Further Foolishness by Stephen Leacock
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Stephen Leacock >> Further Foolishness
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Serge looked at the brothers.
"Is that the bomb?" he said, pointing at a great ball of
metal that lay beside the crucible.
"It is," said Halfoff.
"And the little fuse that is in the side of it fires it?
And the current from the wires lights the fuse?"
"Yes," said Halfoff.
The two brothers looked at Serge, for there was a meaning
in his voice and a strange look upon his face.
"If the bomb is placed against the wall and if the fuse
is lighted it would explode."
"Yes," said Halfoff despairingly, "but how? The fuse is
instantaneous. Without the wires we cannot light it. It
would be death."
Serge took the bomb in his hand. His face was pale.
"Let it be so!" he said. "I will give my life for hers."
He lifted the bomb in his hand. "I will go through the
tunnel and hold the bomb against the wall and fire it,"
he said. "Halfoff, light me the candle in the flame. Be
ready when the wall falls."
"No, no," said Halfoff, grasping Serge by the arm. "You
must not die!"
"My brother," said Kwitoff quietly, "let it be as he
says. It is for Russia!"
But as Halfoff turned to light the candle in the flame
there came a great knocking at the door above and the
sound of many voices in the street.
All paused.
Madame Vasselitch laid her hand upon her lips.
Then there came the sound as of grounded muskets on the
pavement of the street and a sharp word of command.
"Soldiers!" said Madame Vasselitch.
Kwitoff turned to his brother.
"This is the end," he said. "Explode the bomb here and
let us die together."
Suddenly Madame Vasselitch gave a cry.
"It is Olga's voice!" she said.
She ran to the door and opened it, and a glad voice was
heard crying.
"It is I, Olga, and I am free!"
"Free," exclaimed the brothers.
All hastened up the stairs.
Olga was standing before them in the hall and beside her
were the officers of the police, and in the street were
the soldiers. The students from above had crowded down
the stairs and with them were Itch, the serving man, and
Yump, the cook.
"I am free," cried Olga, "liberated by the bounty of the
Czar--Russia has declared war to fight for the freedom
of the world and all the political prisoners are free."
"Rah, rah!" cried the students. "War, war, war!"
"She is set free," said the officer who stood beside
Olga. "The charge of killing Popoff is withdrawn. No one
will be punished for it now."
"I never killed him," said Olga. "I swear it," and she
raised her hand.
"You never killed him!" exclaimed Serge with joy in his
heart. "You did not kill Popoff? But who did?"
"Defend us," said Yump, the cook. "Since there is to be
no punishment for it, I killed him myself."
"You!" they cried.
"It is so," said Yump. "I killed him beside the river.
It was to defend my honour."
"It was to defend her honour," cried the brothers. "She
has done well."
They clasped her hand.
"You destroyed him with a bomb?" they said.
"No," said Yump, "I sat down on him."
"Rah, rah, rah," said the students.
There was silence for a moment. Then Kwitoff spoke.
"Friends," he said, "the new day is coming. The dawn is
breaking. The moon is rising. The stars are setting. It
is the birth of freedom. See! we need it not!"--and as
he spoke he grasped in his hands the bomb with its still
unlighted fuse--"Russia is free. We are all brothers
now. Let us cast it at our enemies. Forward! To the
frontier! Live the Czar."
Movies and Motors, Men and Women
IV. Madeline of the Movies: A Photoplay done
back into Words
EXPLANATORY NOTE.
In writing this I ought to explain that I am a tottering
old man of forty-six. I was born too soon to understand
moving pictures. They go too fast. I can't keep up. In
my young days we used a magic lantern. It showed Robinson
Crusoe in six scenes. It took all evening to show them.
When it was done the hall was filled full with black
smoke and the audience quite unstrung with excitement.
What I set down here represents my thoughts as I sit in
front of a moving picture photoplay and interpret it as
best I can.
Flick, flick, flick! I guess it must be going to begin
now, but it's queer the people don't stop talking: how
can they expect to hear the pictures if they go on talking?
