The Wit and Humor of America Volume IV Part 25

Den Emmeline she holler "Fire! will no wan come for me?"

An' Dominique is jomp so high, near bus' de gallerie,-- "Help! help! right off," somebody shout, "I'm killin' on ma place, It's all de fault ma daughter, too, dat girl she's ma disgrace."

He's kip it up long tam lak dat, but not hard tellin' now, W'at's all de noise upon de house--who's kick heem up de row?

It seem Bonhomme was sneak aroun' upon de stockin' sole, An' firs' t'ing den de ole man walk right t'roo de stove pipe hole.

W'en Dominique is see heem dere, wit' wan leg hang below, An' 'noder leg straight out above, he's glad for ketch heem so-- De ole man can't do not'ing, den, but swear and ax for w'y n.o.boddy tak' heem out dat hole before he's comin' die.

Den Dominique he spik lak dis, "Mon cher M'sieur Gourdon I'm not riche city feller, me, I'm only habitant, But I was love more I can tole your daughter Emmeline, An' if I marry on dat girl, Bagos.h.!.+ she's lak de Queen.

"I want you mak de promise now, before it's come too late, An' I mus' tole you dis also, dere's not moche tam for wait.

Your foot she's hangin' down so low, I'm 'fraid she ketch de cole, Wall! if you give me Emmeline, I pull you out de hole."

Dat mak' de ole man swear more hard he never swear before, An' wit' de foot he's got above, he's kick it on de floor, "Non, non," he say "Sapre tonnerre! she never marry you, An' if you don't look out you get de jail on St. Mathieu."

"Correc'," young Dominique is say, "mebbe de jail's tight place, But you got wan small corner, too, I see it on de face, So if you don't lak geev de girl on wan poor habitant, Dat's be mese'f, I say, Bonsoir, mon cher M'sieur Gourdon."

"Come back, come back," Maxime is shout--"I promise you de girl, I never see no wan lak you--no never on de worl'!

It's not de nice trick you was play on man dat's gettin' ole, But do jus' w'at you lak, so long you pull me out de hole."

"Hooraw! Hooraw!" Den Dominique is pull heem out tout suite An' Emmeline she's helpin' too for place heem on de feet, An' affer dat de ole man's tak' de young peep down de stair, W'ere he is go couche right off, an' dey go on parloir.

Nex' Sunday morning dey was call by M'sieur le Cure Get marry soon, an' ole Maxime geev Emmeline away; Den affer dat dey settle down lak habitant is do, An' have de mos' fine familee on Village St. Mathieu.

[Footnote 7: From "The Habitant and Other French Canadian Poems," by William Henry Drummond. Copyright 1897 by G.P. Putnam's Sons.]

THE GIRL FROM MERCURY

AN INTERPLANETARY LOVE STORY

_Being the Interpretation of Certain Phonic Vibragraphs Recorded by the Long's Peak Wireless Installation, Now for the First Time Made Public Through the Courtesy of Professor Caducious, Ph.D., Sometime Secretary of the Boulder Branch of the a.s.sociation for the Advancement of Interplanetary Communication._

BY HERMAN KNICKERBOCKER VIELe

It is evident that the following logograms form part of a correspondence between a young lady, formerly of Mercury, and her confidential friend still resident upon the inferior planet. The translator has thought it best to preserve, as far as possible, the spirit of the original by the employment of mundane colloquialisms; the result, in spite of many regrettable trivialities, will, it is believed, be of interest to students of Cosmic Sociology.

