The Wit and Humor of America, Volume V. (of X.)

by Finley Peter Dunne

  "No," Dickey replied. "But there's one off there, just to the otherside. A big one, too."

  "The identical thing," said the Itinerant Tinker. Whereupon he walkedover to it and immediately began sawing a thin slab from off its smoothend.

  "Now," said he, after he had finished the rather difficult task, oiledhis saw and returned it to his kit, "I proceed to write the word LOVE inthe infinitive mood."

  "Is that a sad mood?" asked Dickey. "It sounds very much like it, Ithink."

  Without heeding the question in the least the Itinerant Tinker turnedthe slab for Dickey's inspection, and he read on it the two words, TOLOVE. Taking up a wedge the Itinerant Tinker printed the word DEARLY onthe flat side of it, and then skilfully drove it between the words TOand LOVE. When he again held it up for Dickey to see, it read: TO DEARLYLOVE.

  "There!" exclaimed the Itinerant Tinker, holding the slab proudly atarm's length and turning his head slowly from side to side, "that's whatI call a fine bit of ingenuity!"

  "So that's a split infinitive, is it?" Dickey asked.

  "Why, you _stupid_ boy!" the Itinerant Tinker exclaimed; "didn't youjust this minute see me split it?"

  "Yes, sir; I did," Dickey murmured rather shamefacedly.

  "Then, if I _split_ it, what else _could_ it be but a split infinitive,I'd like to know?"

  "Well," said Dickey, a bit timidly, "I never heard a block of woodcalled an _infinitive_ before."

  "Oh, my!" sighed the Itinerant Tinker, as he sank down on his pile ofmerchandise. "How you _do_ weary me!"

  He sat looking at the slab of wood for such a long time, turning itadmiringly now that way, now this, that poor Dickey began to grow quitenervous.

  "Please," he ventured at last, "won't you show me now how you mend it?"Dickey didn't care in the least to see it done, but he imagined that byasking the question he would regain the good will of the old man.

  "There you go again! There you go!" exclaimed the Itinerant Tinker. Heactually shed a tear. "I knew you'd do it--I knew it!"

  "Now what have I done?" asked Dickey, innocently.

  "You've broken the silence," said the Itinerant Tinker, sadly. "It'lltake me hours and hours to glue _that_ together. But first," he went on,after another long pause, "I'll show you how neatly this splitinfinitive can be mended."

  Thereupon he withdrew the wedge, dipped a brush into a pot of glue, and,after distributing the sticky fluid over the split sides, brought themcarefully and neatly together.

  "There!" he exclaimed, triumphantly, "_that's_ the proper way to bringtogether a split infinitive. Beware, my boy, of splitting yourinfinitives; but if you do, call on the Itinerant Tinker and _he'll_straighten 'em out for you."

  "Before we move along," he resumed, after he had loaded himself with hismerchandise, "perhaps you'd like to listen to a story?"

  "I should, if it wasn't about split infinitives," replied Dickey,doubtfully. "They really make me quite dizzy."

  "Well, it's not," said the Itinerant Tinker, smiling vaguely. "It's thestory of the

  PEDANTIC PEDAGOGUE

  "I saw him sitting--sitting there, Outside the school-house door, It was a dismal afternoon; The hour was half-past four.

  "I asked him, 'Sir, what is your name?' His voice came through the fog: 'I have forgotten it, kind sir, But I'm a Pedagogue.

  "'And I'm so absent-minded, sir, I put my clothes to bed And hang myself upon a chair; Is not that odd?' he said.

  "'And every morning of my life I climb into my tub; Then wonder why I'm sitting there. Ah, me, man! _that's_ the rub!'

  "He wiped his spectacles and said: 'Kind sir, observe this frog. I took him in this net, when he Was but a pollywog.

  "'Now it's my wish, good sir, to seek The seismocosmic state; And why this strange amphibian Should slowly gravitate

  "'From a mere firmisternial thing To--' 'Say!' I cried, 'please wait! I can not understand a word Of that which you relate.'