Now it's off. PASSED BY THE BOARD OF--. Ah, this looks
interesting--passed by the board of--wait till I adjust
my spectacles and read what it--
It's gone. Never mind, here's something else, let me
see--CAST OF CHARACTERS--Oh, yes--let's see who they
are--MADELINE MEADOWLARK, a young something--EDWARD
DANGERFIELD, a--a what? Ah, yes, a roo--at least, it's
spelt r-o-u-e, that must be roo all right--but wait till
I see what that is that's written across the top--MADELINE
MEADOWLARK; OR, ALONE IN A GREAT CITY. I see, that's the
title of it. I wonder which of the characters is alone.
I guess not Madeline: she'd hardly be alone in a place
like that. I imagine it's more likely Edward Dangerous
the Roo. A roo would probably be alone a great deal, I
should think. Let's see what the other characters are--JOHN
HOLDFAST, a something. FARMER MEADOWLARK, MRS. MEADOWLARK,
his Something--
Pshaw, I missed the others, but never mind; flick, flick,
it's beginning--What's this? A bedroom, eh? Looks like
a girl's bedroom--pretty poor sort of place. I wish the
picture would keep still a minute--in Robinson Crusoe it
all stayed still and one could sit and look at it, the
blue sea and the green palm trees and the black footprints
in the yellow sand--but this blamed thing keeps rippling
and flickering all the time--Ha! there's the girl
herself--come into her bedroom. My! I hope she doesn't
start to undress in it--that would be fearfully
uncomfortable with all these people here. No, she's not
undressing--she's gone and opened the cupboard. What's
that she's doing--taking out a milk jug and a glass--empty,
eh? I guess it must be, because she seemed to hold it
upside down. Now she's picked up a sugar bowl--empty,
too, eh?--and a cake tin, and that's empty--What on
earth does she take them all out for if they're empty?
Why can't she speak? I think--hullo--who's this coming
in? Pretty hard-looking sort of woman--what's she got in
her hand?--some sort of paper, I guess--she looks like
a landlady, I shouldn't wonder if--
Flick, flick! Say! Look there on the screen:
"YOU OWE ME
THREE WEEKS' RENT."
Oh, I catch on! that's what the landlady says, eh? Say!
That's a mighty smart way to indicate it isn't it? I was
on to that in a minute--flick, flick--hullo, the landlady's
vanished--what's the girl doing now--say, she's praying!
Look at her face! Doesn't she look religious, eh?
Flick, flick!
Oh, look, they've put her face, all by itself, on the
screen. My! what a big face she's got when you see it
like that.
She's in her room again--she's taking off her jacket--by
Gee! She _is_ going to bed! Here, stop the machine; it
doesn't seem--Flick, flick!
Well, look at that! She's in bed, all in one flick, and
fast asleep! Something must have broken in the machine
and missed out a chunk. There! she's asleep all right--looks
as if she was dreaming. Now it's sort of fading. I wonder
how they make it do that? I guess they turn the wick of
the lamp down low: that was the way in Robinson
Crusoe--Flick, flick!
Hullo! where on earth is this--farmhouse, I guess--must
be away upstate somewhere--who on earth are these people?
Old man--white whiskers--old lady at a spinning-wheel--see
it go, eh? Just like real! And a young man--that must be
John Holdfast--and a girl with her hand in his. Why!
Say! it's the girl, the same girl, Madeline--only what's
she doing away off here at this farm--how did she get
clean back from the bedroom to this farm? Flick, flick!
what's this?
"NO, JOHN, I CANNOT MARRY YOU.
I MUST DEVOTE MY LIFE
TO MY MUSIC."
Who says that? What music? Here, stop--
It's all gone. What's this new place? Flick, flick, looks
like a street. Say! see the street car coming along--well!
say! isn't that great? A street car! And here's Madeline!
How on earth did she get back from the old farm all in
a second? Got her street things on--that must be music
under her arm--I wonder where--hullo--who's this man in
a silk hat and swell coat? Gee! he's well dressed. See
him roll his eyes at Madeline! He's lifting his hat--I
guess he must be Edward Something, the Roo--only a roo
would dress as well as he does--he's going to speak to
her--
"SIR, I DO NOT KNOW YOU.
