In the Rest of Humour

Otago Witness, Issue 4085, 28 June 1932, Page 5

In the Rest of Humour

(Copyright.—For tiie Otago Witness.)

WHO READS WHAT.

By

STEPHEN LEACOCK.

A little while ago the psychological department of one of the big colleges sent out a questionnaire to find out what kind of people read what kind of books. They sent the questions out to business men. to clergymen, to stenographers, to bootleggers—to all kinds of people.

So far as I know the answers have not all come in yet or are not yet all sorted. But as far as the result goes. I am quite certain that I can give advance information as to what it will be, or, at least, as to what it ought to be. Let me take a few types of people and show the kind of things that they read.

SOPHY OF THE SODA FOUNTAIN.

Here, for example, is the case of Sophy of the soda fountain. All day she stands behind the fountain dishing out chocolate sundaes and ice cream eclairs. In her ear is all the noise of Broadway, in her eye the glitter of a thousand lights. And in the pauses of her labour

she hops up on a high stool and draws from a shelf behind her a tattered book in a paper cover, and reads this:—

“As the Countess thus sat at one side of the vast shaded lawn of ‘ The Chase,’ she became aware that Lord Flop was moving across the grass to join her. She was aware that he was taking advantage of her momentary isolation in order to seek the tete-a-tete that for some time past she had at once dreaded and desired. The moment was opportune for Lord Flop. “ The Honourable Edward de Montmorency was at the tennis net with the Honourable Bertie de Courtenay. The Honourable Eleanorde Longshank was idly chatting with the Honourable Alicia de Bourg, whose father, Lord Bughouse, had just retired to the cool shades of the library, while Lord Lush had just challenged the Baron de Pate de Fois Gras and the Vicomte du Plat du Jour to a three-handed game of pin ball in the ancestral billiard room. “ Lord Flop drew near and dropped upon one knee. “ ‘ Lady Mush,’ he murmured, ‘ Isobel, let me press my suit! ’ “ ‘ Nay, nay,’ cried the countess, ‘do not press it yet. Wait a little longer.’ “ ‘ Not so,’ pleaded Lord Flop, / hear me and flee not, Isobel, I have waited long already; my love for you ’ “ The countess put her hands to her ears. ‘Not yet, Charles,’ she exclaimed, ‘not yet. Wait but a litle while —a year.’ “ ‘ Alas! ’ murmured Lord Flop, ‘ I have waited two years already.’ “' Make it three, I beg,’ pleaded the countess. “ Lord Flop rose. ‘Be it so,’ he said gloomily, and 'then, his head bowed, he moved mournfully away among the elms.” “Oh, gee! ” murmurs Sophy, as she reluctantly puts the book back on the

shelf and hops off the stool to serve a chocolate eclair, “ aint that the life! ”

THE COUNTESS ISOBEL.

But meantime, the countess—that is to say, if she were a real one—having told Lord Flop that he must yet wait three years, has retired to her boudoir —done in blue and white, with pictures by Watteau—and there, throwing herself into a chair, is able to forget her perplexities in the fascinating pages of a new novel just from New York, in which she reads—what? This:—

“That next night when Maggie came out of the drug store Billy was there waiting for her. “‘Gee!’ he said, ‘you’re some kid! You certainly look good to me.’ “ ‘ Garn,’ she snapped, giving him a smack over the mouth with a banana skin, ‘ don’t pull that stuff on me. I wasn’t born yesterday, see! ’ “ ‘ Honest, kid,’ said Billy, ‘ I mean it, see ’

“ ‘ Cheese it,’ Maggie exclaimed, and gave him a smack over the face. ‘ I’m sick of that love stuff.’ “ Billy grabbed her by the arm and gave it a sharp twist behind her back. ‘ You wanta drop that rough stuff, see l I tell you I’m all stuck on youse and you gotta marry me, see, you gotta! ’ “ He gave the girl’s arm another twist till she cried out with pain. “ ‘ Lemme go! ’ she half shrieked, half sobbed. “ He loosed her arm for a moment. “ Maggie leaped back and gave him a kick on the shins. ‘I don’t love yer! ’ she said. “‘You do! ’ he rejoined fiercely, grabbing her by the ear. “‘Leggo me ear!’ she yelled, driving her fist against his eye. “‘Will yer marry me, then?’ he said fiercely. “ ‘ I guess I gotto,’ she replied humbly, her pride tamed.” “ Ah! ” sighed the countess, as she put down the book, “ how wonderful life like that must be.” 11. THE ARCHDEACON GOES TO SEA. Now let us take another example. Seated in an armchair in the quiet study of his home, Archdeacon Paunch has picked up a book to read. The archdeacon is known over half a continent as one of the leading scholars and greatest preachers of his day. In fact, his published sermons have had an enormous vogue. But at present he has snatched a quiet half-hour from the heart of a busy day, and has settled down in his study chair with a volume of his favourite literature. Which is—what? It runs like this: — “ ‘ Man the lee braces! ’ shouted the captain, his voice heard even above the roaring of the storm and the rattling of the canvas. ‘ Down helm ami bring her up to the wind! Cut away the jib

halliards! Stand by to cut away the foreshrouds if the foremast goes. Steady now, hold her there! ’

“ The ship lay almost on her beam ends, the sudden fury of the gale howling in the rigging and slatting the canvas with a roar like that of artillery. The sea had not yet risen to its height, but even now the great waves began to leap over the forward rail and flood along the deck. The crew were huddled under the windward bulwark, with axes ready to cut away the shrouds. The maintopsail had been blown from its bolt ropes, and streamed in tatters to the rising gale. The forctopgallantmast had broken off short and hung in a raffle to leeward. “For a few moments it seemed as if the great ship was doomed. But no—the superb seamanship of Captain Bilgewater was pitted against the fury of the elements. With the helm hard down and the lee afterbraces sheeted home on the main and mizzen she reached gradually into the wind, righting as she came. “‘Saved!’ cried the captain, as the gallant vessel lifted herself with the wind.