THE FIRST RECORD

Yes, dear, it's me. I'm down here on the Earth and in our Settlement House, safe and sound. I meant to have called you up before, but really this is the first moment I have had to myself all day.--Yes, of course, I said "all day." You know very well they have days and nights here, because this restless little planet spins, or something of the sort.--I haven't the least idea why it does so, and I don't care.--I did not come here to make intelligent observations like a dowdy "Seeing Saturn"

tourist. So don't be Uranian. Try to exercise intuitive perception if I say anything you can't understand.--What is that?--Please concentrate a little harder.--Oh! Yes, I have seen a lot of human beings already, and would you believe it? some of them seem almost possible--especially _one_.--But I will come to that one later. I've got so much to tell you all at once I scarcely know where to begin.--Yes, dear, the One happens to be a man. You would not have me discriminate, would you, when our object is to bring whatever happiness we can to those less fortunate than ourselves? You know success in slumming depends first of all upon getting yourself admired, for then the others will want to be like you, and once thoroughly dissatisfied with themselves they are almost certain to reform. Of course I am only a visitor here, and shall not stay long enough to take up serious work, so Ooma says I may as well proceed along the line of least resistance.--If you remember Ooma's enthusiasm when she ran the Board of Missions to Inferior Planets, you can fancy her now that she has an opportunity to carry out all her theories. Oh, she's great!

My transmigration was disappointing as an experience. It was nothing more than going to sleep and dreaming about circles--orange circles, yellow circles, with a thousand others of graduated shades between, and so on through the spectrum till you pa.s.s absolute green and get a tone or two toward blue and strike the Earth color-note. Then with me everything got jumbled together and seemed about to take new shapes, and I woke up in the most commonplace manner and opened my eyes to find myself externalized in our Earth Settlement House with Ooma laughing at me.

"Don't stir!" she cried. "Don't lift a finger till we are sure your specific gravity is all right." And then she pinched me to see if I was dense enough, because the atmosphere is heavier or lighter or something here than with us.

I reminded her that matter everywhere must maintain an absolute equilibrium with its environment, but she protested.

"That's well enough in theory; you must understand that the Earth is awfully out of tune at present, and sometimes it requires time to readjust ourselves to its conditions."

--I did not say so, but I fancy Ooma may have been undergoing readjustment.--My dear, she has grown as pudgy as a Jupitan, and her clothes--but then she always did look more like a spiral nebula than anything else.

(_The record here becomes unintelligible by reason of the pa.s.sage of a thunderstorm above the summit of Long's Peak._)

--There must be star-dust in the ether.--I never had to concentrate so hard before.--That's all about the Settlement House, and don't accuse me again of slighting details. I'm sure you know the place now as well as Ooma herself, so I can go on to tell what little I have learned about human beings.

It seems I am never to admit that I was not born on Earth, for, like all provincials, the humans pride themselves on disbelieving everything beyond their own experience, and if they understood they would be certain to resent intrusions from another planet. I'm sure I don't blame them altogether when I recall those patronizing Jupitans.--And I'm told they are awfully jealous and distrustful even of one another, herding together for protection and governed by so many funny little tribal codes that what is right on one side of an imaginary boundary may be wrong on the other.--Ooma considers this survival of the group-soul most interesting, and intends to make it the subject of a paper. I mention it only to explain why we call our Settlement a Boarding-House. A Boarding-House, you must know, is fundamentally a hunting pack which one can affiliate with or separate from at will.--Rather a pale yellow idea, isn't it? Ooma thinks it necessary to conform to it in order to be considered respectable, which is the one thing on Earth most desired.--What, dear?--Oh, I don't know what it means to be respectable any more than you do.--One thing more. You'll have to draw on your imagination! Ooma is called here Mrs. Bloomer.--Her own name was just a little too unearthly. Mrs. signifies that a woman is married.--What?--Oh, no, no, no, nothing of the sort.--But I shall have to leave that for another time. I'm not at all sure how it is myself.

By the way, if _any one_ should ask you where I am, just say I've left the planet, and you don't know when I shall be back.--Yes, you know who I mean.--And, dear, perhaps you might drop a hint that I detest all foreigners, especially Jupitans.--Please don't laugh so hard; you'll get the atmospheric molecules all woozy.--Indeed, there's not the slightest danger here. Just fancy, if you please, beings who don't know when they are hungry without consulting a wretched little mechanism, and who measure their radius of conception by the length of their own feet.--Of course I shall be on hand for the Solstice! I wouldn't miss that for an asteroid!--Oh, did I really promise that? Well, I'll tell you about hi-m another time.