LET ME PASS."
Oh, I see! The Roo mistook her; he thought she was somebody
that he knew! And she wasn't! I catch on! It gets easy
to understand these pictures once you're on.
Flick, flick--Oh, say, stop! I missed a piece--where is
she? Outside a street door--she's pausing a moment
outside--that was lucky her pausing like that--it just
gave me time to read EMPLOYMENT BUREAU on the door. Gee!
I read it quick.
Flick, flick! Where is it now?--oh, I see, she's gone
in--she's in there--this must be the Bureau, eh? There's
Madeline going up to the desk.
"NO, WE HAVE TOLD YOU BEFORE,
WE HAVE NOTHING ..."
Pshaw! I read too slow--she's on the street again. Flick,
flick!
No, she isn't--she's back in her room--cupboard still
empty--no milk--no sugar--Flick, flick!
Kneeling down to pray--my! but she's religious--flick,
flick--now she's on the street--got a letter in her
hand--what's the address--Flick, flick!
Mr. Meadowlark
Meadow Farm
Meadow County
New York
Gee! They've put it right on the screen! The whole letter!
Flick, flick--here's Madeline again on the street with
the letter still in her hand--she's gone to a letter-box
with it--why doesn't she post it? What's stopping her?
"I CANNOT TELL THEM
OF MY FAILURE.
IT WOULD BREAK THEIR ..."
Break their what? They slide these things along altogether
too quick--anyway, she won't post it--I see--she's torn
it up--Flick, flick!
Where is it now? Another street--seems like everything
--that's a restaurant, I guess--say, it looks a swell
place--see the people getting out of the motor and going
in--and another lot right after them--there's Madeline
--she's stopped outside the window--she's looking in--it's
starting to snow! Hullo! here's a man coming along! Why,
it's the Roo; he's stopping to talk to her, and pointing
in at the restaurant--Flick, flick!
"LET ME TAKE YOU IN HERE
TO DINNER."
Oh, I see! The Roo says that! My! I'm getting on to the
scheme of these things--the Roo is going to buy her some
dinner! That's decent of him. He must have heard about
her being hungry up in her room--say, I'm glad he came
along. Look, there's a waiter come out to the door to
show them in--what! she won't go! Say! I don't understand!
Didn't it say he offered to take her in? Flick, flick!
"I WOULD RATHER DIE
THAN EAT IT."
Gee! Why's that? What are all the audience applauding
for? I must have missed something! Flick, flick!
Oh, blazes! I'm getting lost! Where is she now? Back in
her room--flick, flick--praying--flick, flick! She's out
on the street!--flick, flick!--in the employment bureau
--flick, flick!--out of it--flick--darn the thing! It
changes too much--where is it all? What is it all--?
Flick, flick!
Now it's back at the old farm--I understand that all
right, anyway! Same kitchen--same old man--same old
woman--she's crying--who's this?--man in a sort of
uniform--oh, I see, rural postal delivery--oh, yes, he
brings them their letters--I see--
"NO, MR. MEADOWLARK,
I AM SORRY,
I HAVE STILL NO LETTER
FOR YOU..."
Flick! It's gone! Flick, flick--it's Madeline's room
again--what's she doing?--writing a letter?--no, she's
quit writing--she's tearing it up--
"I CANNOT WRITE.
IT WOULD BREAK THEIR ..."
Flick--missed it again! Break their something or other
--Flick, flick!
Now it's the farm again--oh, yes, that's the young man
John Holdfast--he's got a valise in his hand--he must be
going away--they're shaking hands with him--he's saying
something--
"I WILL FIND HER FOR YOU
IF I HAVE TO SEARCH
ALL NEW YORK."
He's off--there he goes through the gate--they're waving
good-bye--flick--it's a railway depot--flick--it's New
York--say! That's the Grand Central Depot! See the people
buying tickets! My! isn't it lifelike?--and there's
John--he's got here all right--I hope he finds her room--
The picture changed--where is it now? Oh, yes, I see
--Madeline and the Roo--outside a street entrance to some
place--he's trying to get her to come in--what's that
on the door? Oh, yes, DANCE HALL--Flick, flick!