“ But at that very moment ” Yes, at that very moment there came a knock at the study door, and the archdeacon, recognising the signal that called him back to work, reluctantly laid aside the volume called “Upside Down in the Ocean,” and resumed his laborious day. CAPTAIN BILGEWATER GOES ASHORE. And, meantime, somewhere away out on the South Atlantic Ocean, or the Indian Ocean—it doesn’t matter which—it is night time, and there is quite a storm blowing around the sailing ship. Pride of Nantucket, outward bound for Thibet. The W’ind howls, but down in his bunk, with a w’hale-oil light to see by. and with the roar of the waves and the heaving of the ship entirely disregarded, Captain Bilgewater, the real Captain Bilgewater, is reading. This:— “It may be questioned, therefore, whether the second book of Daniel, as explained in the earlier part of my sermon, is intended as a continuation of the third book of Ezekiel or vice versa. The account of the Hittites given in each shows a complete similarity, but on the other hand, the lack of all reference by Ezekiel to the valley of Moab, or even to the Jordan itself, makes us .doubt whether the writing is not perhaps of an earlier date -” At which point a previous pounding on the deck over the captain’s head gave the call for “All hands! ” and the captain with a sigh marked the plac° in his volume of sermons by Archdeacon Paunch and reluctantly drew on his sea boots for the coming struggle.

CLARENCE AND THE BOOTLEGGER. “Gee! ” said Clarence, as he and Desmond set up in bed reading “ Hull Down on the Horizon, or Ned Fearless Captured by Bootleggers.” “ Listen to this, ain’t this great?” “ From the deck of the bootlegging craft, the Amendment, they could now see that the U.S. cutter was rapidly approaching, a great crest of foam rising in front of her bows, while the smoke streamed behind' her in the' breeze. “ ‘ Bang, bang! ’ went her two forward guns, and simultaneously two shells bracketed the Amendment, casting a great- splash of foam on both the larboard and the starboard bows.

“ ‘ Get ready the gun! ’ yelled the bootlegger captain, livid with anger, with a ferocious oath that caused young Ned Fearless, who thus found himself against his will resisting the navy of his own country, to turn away his head with a blush. “ The chase was now fast and furious, but the end could not long be delayed. “ The Amendment, in spite of her magnificent build and powerful engines, was loaded down with 20,000 26-ounce bottles of Scotch whisky, worth four dollars apiece in Quebec and fifteen dollars each in New Orleans. Her speed was crippled, while the thought of what she carried roused the crew of the United States coastal cutter to a frenzy of-md-ignation. “ A third shell from the cutter crashed through the upper gear of the Amendment. “ ‘ Get ready the gun again! ’ yelled the skipper, while the crew, half'reluctant, began tearing off the tarpaulins from the long four-inch gun camouflaged at the stern of the vessel. “ The moment was critical. “ Ned Fearless stepped forward and picked up an iron handspike. ‘ Stop loading that gun!’ he shouted. ‘Captain Seashell, if a man on this boat fires a shot against the American flag I’ll brain him on the spot.’ “ Quick as lightning and with another oath worse than the last one Captain Seashell drew a revolver and levelled it at Ned. “ But in that instant a sudden puff of smoke and a roar from the cutter’s gun ” (To be continued in the next number.)

“Ah, gee!” said Desmond. It’s ended. I wonder what’s going to happen next? Ain’t it queer how the stories always end in an exciting place? I hope Ned is too quick for that bootlegger.”

THE BOOTLEGGER AND THE BIRDS. And, meantime, somewhere down on the placid Gulf of Mexico, where it is always afternoon, a real "bootlegger is

sitting in the sunshine on the deck of his craft reading. He is seated in the cosy hollow of a couple of casks of brandy with his feet away up on the ship’s rail. It is the drowsy hour of day when all is peace, while the ruffled waters of the bay scarcely rock the ship and the soft wind hardly fills the murmuring canvas. And the bootlegger read—what? BEDTIME STORY NUMBER SEVEN THOUSAND. “So next day when the two boys came to the hollow tree Wee Wee, the white mouse, wasn’t there. They looked all around in the tall grass and under the sticks, but not a trace of Wee Wee could they see. High up in the air old Mr Hoverhigh, the hawk, looked down and, of course, he knew, where Wee Wee was, but the boys didn’t. And away up in the top of the elm tree Cheep Cheep, the chipmunk, could see and he knew, but. of course, he wasn’t going to tell, either ” * # # And just at that moment one of the crew slouched over across the deck. “Bill,” he said, “get up and get busy. Here’s a motor launch coming out for her load.” “Darn! ” said the bootlegger as he left the bright world of romance for the cruel existence of the working day.