Six

  What I narrate was told me one winter's evening by myfriend Ah-Yen in the little room behind his laundry.Ah-Yen is a quiet little celestial with a grave andthoughtful face, and that melancholy contemplativedisposition so often noticed in his countrymen. Betweenmyself and Ah-Yen there exists a friendship of some years'standing, and we spend many a long evening in the dimlylighted room behind his shop, smoking a dreamy pipetogether and plunged in silent meditation. I am chieflyattracted to my friend by the highly imaginative cast ofhis mind, which is, I believe, a trait of the Easterncharacter and which enables him to forget to a greatextent the sordid cares of his calling in an inner lifeof his own creation. Of the keen, analytical side of hismind, I was in entire ignorance until the evening ofwhich I write.

  The room where we sat was small and dingy, with but littlefurniture except our chairs and the little table at whichwe filled and arranged our pipes, and was lighted onlyby a tallow candle. There were a few pictures on thewalls, for the most part rude prints cut from the columnsof the daily press and pasted up to hide the bareness ofthe room. Only one picture was in any way noticeable, aportrait admirably executed in pen and ink. The face wasthat of a young man, a very beautiful face, but one ofinfinite sadness. I had long been aware, although I knownot how, that Ah-Yen had met with a great sorrow, andhad in some way connected the fact with this portrait.I had always refrained, however, from asking him aboutit, and it was not until the evening in question that Iknew its history.