Well, say, that must be the inside of the dance hall
--they're dancing--see, look, look, there's one of the
girls going to get up and dance on the table.
Flick! Darn it!--they've cut it off--it's outside again
--it's Madeline and the Roo--she's saying something to
him--my! doesn't she look proud--?
"I WILL DIE RATHER THAN DANCE."
Isn't she splendid! Hear the audience applaud! Flick--it's
changed--it's Madeline's room again--that's the landlady
--doesn't she look hard, eh? What's this--Flick!
"IF YOU CANNOT PAY, YOU MUST
LEAVE TO-NIGHT."
Flick, flick--it's Madeline--she's out in the street--it's
snowing--she's sat down on a doorstep--say, see her
face, isn't if pathetic? There! They've put her face all
by itself on the screen. See her eyes move! Flick, flick!
Who's this? Where is it? Oh, yes, I get it--it's John--at
a police station--he's questioning them--how grave they
look, eh? Flick, flick!
"HAVE YOU SEEN A GIRL
IN NEW YORK?"
I guess that's what he asks them, eh? Flick, flick--
"NO, WE HAVE NOT."
Too bad--flick--it's changed again--it's Madeline on the
doorstep--she's fallen asleep--oh, say, look at that man
coming near to her on tiptoes, and peeking at her--why,
it's Edward, it's the Roo--but he doesn't waken her--what
does it mean? What's he after? Flick, flick--
Hullo--what's this?--it's night--what's this huge dark
thing all steel, with great ropes against the sky--it's
Brooklyn Bridge--at midnight--there's a woman on it!
It's Madeline--see! see! She's going to jump--stop her!
Stop her! Flick, flick--
Hullo! she didn't jump after all--there she is again on
the doorstep--asleep--how could she jump over Brooklyn
Bridge and still be asleep? I don't catch on--or, oh,
yes, I do--she _dreamed_ it--I see now, that's a great
scheme, eh?--shows her _dream_--
The picture's changed--what's this place--a saloon, I
guess--yes, there's the bartender, mixing drinks--men
talking at little tables--aren't they a tough-looking
lot?--see, that one's got a revolver--why, it's Edward
the Roo--talking with two men--he's giving them
money--what's this?--
"GIVE US A HUNDRED APIECE
AND WE'LL DO IT."
It's in the street again--Edward and one of the two toughs
--they've got little black masks on--they're sneaking
up to Madeline where she sleeps--they've got a big motor
drawn up beside them--look, they've grabbed hold of
Madeline--they're lifting her into the motor--help!
Stop! Aren't there any police?--yes, yes, there's a man
who sees it--by Gee! It's John, John Holdfast--grab
them, John--pshaw! they've jumped into the motor, they're
off!
Where is it now?--oh, yes--it's the police station again
--that's John, he's telling them about it--he's all out
of breath--look, that head man, the big fellow, he's
giving orders--
"INSPECTOR FORDYCE, TAKE YOUR
BIGGEST CAR AND TEN MEN.
IF YOU OVERTAKE THEM,
SHOOT AND SHOOT
TO KILL."
Hoorah! Isn't it great--hurry! don't lose a minute--see
them all buckling on revolvers--get at it, boys, get at
it! Don't lose a second--
Look, look--it's a motor--full speed down the street--look
at the houses fly past--it's the motor with the thugs--there
it goes round the corner--it's getting smaller, it's
getting smaller, but look, here comes another--my! it's
just flying--it's full of police--there's John in
front--Flick!
Now it's the first motor--it's going over a bridge--it's
heading for the country--say, isn't that car just flying
--Flick, flick!
It's the second motor--it's crossing the bridge too--hurry,
boys, make it go!--Flick, flick!
Out in the country--a country road--early daylight--see
the wind in the trees! Notice the branches waving? Isn't
it natural?--whiz! Biff! There goes the motor--biff!
There goes the other one--right after it--hoorah!
The open road again--the first motor flying along! Hullo,
what's wrong? It's slackened, it stops--hoorah! it's
broken down--there's Madeline inside--there's Edward the
Roo! Say! isn't he pale and desperate!
