Love Conquers All Page 6

  Irma,

  attendant to Lucy Basso

  Friends, Retainers and Members of the local Lodge of Elks.

  ARGUMENT

  “Lucy de Lima,” is founded on the well-known story by Boccaccio of the same name and address.

  ACT 1

  Gypsy Camp Near Waterbury. – The gypsies, led by Edith, go singing through the camp on the way to the fair. Following them comes Despard, the gypsy leader, carrying Ethel, whom he has just kidnapped from her father, who had previously just kidnapped her from her mother. Despard places Ethel on the ground and tells Mona, the old hag, to watch over her. Mona nurses a secret grudge against Despard for having once cut off her leg and decides to change Ethel for Nettie, another kidnapped child. Ethel pleads with Mona to let her stay with Despard, for she has fallen in love with him on the ride over. But Mona is obdurate.

  ACT 2

  The Fair. – A crowd of sightseers and villagers is present. Roger appears, looking for Laura. He can not find her. Laura appears, looking for Roger. She can not find him. The gypsy queen approaches Roger and thrusts into his hand the locket stolen from Lord Brym. Roger looks at it and is frozen with astonishment, for it contains the portrait of his mother when she was in high school. He then realizes that Laura must be his sister, and starts out to find her.

  ACT 3

  Hall in the Castle. – Lucy is seen surrounded by every luxury, but her heart is sad. She has just been shown a forged letter from Stewart saying that he no longer loves her, and she remembers her old free life in the mountains and longs for another romp with Ravensbane and Wolfshead, her old pair of rompers. The guests begin to assemble for the wedding, each bringing a roast ox. They chide Lucy for not having her dress changed. Just at this moment the gypsy band bursts in and Cleon tells the wedding party that Elsie and not Edith is the child who was stolen from the summer-house, showing the blood-stained derby as proof. At this, Lord Brym repents and gives his blessing on the pair, while the fishermen and their wives celebrate in the courtyard.

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  The Young Idea’s

  Shooting Gallery

  * * *

  Since we were determined to have Junior educated according to modern methods of child training, a year and a half did not seem too early an age at which to begin. As Doris said: “There is no reason why a child of a year and a half shouldn’t have rudimentary cravings for self-expression.” And really, there isn’t any reason, when you come right down to it.

  Doris had been reading books on the subject, and had been talking with Mrs. Deemster. Most of the trouble in our town can be traced back to someone’s having been talking with Mrs. Deemster. Mrs. Deemster brings an evangelical note into the simplest social conversations, so that by the time your wife is through the second piece of cinnamon toast she is convinced that all children should have their knee-pants removed before they are four, or that you should hire four servants a day on three-hour shifts, or that, as in the present case, no child should be sent to a regular school until he has determined for himself what his profession is going to be and then should be sent straight from the home to Johns Hopkins or the Sorbonne.

  Junior was to be left entirely to himself, the theory being that he would find self-expression in some form or other, and that by watching him carefully it could be determined just what should be developed in him, or, rather, just what he should be allowed to develop in himself. He was not to be corrected in any way, or guided, and he was to call us “Doris” and “Monty” instead of “Mother” and “Father.” We were to be just pals, nothing more. Otherwise, his individuality would become submerged. I was, however, to be allowed to pay what few bills he might incur until he should find himself.

  The first month that Junior was “on his own,” striving for self-expression, he spent practically every waking hour of each day in picking the mortar out from between the bricks in the fire-place and eating it.

  “Don’t you think you ought to suggest to him that nobody who really is anybody eats mortar?” I said.

  “I don’t like to interfere,” replied Doris. “I’m trying to figure out what it may mean. He may have the makings of a sculptor in him.” But one could see that she was a little worried, so I didn’t say the cheap and obvious thing, that at any rate he had the makings of a sculpture in him or would have in a few more days of self-expression.

  Soft putty was put at his disposal, in case he might feel like doing a little modeling. We didn’t expect much of him at first, of course; maybe just a panther or a little General Sherman; but if that was to be his métier we weren’t going to have it said that his career was nipped in the bud for the lack of a little putty.

  The first thing that he did was to stop up the keyhole in the bathroom door while I was in the tub, so that I had to crawl out on the piazza roof and into the guest-room window. It did seem as if there might be some way of preventing a recurrence of that sort of thing without submerging his individuality too much. But Doris said no. If he were disciplined now, he would grow up nursing a complex against putty and against me and might even try to marry Aunt Marian. She had read of a little boy who had been punished by his father for putting soap on the cellar stairs, and from that time on, all the rest of his life, every time he saw soap he went to bed and dreamed that he was riding in the cab of a runaway engine dressed as Perriot, which meant, of course, that he had a suppressed desire to kill his father.

  It almost seemed, however, as if the risk were worth taking if Junior could be shown the fundamentally anti-social nature of an act like stuffing keyholes with putty, but nothing was done about it except to take the putty supply away for that day.

