X
THE HOUSEMAID'S UNION
"Potatoes, sir?" said Mary, the waitress at Mrs. Smithers-Pedagog'sHigh-Class Home for Single Gentlemen, stopping behind the Idiot's chairand addressing the back of his neck in the usual boarding-house fashion.
"Yes, I want some potatoes, Mary; but before I take them," the Idiotreplied, "I must first ascertain whether or not you wear the unionlabel, and what is the exact status also of the potatoes. My principlesare such that I cannot permit a non-union housemaid to help me to a scabpotato, whereas, if you belong to the sisterhood, and our stewed friendMurphy here has been raised upon a union farm, then, indeed, do I wishnot only one potato but many."
Mary's reply was a giggle.
"Ah!" said the Idiot. "The merry ha-ha, eh? All right, Mary. That is forthe present sufficient evidence that your conscience is clear on thisvery important matter. As for the potatoes, we will eat them not exactlyunder protest, but with a distinctly announced proviso in advance thatwe assume that they have qualified themselves for admission into a unionstomach. I hesitate to think of what will happen in my interiordepartment if Murphy is deceiving us."
Whereupon the Idiot came into possession of a goodly portion of thestewed potatoes, and Mary fled to the kitchen, where she informed thepresiding genius of the range that the young gentleman was crazier thanever.
"He's talkin' about the unions, now, Bridget," said she.
"Is he agin 'em?" demanded Bridget, with a glitter in her eye.
"No, he's for 'em; he wouldn't even drink milk from a non-union cow,"said Mary.
"He's a foine gintleman," said Bridget. "Oi'll make his waffles a soizelarger."
Meanwhile the Bibliomaniac had chosen to reflect seriously upon theIdiot's intelligence for his approval of unions.
"They are responsible for pretty nearly all the trouble there is at thepresent moment," he snapped out, angrily.
"Oh, go along with you," retorted the Idiot. "The trouble we have thesedays, like all the rest of the troubles of the past, go right back tothat old original non-union apple that Eve ate and Adam got the core of.You know that as well as I do. Even Adam and Eve, untutored children ofnature though they were, saw it right off, and organized a union on thespot, which has in the course of centuries proven the most beneficentinstitution of the ages. With all due respect to the character of thisdwelling-place of ours--a home for single gentlemen--the union is thething. If you don't belong to one you may be tremendously independent,but you're blooming lonesome."
"The matrimonial union," smiled Mrs. Pedagog, "is indeed a blessedinstitution, and, having been married twice, I can testify fromexperience; but, truly, Mr. Idiot, I wish you wouldn't put notions intoMary's head about the other kind. I should be sorry if she were to jointhat housemaid's union we hear so much about. I have trouble enough nowwith my domestic help without having a walking delegate on my hands aswell."
"No doubt," acquiesced the Idiot. "In their beginnings all greatmovements have their inconveniences, but in the end, properly developed,a housemaid's union wouldn't be a bad thing for employers, and I ratherthink it might prove a good thing. Suppose one of your servantsmisbehaves herself, for instance--I remember one occasion in this veryhouse when it required the united efforts of yourself, Mr. Pedagog,three policemen, and your humble servant to effectively discharge athree-hundred-pound queen of the kitchen, who had looked not wisely buttoo often on the cooking sherry. Now suppose that highly cultivatedinebriate had belonged to a self-respecting union? You wouldn't havehad to discharge her at all. A telephone message to the unionheadquarters, despatched while the lady was indulging in one of hertantrums, would have brought an inspector to the house, the queen wouldhave been caught with the goods on, and her card would have been takenfrom her, so that by the mere automatic operation of the rules of herown organization she could no longer work for you. Thus you would havebeen spared some highly seasoned language which I have for years triedto forget; Mr. Pedagog's eye would not have been punched so that youcould not tell your blue-eyed boy from your black-eyed babe; I shouldnever have lost the only really satisfactory red necktie I ever owned;and three sturdy policemen, one of whom had often previously acted asthe lady's brother on her evenings at home, and the others, of whom wehad reason to believe were cousins not many times removed, would nothave been confronted by the ungrateful duty of clubbing one who hadfrequently fed them generously upon your cold mutton and my beer."
"Is that one of the things the union would do?" queried Mrs. Pedagog,brightening.
