Delphi Complete Works of Stephen Leacock, page 243
“Which foot?” asked the boy.
“How’s that?” asked the man. “Oh, it doesn’t matter — here, take the right.”
“You’ll have to go to the other chair,” said the boy, rising up from his knees. “I’m left-handed. I only do the left foot.”
When Social Regulation is Complete
“MY GOODNESS!” SAID Edward to Angelina as they turned from the crowded street into the little shaded park. “That was a close shave!”
“What?” asked the girl. “I didn’t see.”
“Didn’t you? Why, it was the Inspector of Shoes. I was in such a tearing hurry this morning to get out and join you that I had no time to black my shoes properly. He passed us as close as that! Lucky shave, wasn’t it?”
“Hush,” whispered Angelina, “don’t speak just for a minute. I’m sure that man is watching us; don’t walk so close to me. I have an idea that he must be one of the new Preventive Officers against Premature Courtship.”
“Oh! That’s all right,” laughed Edward, “I have a license.”
“A license!” the girl exclaimed, putting her arm through his. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, to tell the truth,” explained Edward, “I only got it properly signed and visa’d yesterday. You see it had been reported that I went to your family’s house three evenings running and so I got a notice from the Visitors’ Department to ask whether I had a proper license. I had of course my general Suitable Acquaintance Tag, and I had paid my Callers’ Tax already, but it had been reported to the department that I’d been three evenings running to a house where there was an unmarried girl, and so of course they sent me a Summons.”
“Dear me!” sighed Angelina, “I suppose it’s wicked to say it, but sometimes it seems terrible to live in this age when everything is so regulated. Did you read that awfully clever novel that came out last week called ‘Wicked Days’ that told all about our great-grandfathers’ time when people used to just do almost as they liked?”
“No, the book was suppressed, you know, immediately. But I heard something of it.”
“It must have been awfully queer. Anybody could go round anywhere and visit any house they liked and actually, just think of it! — go and eat meals in other people’s houses and even in public restaurants without a Sanitary Inspector’s Certificate or anything!”
Edward shook his head. “Sounds a bit dangerous,” he said. “I’m not sure that I’d like it. Suppose, for instance, that somebody had a cold in the head, you might catch it. Or suppose you found yourself eating in a restaurant perhaps only six feet away from a person infected with an inferiority complex, it might get communicated to you.” He shivered.
“Let’s sit down,” said Angelina suddenly. “I want to go on talking, but I don’t feel like walking up and down all the time. Here’s a bench. I wonder if we are allowed to sit on it.”
“I’ve got a Sitting License for two in my pocket,” said Edward, “but I’m hanged if I know whether it’s been stamped.”
He took a little bit of government paper out of his pocket and they both scrutinized it.
“I’m afraid it’s not been stamped, dear,” said Angelina.
“Hush, hush,” said Edward apprehensively, “don’t say anything like that. Surely you know about the new Use-of-Endearing-Terms-in-Public-Places Act! For goodness’ sake, be careful!”
He shivered with renewed apprehension.
“Oh, hang it all, anyway,” said Angelina. “There’s a caretaker; ask him.”
“I can’t,” said Edward. “Don’t you see he’s got a Silence placard on him?”
“Then ask that policeman.”
“Ask the policeman! And get run into court for disturbing the police in the course of their duty! No, thank you!”
“Oh, Edward,” interrupted the girl, “of course we can sit down. Don’t you remember this is Wednesday morning and under the new decisions of the court people may sit in the parks at any time from 10 a.m. to 12 noon on Wednesdays.”
“Oh, come,” said Edward. “Hoorah! let’s sit down. Isn’t it fine to be free like this!”
They both sat on the bench under the trees. Angelina gave a sigh of relief.
“We were talking,” she said, “about how restricted everything is nowadays and I must say I don’t like it. I wonder how it all began.”