  The chief trouble came, however, in Junior’s contacts with other neighborhood children whose parents had not seen the light. When Junior would lead a movement among the young bloods to pull up the Hemmings’ nasturtiums or would show flashes of personality by hitting little Leda Hemming over the forehead with a trowel, Mrs. Hemming could never be made to see that to reprimand Junior would be to crush out his God-given individuality. All she would say was, “Just look at those nasturtiums!” over and over again. And the Hemming children were given to understand that it would be all right if they didn’t play with Junior quite so much.

  This morning, however, the thing solved itself. While expressing himself in putty in the nursery, Junior succeeded in making a really excellent lifemask of Mrs. Deemster’s fourteen-months-old little girl who had come over to spend the morning with him. She had a little difficulty in breathing, but it really was a fine mask. Mrs. Deemster, however, didn’t enter into the spirit of the thing at all, and after excavating her little girl, took Doris aside. It was decided that Junior is perhaps too young to start in on his career unguided.

  That is Junior that you can hear now, I think.

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  Polyp with a Past

  The Story of an Organism

  with a Heart

  * * *

  Of all forms of animal life, the polyp is probably the most neglected by fanciers. People seem willing to pay attention to anything, cats, lizards, canaries, or even fish, but simply because the polyp is reserved by nature and not given to showing off or wearing its heart on its sleeve, it is left alone under the sea to slave away at coral-building with never a kind word or a pat on the tentacles from anybody.

  It was quite by accident that I was brought face to face with the human side of a polyp. I had been working on a thesis on “Emotional Crises in Sponge Life,” and came upon a polyp formation on a piece of coral in the course of my laboratory work. To say that I was astounded would be putting it mildly. I was surprised.

  The difficulty in research work in this field came in isolating a single polyp from the rest in order to study the personal peculiarities of the little organism, for, as is so often the case (even, I fear, with us great big humans sometimes), the individual behaves in an entirely different manner in private from the
one he adopts when there is a crowd around. And a polyp, among all creatures, has a minimum of time to himself in which to sit down and think. There is always a crowd of other polyps dropping in on him, urging him to make a fourth in a string of coral beads or just to come out and stick around on a rock for the sake of good-fellowship.

  The one which I finally succeeded in isolating was an engaging organism with a provocative manner and a little way of wrinkling up its ectoderm which put you at once at your ease. There could be no formality about your relations with this polyp five minutes after your first meeting. You were just like one great big family.

  Although I have no desire to retail gossip, I think that readers of this treatise ought to be made aware of the fact (if, indeed, they do not already know it) that a polyp is really neither one thing nor another in matters of gender. One day it may be a little boy polyp, another day a little girl, according to its whim or practical considerations of policy. On gray days, when everything seems to be going wrong, it may decide that it will be neither boy nor girl but will just drift. I think that if we big human cousins of the little polyp were to follow the example set by these lowliest of God’s creatures in this matter, we all would find, ourselves much better off in the end. Am I not right, little polyp?

  What was my surprise, then, to discover my little friend one day in a gloomy and morose mood. It refused the peanut-butter which I had brought it and I observed through the microscope that it was shaking with sobs. Lifting it up with a pair of pincers I took it over to the window to let it watch the automobiles go by, a diversion which had, in the past, never failed to amuse. But I could see that it was not interested. A tune from the victrola fell equally flat, even though I set my little charge on the center of the disc and allowed it to revolve at a dizzy pace, which frolic usually sent it into spasms of excited giggling. Something was wrong. It was under emotional stress of the most racking kind.

  I consulted Klunzinger’s “Die Korallenthiere des Rothen Meeres” and there found that at an early age the polyp is quite likely to become the victim of a sentimental passion which is directed at its own self.

  In other words, my tiny companion was in love with itself, bitterly, desperately, head-over-heels in love.

  In an attempt to divert it from this madness, I took it on an extended tour of the Continent, visiting all the old cathedrals and stopping at none but the best hotels. The malady grew worse, instead of better. I thought that perhaps the warm sun of Granada would bring the color back into those pale tentacles, but there the inevitable romance in the soft air was only fuel to the flame, and, in the shadow of the Alhambra, my little polyp gave up the fight and died of a broken heart without ever having declared its love to itself.

  I returned to America shortly after not a little chastened by what I had witnessed of Nature’s wonders in the realm of passion.

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  Holt! Who Goes There?

  * * *

  The reliance of young mothers on Dr. Emmett Holt’s “The Care and Feeding of Children,” has become a national custom. Especially during the early infancy of the first baby does the son rise and set by what “Holt says.” But there are several questions which come to mind which are not included in the handy questionnaire arranged by the noted child-specialist, and as he is probably too busy to answer them himself, we have compiled an appendix which he may incorporate in the next edition of his book, if he cares to. Of course, if he doesn’t care to it isn’t compulsory.

  BATHING

  What should the parent wear while bathing the child?