"It is one of the things the union _should_ do," said the Idiot."Similarly with your up-stairs girl, if perchance you have one. Supposeshe got into the habit, which I understand is not all an uncommon case,of sweeping the dust under the bureau of your bedroom or under the pianoin the drawing-room. Suppose she is really an adept in the art of dustconcealment, having a full comprehension of all sixty methods--hiding itunder tables, sofas, bookcases, and rugs, in order to save her back? Youwouldn't have to bother with her at all under a properly equipped union.Upon the discovery of her delinquencies you would merely have to sendfor the union inspector, lift up the rug and show her the variousvintages of sweepings the maid has left there: November ashes; Decembermatch-ends; threads, needles, and pins left over from the Februarymeeting of the Ibsen Sewing-Circle at your house; your missingtortoise-shell hair-pin that you hadn't laid eyes on since September;the grocer's bill for October that you told the grocer you neverreceived--all this in March. Do you suppose that that inspector, withall this evidence before her eyes, could do otherwise than prefercharges against the offender at the next meeting of the Committee onDiscipline? Not on your life, madam. And, what is more, have you theslightest doubt that one word of reprimand from that same Committee onDiscipline would prove far more effective in reforming that particularoffender than anything you could say backed by the eloquence of Burkeand the thunderbolts of Jove?"
"You paint a beautiful picture," said the Doctor. "But suppose youhappened to draw a rotten cook in the domestic lottery--a good woman,but a regular scorcher. Where does your inspector come in there? Goingto invite her to dine with you so as to demonstrate the girl'sincompetence?"
"Not at all," said the Idiot. "That would make trouble right away. Thecook very properly would say that the inspector was influenced by thesocial attention she was receiving from the head of the house, and thewoman's effectiveness as a disciplinarian would be immediatelydestroyed. I'd put half portions of the burned food in a sealed packageand send it to the Committee on Culinary Improvement for theirinspection. A better method which time would probably bring intopractice would be for the union itself to establish a system ofdomiciliary visits, by which the cook's work should be subjected to aconstant inspection by the union--the object being, of course, toprevent trouble rather than to punish after the event. The inspector'sposition would be something like that of the bank examiner, who turns upat our financial institutions at unexpected moments, and sees thateverything is going right."
"Oh, bosh!" said the Doctor. "You are talking of ideals."
"Certainly I am," returned the Idiot. "Why shouldn't I? What's the useof wasting one's breath on anything else?"
"Well, it's all rot!" put in Mr. Brief. "There never was any such unionas that, and there never will be."
"You are the last person in the world to say a thing like that, Mr.Brief," said the Idiot--"you, who belong to the nearest approach to theideal union that the world has ever known!"
"What! Me?" demanded the Lawyer. "Me? I belong to a union?"
"Of course you do--or at least you told me you did," said the Idiot.
"Well, you are the worst!" retorted Mr. Brief, angrily. "When did I evertell you that I belonged to a union?"
"Last Friday night at dinner, and in the presence of this goodlycompany," said the Idiot. "You were bragging about it, too--said that noinstitution in existence had done more to uplift the moral tone of thelegal profession; that through its efforts the corrupt practitioner andthe shyst
er were gradually being driven to the wall--"
"Well, this beats me," said Mr. Brief. "I recall telling at dinner onFriday night about the Bar Association--"
"Precisely," said the Idiot. "That's what I referred to. If the BarAssociation isn't a Lawyer's Union Number Six of the highest type, Idon't know what is. It is conducted by the most brilliant minds in theprofession; its honors are eagerly sought after by the brainiestlaborers in the field of Coke and Blackstone; its stern, relentless eyeis fixed upon the evil-doer, and it is an effective instrument forreform not only in its own profession, but in the State as well. What Iwould have the Housemaid's Union do for domestic servants and for thehome, the Bar Association does for the legal profession and for theState, and if the lawyers can do this thing there is no earthly reasonwhy the housemaids shouldn't."
"Pah!" ejaculated Mr. Brief. "You place the bar and domestic service onthe same plane of importance, do you?"
"No, I don't," said the Idiot. "Shouldn't think of doing so. Twentypeople need housemaids, where one requires a lawyer; therefore thedomestic is the more important of the two."
"Humph!" said Mr. Brief, with an angry laugh. "Intellectualqualifications, I suppose, go for nothing in the matter."
"Well, I don't know about that," said the Idiot. "I guess, however, thatthere are more housemaids earning a living to-day than lawyers--and,besides--oh, well, never mind--What's the use? I don't wish to quarrelabout it."
"Go on--don't mind me--I'm really interested to know what further youcan say," snapped Mr. Brief. "Besides--what?"
"Only this, that when it comes to the intellectuals--Well, really, Mr.Brief," asked the Idiot, "really now, did you ever hear of anybody goingto an intelligence office for a lawyer?"
Mr. Brief's reply was not inaudible, for just at that moment heswallowed his coffee the wrong way, and in the effort to bring him to,the thread of the argument snapped, and up to the hour of going to presshad not been tied together again.
The Genial Idiot: His Views and Reviews Page 11