“I read a lot of the history of it,” said Edward, “when I was at college. This present Age of Restriction seems to have begun bit by bit; first one thing got regulated and then another. The more people got of it, the more they seemed to want.”
“How stupid!” said Angelina. She reached out and took his hand and then hurriedly dropped it. “Gracious!” she exclaimed, “I nearly forgot again.”
“It’s all right to take my hand. My new license covers it. Here, hold it if you like. You have to hold it palm up and only use one of yours and maintain a mean personal distance of three feet. But if you stick to that, it’s all right.”
Angelina took his hand again. “Go on with what you were saying,” she said, “about this Age of Restriction.”
“It began, I understand,” said the young man, “with the world war and after that it all came along with a rush. Everybody wanted Rules and Regulations for everybody else and everybody got what they wanted.”
“It’s all such a nuisance,” sighed Angelina. But — you were talking about your new license.”
“Yes. I got it made out and signed and counter-signed and visa’d, and it entitles me to the Privilege of Unlimited Courtship. It’s good till the 15th of next month.”
He spoke earnestly, turning towards her and moving to the very verge of the three-foot limit.
Angelina lowered her eyes.
“It entitles me among other things,” the young man went on ardently, “to propose marriage to you — provided, of course, that I comply with the Preliminary Regulations of Proposal of Marriage.”
The girl was still silent.
“I had first to notify the police that I meant to do it. That I have done. I have their consent.”
“I’m so glad,” murmured Angelina.
“Then I had to go before a Stipendiary Magistrate and make oath that I considered your mother fit to live with and that I would comply with the Family Sunday-Dinner Law. It all sounds complicated, but really, Angelina, it was quite simple. The Magistrate was awfully nice about it and passed me on to the Mental Board in less than half an hour. — They decided I did not have Infantile Paralysis, like so many poor chaps whom you see being wheeled out in perambulators every day. Ever so many young men are like that now.”
“I wonder why!” said Angelina reflectively. “They never were in the old days.”
“No,” said Edward, “but they were worse. They were Disobedient Adults. But listen, Angelina, I have the full right to speak to you now and I want to ask you whether (provided your personal certificates are all in order) you will marry me — —”
Angelina had raised her eyes and was about to speak when a policeman stepped up to where they sat.
“Sorry, sir,” he said, “I’ll have to ask you and the lady to step across to the police station.” He took out his watch as he spoke.— “It is five minutes after twelve and you’ll have to answer to a charge of Unduly Restraining a Public Bench.”
Edward began to cry.
“Good Heavens!” Angelina exclaimed. “Do fetch a doctor. I’m afraid he’s got an attack of Infantile Paralysis. . . .”
“No, no,” sobbed Edward, “it’s not that. But it means that my proposal was made under illegal circumstances and it’s invalid and I’ll have to get a new license and try somebody else.”
“Fetch a perambulator,” said the girl. “He’s got it!”
Isn’t It Just Wonderful?
ISN’T IT JUST wonderful the way the invention of Radio has connected up the farthest parts of the earth? I was noticing the other day the reports in the newspapers of the messages sent back and forth between some celebrated explorer — I forget his name — who is flying around in African jungles, and the mayor of Chicago. I think it was Chicago; at any rate, it was the mayor of some great city. And the messages seemed to go back and forth as easily as if the two men had been side by side. I felt lost in wonder to think of the marvelousness and importance of it.
First of all, the explorer sent out by radio: “Greetings from Africa. I am flying over a field.”
And the mayor answered back: “Greetings from Africa received. Please accept greetings from all here. I am sitting in my office at my desk.”
Then back came the return message: “Accept cordial congratulations from Africa on sitting in your office. All here glad to know that all there are sitting there. Are flying low.”
And in return to that came the instantaneous reply: “Cordial congratulations on flying low. All here glad to know that you are there. Accept best wishes for being there. . . .”