  A rubber loin-cloth will usually be sufficient, with perhaps a pair of elbow-guards and anti-skid gloves. A bath should never be given a child until at least one hour after eating (that is, after the parent has eaten).

  What are the objections to face-cloths as a means of bathing children?

  They are too easily swallowed, and after six or seven wet face-cloths have been swallowed, the child is likely to become heavy and lethargic.

  Under what circumstances should the daily tub-bath be omitted?

  Almost any excuse will do. The bathroom may be too cold, or too hot, or the child may be too sleepy or too wide-awake, or the parent may have lame knees or lead poisoning. And anyway, the child had a good bath yesterday.

  CLOTHING

  How should the infant be held during dressing and undressing?

  Any carpenter will be glad to sell you a vise which can be attached to the edge of the table. Place the infant in the vise and turn the screw until there is a slight redness under the pressure. Be careful not to turn it too tight or the child will resent it; but on the other hand, care should be taken not to leave it too loose, otherwise the child will be continually falling out on the floor, and you will never get it dressed that way.

  What are the most important items in the baby’s clothing?

  The safety-pins which are in the bureau in the next room.

  WEIGHT

  How should a child be weighed?

  Place the child in the scales. The father should then sit on top of the child to hold him down. Weigh father and child together. Then deduct the father’s weight from the gross tonnage, and the weight of the child is the result.

  FRESH AIR

  What are the objections to an infant’s sleeping out-of-doors?

  Sleeping out-of-doors in the city is all right, but children sleeping out of doors in the country are likely to be kissed by wandering cows and things. This should never be permitted under any circumstances.

  DEVELOPMENT

  When does the infant first laugh aloud?

  When father tries to pin it up for the first time.

  If at two years the child makes no attempt to talk, what should be suspected?

  That it hasn’t yet seen anyone worth talking to.

  FEEDING

  What should not be fed to a child?

  Ripe olives.

  How do we know how much food a healthy child needs?

  By listening carefully.

  Which parent should go and get the child’s early morning bottle?

  The one least able to feign sleep.

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  The Committee

  on the Whole

  * * *

  A new plan has just been submitted for running the railroads. That makes one hundred and eleven.

  The present suggestion involves the services of some sixteen committees. Now presumably the idea is to get the roses back into the cheeks of the railroads, so that they will go running about from place to place again and perhaps make a little money on pleasant Saturdays and Sundays. But if these proposed committees are anything like other committees which we have had to do with, the following will be a fair example of how our railroads will be run.

  The sub-committee on the Punching of Rebate Slips will have a meeting called for five o’clock in the private grill room at the Pan-American Building. Postcards will have been sent out the day before by the Secretary, saying: “Please try to be present as there are several important matters to be brought up.” This will so pique the curiosity of the members that they will hardly be able to wait until five o’clock. One will come at four o’clock by mistake and, after steaming up and down the corridor for half an hour, will go home and send in his resignation.

  At 5:10 the Secretary will bustle in with a briefcase and a map showing the weather areas over the entire United States for the preceding year. He will be very warm from hurrying.

  At 5:15 two members of the committee will stroll in, one of them saying to the other: “—so the Irishman turns to the Jew and says: ‘Well, I knew your father before that!’ Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! ‘I knew your father before that!’”

  They will then seat themselves at one end of the committee-table, just as another member comes hurrying in. Time 5:21.

  One of the story-tellers being the Chairman, he will pound half-heartedly on the table and say: “As some of us have
to get away early, I think that we had better begin now, although Mr. Entwhistle and Dr. Pearly are not here.”

  “I met Dr. Pearly last night at the Vegetarian Club dinner,” says one of the members, “and he said that he might be a little late today but that he would surely come.”

  “His wife has just had a very delicate throat operation, I understand,” offers a committeeman who is drawing concentric circles on his pad of paper.

  “Bad weather for throat operations,” says the Secretary.

  “That’s right,” says the Chairman, looking through a pile of papers for one which he has left at home. “But let’s get down to business. At the last meeting the question arose as to whether or not it was advisable to continue having conductors punch the little hole at the bottom of rebate slips. As you know, the slip says, ‘Not redeemable if punched here.’ Now, someone brought up the point that it seems silly to give out a rebate slip at all if there isn’t going to be any rebate on it. A sub-committee was appointed to go into the matter, and I would like to ask Mr. Twing, the chairman, what he has to report.”

  Mr. Twing will clear his throat and start to speak, but will make only an abortive sound. He will then clear his throat again.

  “Mr. Chairman, the other members of the sub-committee and myself were unable to get exactly the data on this that we wanted and I delegated Mr. Entwhistle to dig up something which he said he had read recently in the files of the Scientific American. But Mr. Entwhistle doesn’t seem to be here today, and so I am unable to report his findings. It was, however, the sense of the meeting that the conductors should not.”

  “Should not what?” inquires Dr. Pearly, who has just sneaked in, knocking three hats to the floor while hanging up his coat.