Hoorah! the police! the police! all ten of them in their
big car--see them jumping out--see them pile into the
thugs! Down with them! paste their heads off! Shoot them!
Kill them! isn't it great--isn't it educative--that's
the Roo--Edward--with John at his throat! Choke him,
John! Throttle him! Hullo, it's changed--they're in the
big motor--that's the Roo with the handcuffs on him.
That's Madeline--she's unbound and she's talking; say,
isn't she just real pretty when she smiles?
"YES, JOHN, I HAVE LEARNED THAT
I WAS WRONG TO PUT MY ART
BEFORE YOUR LOVE. I WILL
MARRY YOU AS SOON AS
YOU LIKE."
Flick, flick!
What pretty music! Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong! Isn't it soft
and sweet!--like wedding bells. Oh, I see, the man in
the orchestra's doing it with a little triangle and a
stick--it's a little church up in the country--see all
the people lined up--oh! there's Madeline! in a long
white veil--isn't she just sweet!--and John--
Flick, flack, flick, flack.
"BULGARIAN TROOPS ON THE
MARCH."
What! Isn't it over? Do they all go to Bulgaria? I don't
seem to understand. Anyway, I guess it's all right to go
now. Other people are going.
V. The Call of the Carburettor, or,
Mr. Blinks and his Friends
"First get a motor in your own eye and then you will
overlook more easily the motor in your brother's
eye."--Somewhere in the Bible.
"By all means let's have a reception," said Mrs. Blinks.
"It's the quickest and nicest way to meet our old friends
again after all these years. And goodness knows this
house is big enough for it"--she gave a glance as she
spoke round the big reception-room of the Blinkses'
residence--"and these servants seem to understand things
so perfectly it's no trouble to us to give anything.
Only don't let's ask a whole lot of chattering young
people that we don't know; let's have the older people,
the ones that can talk about something really worth
while."
"That's just what I say," answered Mr. Blinks--he was a
small man with insignificance written all over him--"let
me listen to people talk; that's what _I_ like. I'm not
much on the social side myself, but I do enjoy hearing
good talk. That's what I liked so much over in England.
All them--all those people that we used to meet talked
so well. And in France those ladies that run saloons on
Sunday afternoons--"
"Sallongs," corrected Mrs. Blinks. "It's sounded like it
was a G." She picked up a pencil and paper. "Well, then,"
she said, as she began to write down names, "we'll ask
Judge Ponderus--"
"Sure!" assented Mr. Blinks, rubbing his hands. "He's a
fine talker, if he'll come!"
"They'll all come," said his wife, "to a house as big as
this; and we'll ask the Rev. Dr. Domb and his wife--or,
no, he's Archdeacon Domb now, I hear--and he'll invite
Bishop Sollem, so they can talk together."
"That'll be good," said Mr. Blinks. "I remember years
and years ago hearing them two--those two, talking about
religion, all about the soul and the body. Man! It was
deep. It was clean beyond me. That's what I like to listen
to."
"And Professor Potofax from the college," went on Mrs.
Blinks. "You remember, the big stout one."
"I know," said her husband.
"And his daughter, she's musical, and Mrs. Buncomtalk,
she's a great light on woman suffrage, and Miss Scragg
and Mr. Underdone--they both write poetry, so they can
talk about that."
"It'll be a great treat to listen to them all," said Mr.
Blinks.
A week later, on the day of the Blinkses' reception,
there was a string of motors three deep along a line of
a hundred yards in front of the house.
Inside the reception rooms were filled.
Mr. Blinks, insignificant even in his own house, moved
to and fro among his guests.
Archdeacon Domb and Dean Sollem were standing side by
side with their heads gravely lowered, as they talked,
over the cups of tea that they held in their hands.
Mr. Blinks edged towards them.
"This'll be something pretty good," he murmured to himself
as he got within reach of their conversation.
"What do you do about your body?" the Archdeacon was
asking in his deep, solemn tones.
"Practically nothing," said the Bishop. "A little rub of
shellac now and then, but practically nothing."
"You wash it, of course?" asked Dr. Domb.