Hardly had this information been conveyed across the atmospheric wilderness when the explorer, it seems, was able to get into contact with the mayor of San Francisco and radioed to him:
“Accept greetings from African regions to San Francisco. We are moving at about 75 miles an hour, warm sunshine.”
Back flashed the message: “Greetings received. Please accept greetings from San Francisco and congratulations on warm sunshine. We had a touch of rain last night.”
But it seems that these messages, important though they were, were only a few samples of the tremendously vital world information being carried back and forth by radio.
That very night, it appears, the President of Mexico “got” the city council of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, and sent out the vital words:
“Greetings from Mexico City. I am sitting in my chair.”
And the answer came back by the very next ether wave:
“City Council Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, acknowledges greetings President Mexico. We are eating breakfast. Most of us are taking kippered herring.”
Prominent citizens of both places agreed that the interchange of these messages would do a tremendous lot in fomenting good relations between Saskatoon and Central America. As a matter of fact, the first message had hardly got through when the city clerk of Saskatoon received a radio call from the President of Honduras, which said:
“Please send us a message, too. We have a machine of our own, nearly all paid for. Honduras sends cordial congratulations to Saskatoon on being in Saskatchewan.”
The new international courtesy that governs these things prompted an immediate reply:
“City of Saskatoon and Province of Saskatchewan acknowledge cordial congratulations Republic of Honduras. We are having a hard winter.”
The answer, “Congratulations on hard winter,” got through within the same day.
I am told that there is no doubt that the interchange of this last set of messages will do a tremendous lot for trade between Saskatchewan and Honduras. The president has already got through a message, “If you want any logwood, teak, or first-class cordwood, let us have your order.”
As a matter of fact, these messages of greeting that are reported every day or so prove on inquiry to be only a very small part of the messages of the kind that are sent back and forth from one great world-center to the other, conveying thoughts of absolutely vital importance for the welfare of the world.
Through the kindness of one of the operating companies, I am able to reproduce brief abstracts of one or two of these, thus:
“From Habibullah Khan, Acting Khan of the Khannery of Kabul, Afghanistan, to Secretary of Junior League Convention of North America, Toronto, Canada. Ameer Afghanistan and entire army congratulate Junior League on election of Miss Posie Rosebud as associate vice-president. All here join in cordial greeting to all girls in your league and any other. In placing orders for muslin or native bead work, don’t forget our salesmen. We have had a warm winter.”
To this message the League was able to send back a direct, unrelayed radiogram straight to the city of Kabul — City Hall office, top floor, Ameer’s private room, where it was decoded and disintegrated into Afghani in four minutes, twenty-two seconds.
“Junior League President, officials and members send greetings Habibullah Khan, or any Acting Khan, or Half Khan. Congratulations Afghanistan on Khan and Khan on Afghanistan. Convey congratulations army. Don’t forget Toronto for winter sports.”
I am not just sure whether the next message is a genuine one. It was tucked away among a heap of them, and in appearance it looked like the others. Whether it is genuine or not, at any rate it represents the wide desire of congratulating everybody on everything that is making the fortune of the radio apparatus.
“Sultan of Borneo congratulates William Jones of Alleghany County, Ohio, on reported prize at County Fair for cabbage two feet in diameter. All here send greetings entire population Ohio.”
Sometimes — so the operators inform me — rather pathetic cases are found of people who would wish to get into radio touch but have no correspondent. The operators receive messages such as: “Arab Sheik, Southern Sahara, with second-hand radio set formerly belonging to Pilgrim, would like get into touch small American Republic or Large American Corporation owning radio machine view to interchange congratulations. Large business territory; good opportunity ivory or gin.”
Or this message, which lay near the other in the basket:
“Sultan of Somaliland; plain congratulation in any European language; no extra charge for atmospheric reports.”