  "'Now, please tell me,' he said again, 'The sum of the equation Between the harp and hippogriff; Define their true relation.'

  "'I can not answer you,' I said, 'Because I'm but a tinker. But I can mend your old umbrel'; 'Twill be a dime, I think, sir.'

  "Just then the frog dived off his hand And swam out to the fence, Which was an easy thing to do-- The vapor was so dense.

  "And there he perched upon a post; It was a sight to see The way he made grimaces at The Pedagogue and me.

  "It vexed us very much to see A frog so impolite I flung a gnarly stick at him-- Flung it with all my might.

  "It floated softly on the fog. As softly as a feather; The frog jumped on and sailed away, Leaving us there together

  "A-shaking both our fists at him Till they were sore and numb. The bull-frog merely blinked at us, And sang: '_You'll drown!_ BOTTLE-O'-RUM!'

  "With that I left the Pedagogue A-sitting in the wet. He was so absent-minded, I Dare say he's sitting yet--

  "Upon the little school-house steps, Revolving in his mind The definite relation 'twixt The cosmos and mankind."

  When the Itinerant Tinker had finished his story he rose wearily to hisfeet.

  "If we don't hurry along," he said, "I doubt whether we shall reach theCrypt in time to take our tea. I never--"

  He was interrupted at this point by a shrill voice, coming, it seemed,from the direction of the forest.

  "Jingle-junk! jingle-junk! jingle-junk!" shouted the penetrating voice.

  The Itinerant Tinker stopped instantly. An angry frown gathered on hisbrow.

  "I know who _that_ is," he muttered. "It's Wamba, son of Witless, theJester of Ivanhoe. I've been trying to catch _him_ for seventy-twoyears, and if I do, I'll--"

  Dickey never heard the end of the sentence for the Itinerant Tinker madefor the wood at a surprisingly swift gait. The incident had its reallyamusing side, too; for he left behind him a trail of pots, pans,boilers, stove-lids, potato-mashers--in fact, Dickey thought, he musthave dropped almost all of his "necessary commodities" by the time hehad vanished into the wood.

  THE STRIKE OF ONE

  BY ELLIOTT FLOWER

  Danny Burke was discharged.

  A certain distinguished ex-President of the United States probably wouldhave said that he was discharged for "pernicious activity"; but the headof the branch messenger-office merely said that he was "an infernalnuisance."

  Danny was a good union man. As a matter of fact, he was a boy, and asmall boy at that; but he would have scorned any description that didnot put him down as "a good union man." Danny's environment had been oneof uncompromising unionism, and that was what ailed him. He wanted toadvance the union idea. To this end, he undertook to organize the othermessengers in the branch office, advancing all the arguments that he hadheard his mother and his father use in their discussions. The boysthought favorably of the scheme, but most of them were inclined to letsome one else do the experimenting. It might result disastrously. Justto encourage them, Danny became insolent, as he had already becomeinattentive; he told the manager what he would do and what he would notdo, and positively declined to deliver a message that would carry hiswork a few minutes beyond quitting-time.

  Then Danny was discharged--and he laughed. Discharge _him_! Well, he'dshow them a thing or two.

  "We'll arbitrate," he announced.

  "Get out!" ordered the manager.

  "You got to arbitrate," insisted Danny. "You got to confer with your menor you're goin' to have a strike!" Danny had heard so much aboutconferences that he felt he was on safe ground now. "We can't stand ferno autycrats!" he added. "You got to meet your men fair an' talk itover. A committee--"

  "Get out!" repeated the manager, rising from his desk, near which thewaiting boys were seated.

  "Men," yelled Danny, "I calls a
strike an' a boycott!"

  Two of the boys rose as if to follow him, but the manager was too quick.He had Danny by the collar before Danny knew what had happened, and thestruggling boy was marched to the door and pushed out. The boys who hadrisen promptly subsided.

  Danny was too astonished for words. In all his extended hearsayknowledge of strikes he never had heard of anything like this. There wasnothing heroic in it at all. He had expected a conference, and, instead,he was ignominiously handled and thrust into the street.