"Only now and again, but far less than you would think.
I really take very little thought for my body."
"Ah," said Dr. Domb reflectively, "I went all over mine
last summer with linseed oil."
"But didn't you find," said the Bishop, "that it got into
your pipes and choked your feed?"
"It did," said Dr. Domb, munching a bit of toast as he
spoke. "In fact, I have had a lot of trouble with my
feed ever since."
"Try flushing your pipes out with hot steam," said the
Bishop. Mr. Blinks had listened in something like dismay.
"Motor-cars!" he murmured. "Who'd have thought it?"
But at this moment a genial, hearty-looking person came
pushing towards him with a cheery greeting.
"I'm afraid I'm rather late, Blinks," he said.
"Delayed in court, eh. Judge?" said Blinks as he shook
hands.
"No, blew out a plug!" said the Judge. "Stalled me right
up."
"Blew out a plug!" exclaimed Dr. Domb and the Bishop,
deeply interested at once.
"A cracked insulator, I think," said the Judge.
"Possibly," said the Archdeacon very gravely, "the terminal
nuts of your dry battery were loose."
Mr. Blinks moved slowly away.
"Dear me!" he mused, "how changed they are."
It was a relief to him to edge his way quietly into
another group of guests where he felt certain that the
talk would be of quite another kind.
Professor Potofax and Miss Scragg and a number of others
were evidently talking about books.
"A beautiful book," the professor was saying. "One of
the best things, to my mind at any rate, that has appeared
for years. There's a chapter on the silencing of exhaust
gas which is simply marvellous."
"Is it illustrated?" questioned one of the ladies.
"Splendidly," said the professor. "Among other things
there are sectional views of check valves and flexible
roller bearings--"
"Ah, do tell me about the flexible bearings," murmured
Miss Scragg.
Mr. Blinks moved on.
Wherever he went among his guests, they all seemed stricken
with the same mania. He caught their conversation in
little scraps.
"I ran her up to forty with the greatest of ease, then
threw in my high speed and got seventy out of her without
any trouble."--"No, I simply used a socket wrench, it
answers perfectly."--"Yes, a solution of calcium chloride
is very good, but of course the hydrochloric acid in it
has a powerful effect on the metal."
"Dear me," mused Mr. Blinks, "are they all mad?"
Meantime, around his wife, who stood receiving in state
at one end of the room, the guests surged to and fro.
"So charmed to see you again," exclaimed one. "You've
been in Europe a long time, haven't you? Oh, mostly in
the south of England? Are the roads good? Last year my
husband and I went all through Shakespeare's country.
It's just delightful. They sprinkle it so thoroughly.
And Stratford-on-Avon itself is just a treat. It's all
oiled, every bit of it, except the little road by
Shakespeare's house; but we didn't go along that. Then
later we went up to the lake district: but it's not so
good: they don't oil it."
She floated away, to give place to another lady.
"In France every summer?" she exclaimed. "Oh, how perfectly
lovely. Don't you think the French cars simply divine?
My husband thinks the French body is far better modelled
than ours. He saw ever so many of them. He thought of
bringing one over with him, but it costs such a lot to
keep them in good order."
"The theatres?" said another lady. "How you must have
enjoyed them. I just love the theatres. Last week my
husband and I were at the _Palatial_--it's moving
pictures--where they have that film with the motor
collision running. It's just wonderful. You see the
motors going at full speed, and then smash right into
one another--and all the people killed--it's really fine."
"Have they all gone insane?" said Mr. Blinks to his wife
after the guests had gone.
"Dreadful, isn't it?" she assented. "I never was so bored
in my life."
"Why, they talk of nothing else but their motor-cars!"
said Blinks. "We've got to get a car, I suppose, living
at this distance from the town, but I'm hanged if I intend
to go clean crazy over it like these people."
And the guests as they went home talked of the Blinkses.
"I fear," said Dr. Domb to Judge Ponderus, "that Blinks
has hardly profited by his time in Europe as much as he
ought to have. He seems to have observed _nothing_. I
was asking him about the new Italian touring car that
they are using so much in Rome. He said he had never
noticed it. And he was there a month!"
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