Looking over messages of this sort the other day, I couldn’t help reflecting on what a pity it is that the world didn’t have the radio messages in the days of the great explorations and discoveries. How much more vivid the pages of our history would have been! I suppose most readers are aware that there is a scientific legend to the effect that radio was invented and actually used centuries ago by the great Italian scientist and painter, Leonardo da Vinci. Later on, so it was claimed, he deliberately broke the machine and the secret of the process was lost and not again discovered till the present day.
If this story is so, it lends an air of truth and genuineness to a message that I found inscribed, along with its appropriate answer, on an ancient parchment. The documents, which were dated “October, 1492,” had at least all the appearance of age. The message read:
“Cordial greetings from Christopher Columbus to King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. Have just discovered Japan.”
And the answer:
“King and Queen both here at breakfast in Escurial Palace, second piece of toast. Cordial greetings to everybody you discover. Your achievement greatest impetus onion trade.”
And yet, after all, perhaps Leonardo da Vinci knew what he was doing when he broke the machine.
The Last of the Rubber Necks
AROUND THE WORLD in a Sight-Seeing Air Bus in 1950
The Man at the Gangway. . . . All aboard, please, all aboard! Five Dollars for the Entire Trip! All aboard! Vacant seats still in the forward saloon, sir, yes, sir. Yes, ma’am, lunch is served on board. All in! All aboard! (Clang! Clang! The gates shut, the doors slide, the bell rings, the whistle blows. Whiz!! The air bus is off. . . .)
Voice of the Rubber Neck Announcer. . . . Now, then, ladies and gentlemen, we are about to cross the Atlantic Ocean. During the next half hour you will enjoy the unique sensation of being entirely out of sight of land. Looking now from either the side or rear windows of this saloon, and directing your gaze downwards, you will perceive the actual waters of the Atlantic, 3,000 feet below us. Looking closely, you will observe a ruffled or mottled appearance of the water. This is the waves. At the present time what used to be called a storm or gale is moving over the Atlantic. In the romantic days of our grandfathers the passage of the Atlantic demanded an entire week. . . .
Voice of the Attendant (interrupting as he passes through the car). . . . First Call for Lunch! Lunch served while passing over Europe. First Call for Lunch!
Announcer (continuing). . . . The celebrated Christopher Columbus, who was the first Italian to cross the Atlantic, is said to have taken more than a fortnight to make the transit. Looking below now, we can just catch a distant glimpse of the Azores Islands, lying like gems of gold in a sapphire sea.
Vociferous Boy (passing through the alley way of the air saloon). . . . Cigars! Cigarettes, candies, chewing gum!
Announcer. . . . We are now circling across the famous Bay of Biscay and rapidly approaching the coast of Cornwall, the Land’s End of England.
Saloon Waiter in White. . . . Second call for lunch! Lunch ready in the dining saloon! Second call for lunch.
The Announcer. . . . If you look now from the left windows of the saloon you will see the coast of Cornwall. We are now passing over the South of England; the seaport just left behind is Plymouth; two minutes away is Portsmouth. — London? No, lady, not for three minutes yet.
Vociferous Boy. . . . Cigars, cigarettes, candies, chewing gum!
Announcer. . . . Look below you, ladies and gentlemen, and you will now see the city of London. Our speed is now slackened down to five miles a minute and we descend to an elevation of one thousand feet, so as to afford all passengers a full view of Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral, and the other sights of London. . . . There you see St. Paul’s! Notice the roaring sound we make in going past it. That other noise on the right side is Westminster Abbey. That whizzing sound below us is the Bank of England ——
Lady Passenger (to her Husband). . . . Well, I’m certainly glad to have seen Westminster Abbey. I don’t think anybody’s education is complete without seeing it. Didn’t you feel a kind of thrill when you heard it go by?
Polite Passenger Across the Aisle. . . . Is this your first trip around the world, ma’am?
The Lady. . . . Yes, it’s our first. I’ve just been dying to go for a long time, but of course my husband is always so busy that it’s hard for him to get the time. You see it takes a whole day.