  Danny sat down on a pile of paving-stones to think it over. Withoutreasoning the matter out, he now regarded himself as a union. The othermembers had deserted him, but he was on a strike; and somehow he hadabsorbed the idea that the men who were striking were always the unionmen. So, this being a strike of one, he was an entire union. It did nottake him long to decide that the first thing to do was to "picket theplant." That was a familiar phrase, and he knew the meaning of it.Everything was nicely arranged for him, too. The street was being paved,and he was sitting on some paving-stones, with a pile of gravel besidehim. He selected fifteen or twenty of the largest stones from thegravel-pile.

  A woman was the first victim. As she was about to enter themessenger-office she was startled by a yell of warning from Danny.

  "Hey, you!" he shouted. "Keep out!"

  She backed away hastily, and looked up to see if anything were about tofall on her.

  "Why should I keep out?" she asked at last.

  "'Cause you'll git hit with a rock if you don't," was the prompt reply.

  "But, little boy--" she began.

  "I ain't a little boy," asserted Danny. "I'm a union."

  The woman looked puzzled, but she finally decided that this was someboyish joke.

  "You'd better run home," she said, and turned to enter themessenger-office. She could not refrain from looking over her shoulder,however, and she saw that he was poised for a throw.

  "Don't do that!" she cried hastily. "You might hurt me."

  "Sure I'll hurt you," was the reply. "I'll smash your block in if youdon't git a move on."

  The woman decided to look for another messenger-office, and Danny,triumphant, resumed his seat on the paving-stones.

  Then came another messenger, returning from a trip.

  "What's the matter, Danny?" he asked.

  "Got the plant picketed," asserted Danny. "Nobody can't go in or comeout."

  "I'm goin' in," said the other boy.

  "You!" exclaimed Danny scornfully, as he suddenly caught the boy andswung him over on to the stones.

  "No, I ain't, Danny," the boy hastened to say, for Danny gave everyevidence of an intent to batter in his face.

  "Sure?" asked Danny.

  "Honest."

  "This here's a strike," explained Danny.

  "Oh, I didn't know that," apologized the boy. "I ain't astrike-breaker."

  Danny let him up, but made him sit on another pile of stones a shortdistance away. He would be all right as long as he kept still, Dannyexplained, but no longer.

  While Danny was continuing strike operations with rapidly growingenthusiasm, the woman he had first stopped was taking an unexpected partin the little comedy. She had gone to another of the branch offices withthe message she wished delivered, and had told of the trouble she hadexperienced. Thereupon the manager of this office called up the managerof the other on the telephone.

  "What's the matter over there?" he asked.

  "Nothing," was the surprised reply. "Who said there was?"

  "Why, a woman has just reported that she was driven away by a boy with apile of stones."

  The manager hastened to the window, and realized at once that somethingwas decidedly wrong. On a pile of paving-stones directly in front of thedoor sat the proud and happy Danny. At his feet there was a pile ofsmaller stones, and he held a few in his hands. On his right was a boywho had started on a trip a short time before, and on his left was onewho should have reported back. A man was gesticulating excitedly, anumber of others and some boys were laughing, and Danny seemed to beintimating that any one who tried to enter would be hurt.

  "Jim," said the manager to the largest messenger, "go out there and seewhat's the matter with Danny Burke. Tell him I'll have him arrested ifhe doesn't get out."

  Danny was a wise general. He wanted no prisoners that he could nothandle easily, and this big boy would be dangerous to have within hislines. The big boy was a sort of star messenger, who did not fraternizewith Danny anyhow. Consequently Danny fired a volley the moment he sawwho it was, and the big boy hastily retreated, bearing with him one bumpon the forehead.

  "That's Jim," Danny explained to the increasing crowd. "He's thebiggest, next to the boss. Watch me nail the boss."

  "You're the stuff!" exclaimed some of the delighted loiterers, thusproving that the loiterers are just as anxious to see trouble in a smallstrike as in a large one.