THE SECOND RECORD

THOUGH PROBABLY THIRD COMMUNICATION

--I really must not waste so much gray matter, dear, over unimportant details. But I simply had to tell you all about my struggles with the clothes. When Ooma came back, just as I had mastered them with the aid of her diagrams, the dear thing was so much pleased she actually hugged me, and I must confess the effect made me forget my discomfort. Really, an Earth girl is not so much to be pitied if she has becoming dresses to wear. As you may be sure I was anxious to compare myself with others, I was glad enough to hear Ooma suggest going out.

"Come on," she said, executively, "I have only a half-hour to devote to your first walk. Keep close beside me, and remember on no account to either dance or sing."

"But if I see others dancing may I not join them?" I inquired.

"You won't see anybody dancing on Broadway," she replied, a trifle snubbily, but I resolved to escape from her as soon as possible and find out for myself.

I shall never forget my shock on discovering the sky blue instead of the color it should be, but soon my eyes became accustomed to the change. In fact, I have not since that first moment been able to conceive of the sky as anything but blue. And the city?--Oh, my dear, my dear, I never expected to encounter anything so much out of key with the essential euphonies. Of course I have not traveled very much, but I should say there is nothing in the universe like a street they call Broadway--unless it be upon the lesser satellite of Mars, where the poor people are so awfully cramped for s.p.a.ce. When I suggested this to Ooma she laughed and called me clever, for it seems there is a tradition that a mob of meddling Martians once stopped on Earth long enough to give the foolish humans false ideas about architecture and many other matters. But I soon forgot everything in my interest in the people. Such a poor puzzle-headed lot they are. One's heart goes out to them at once as they push and jostle one another this way and that, with no conceivable object other than to get anywhere but where they are in the shortest time possible. One longs to help them; to call a halt upon their senseless struggles; to reason with them and explain how all the psychic force they waste might, if exerted in constructive thought, bring everything they wish to pa.s.s. Mrs. Bloomer a.s.sures me they only ridicule those who venture to interfere, and it will take at least a Saturn century to so much as start them in the right direction. Our settlement is their only hope, she says, and even we can help them only indirectly.

Not long ago, it appears, they had to choose a King or Mayor, or whatever the creature is called who executes their silly laws, and our people so manipulated the election that the choice fell on one of us.

I thought this a really good idea, and supposed, of course, we must at once have set about demonstrating how a planet should be managed. But no! that was not our system, if you please. Instead of making proper laws our agent misbehaved himself in every way the committee could suggest, until at last the humans rose against him and put one of themselves in his place, and after that things went just a little better than before. This is the only way in which they can be taught. But, dear me, isn't it tedious?

Of course, I soon grew anxious for an exchange of thought with almost any one, but it was a long while before I discovered a single person who was not in a violent hurry. At last, however, we came upon a human drawn apart a little from the throng, who stood with folded arms, engaged apparently in lofty meditation. His countenance was amiable, although a little red.

Saying nothing to Ooma of my purpose, I slipped away from her, and looking up into the creature's eyes inquired mentally the subject of his thoughts; also, how he came to be so inordinately stout, and why he wore bright metal b.u.t.tons on his garment. But my only answer was a stupid blink, for his mentality seemed absolutely incapable of receiving suggestions not expressed in sounds. I observed farther that his aura inclined too much toward violet for perfect equipoise.

"G'wan out of this, and quit yer foolin'," he remarked, missing my meaning altogether.

Of course I spoke then, using the human speech quite glibly for a first attempt, and hastened to a.s.sure him that though I had no idea of fooling, I should not go on until my curiosity had been satisfied. But just then Ooma found me.

"My friend is a stranger," she explained to the bra.s.s-b.u.t.toned man.

"Then why don't you put a string to her?" he asked.

I learned later that I had been addressing one of the public jesters employed by the community to keep Broadway from becoming intolerably dull.

"But you must not speak to people in the street," said Ooma, "not even to policemen."