  Danny picked out a stone considerably larger than the others, for heexpected the manager to appear next, and the manager had incurred hispersonal enmity. In the case of his victims thus far, he had actedmerely on principle--to win his point.

  The manager appeared. For his own prestige (necessary to maintaindiscipline), the manager had to do something, but he felt reasonablysure that the dignity of his official position would make Danny lesshasty and strenuous than he had been with others. The manager planned toextend the olive branch and at the same time raise the siege bybeckoning Danny in, so that he might reason with him and show him howsurely he would land in a police station if he would not consent to be agood boy. This would be quicker and better than summoning an officer.But the manager got the big stone in the pit of his stomach just as hehad raised his hand to beckon, and he and his dignity collapsedtogether, with a most plebeian grunt. As he had not closed the door, hequickly rolled inside, where he lay on the floor with his hands on hisstomach and listened to the joyous yelps of the crowd outside. This wastoo much for the manager.

  "Call up police headquarters," he said, still holding his stomach as iffearful that it might become detached, "and tell them there's a riothere."

  The boy addressed obeyed literally.

  Meanwhile Danny had decided that, as victory perched on his banners, itwas time to state the terms on which he would permit the enemy tosurrender, but he was too wise to put himself in the enemy's powerbefore these terms were settled.

  "Go in, Tim," was the order he gave to one of his prisoners, "an' tellthe guy with the stomick-ache that when he recognizes the union an'gives me fifty cents more a week an' makes a work-day end when the clockstrikes, I'm willin' to call it off."

  "Make him come down handsome," advised one of the loiterers.

  "I guess I got 'em on the run," said Danny exultingly.

  But Tim went in and failed to come out. This was not Tim's fault,however, for the manager released his hold on his stomach long enough toget a grip on Tim's collar. The striker's defiance seemed to displeasehim, and, because he could not shake Danny, he shook Tim, and he saidthings to Tim that he would have preferred to say to Danny. Then hisexcited harangue was interrupted by the sound of a gong, which convincedhim that he might again venture to the door.

  Danny was in the grasp of the strong arm of the law. A half dozenpolicemen had valiantly rushed through the crowd and captured the entirebesieging party, which was Danny.

  "What you doin'?" demanded Danny angrily.

  "What are _you_ doing?" retorted the police sergeant in charge.

  "This here's a strike," asserted Danny. "I got the plant picketed."

  "Run him in!" ordered the manager from the doorway.

  "What's the row?" asked the sergeant.

  "That's the row," said the manager, pointing to Danny.

  "That!" exclaimed the sergeant scornfully. "You said it was a riot. Youdon't call that kid a riot, do you?"

  "Well, it's assault and battery, anyhow," insisted the manager. "He hitme with a rock."

  "Where?" asked the sergeant.

&
nbsp; "Where he carries his brains," said Danny, which made the crowd yelpwith joy again.

  "Lock him up!" cried the manager angrily. "I'll prefer the charge andappear against him."

  The sergeant looked at Danny and then at the manager.

  "Say!" he said at last, "you ain't got the nerve to charge this kid withassaulting you, have you?"

  "I'm going to do it," said the manager.

  "Oh, all right," returned the sergeant disgustedly.

  The crowd was disposed to protest, but the police were in sufficientforce to make resistance unsafe, and Danny was lifted into thepatrol-wagon.

  At the station the captain happened to be present when Danny was broughtin, escorted by a wagon-load of policemen.

  "What's the charge?" asked the captain.

  "Assault and battery on a grown man!" was the scornful reply of thesergeant.

  "What did he do?" persisted the surprised captain.

  "Hurt his digestion with a rock," explained the sergeant.

  "I was on strike," said Danny. "I'm a good union man. You got nobusiness to touch me."

  "I understand," said the sergeant, "that he was discharged, and hestationed himself outside with a pile of rocks."

  "You've no right to do that," the captain told Danny.

  "They all do it," asserted Danny.

  This was so near the truth that the captain thought it wise to dodge thesubject.

  "Of course, if no one else will take a man's place," he explained, "theemployer will have to take him back or--"