John Bangs - The Genial Idiot: His Views and Reviews стр 5.

The author of these valentines, said the Doctor, is to be spotted, the way I diagnose the case, by his desire that professional people should be constantly giving away their services. He objects to the Doctors bill and he slaps sarcastically at the Lawyer because he doesnt give advice. Thats why I suspect the Idiot. Hes a professional Idiot, and yet he gives his idiocy away.

When did I ever give myself away? demanded the Idiot. You are talking wildly, Doctor. The idea of your trying to drag me into this thing is preposterous. Suppose you show down your valentine and see if it is in my handwriting.

Mine is typewritten, said the Doctor.

So is mine, said the Bibliomaniac.

Mine, too, said the Poet.

Same here, said Mr. Brief.

Well, then, said the Idiot, Im willing to write a page in my own hand without any attempt to disguise it, and let any handwriting expert decide as to whether there is the slightest resemblance between my chirography and these typewritten sheets you hold in your hand.

Thats fair enough, said Mr. Whitechoker.

Besides, persisted the Idiot, Ive received one of the things myself, and itll make your hair curl, if youve got any. Typewritten like the rest of em. Shall I read it?

By common consent the Idiot read the following:

What do you think of that? asked the Idiot, when he had finished. Wouldnt that jar you?

I think its perfectly horrid, said Mrs. Pedagog. Mary, pass the pancakes to the Idiot. Mr. Idiot, let me hand you a full cup of coffee. John, hand the Idiot the syrup. Why, how a thing like that should be allowed to go through the mails passes me!

And the others all agreed that the landladys indignation was justified, because they were fond of the Idiot in spite of his faults. They would not see him abused, at any rate.

Say, old man, said the Poet, later, I really thought you sent those other valentines until you read yours.

I thought you would, said the Idiot. Thats the reason why I worked up that awful one on myself. That relieves me of all suspicion.

IV

HE DISCUSSES FINANCE

A MESSENGER had just brought a collect telegram for the Doctor, and that gentleman, after going through all his pockets, and finding nothing but a bunch of keys and a prescription-pad, made the natural inquiry:

Anybody got a quarter?

I have, said the Idiot. One of the rare mintage of 1903, circulated for a short time only and warranted good as new.

I didnt know the 1903 quarter was rare, said the Bibliomaniac, who prided himself on being a numismatist of rare ability. Who told you the 1903 quarter was rare?

My old friend, Experience, said the Idiot.

Whats rare about it? demanded the Bibliomaniac.

Why its what they call ready money, spot cash, the real thing with the water squeezed out, selling at par on sight, explained the Idiot. Millions of people never saw one, and under modern conditions it is very difficult to amass them in any considerable quantity. What is worse, even if you happen to get one of them it is next to impossible to hang on to it without unusual effort. If you have a 1903 quarter in your pocket, somehow or other the idea that it is in your possession seems to communicate itself to others, and every effort is made to lure it away from you on some pretext or other.

Excuse me for interrupting this lecture of yours, Mr. Idiot, said the Doctor, amiably, but would you mind lending me that quarter to pay this messenger? Ive left my change in my other clothes.

What did I tell you? cried the Idiot, triumphantly. The words are no sooner out of my mouth than they are verified. Hardly a minute elapses from the time Doctor Capsule learns that I have that quarter before he puts in an application for it.

Well, I renew the application in spite of its rarity, laughed the Doctor. Its even rarer with me than it is with you. Shell out theres a good chap.

I will if youll put up a dollar for security, said the Idiot, extracting the coin from his pocket, and give me a demand note at thirty days for the quarter.

I havent got a dollar, said the Doctor.

Well, what other collateral have you to offer? asked the Idiot. I wont take buckwheat-cakes, or muffins, or your share of the sausages, mind you. They come under the head of wild-cat securities here to-day and gone to-morrow.

My, but youre a Shylock! ejaculated Mr. Brief.

Not a bit of it, retorted the Idiot. If I were Shylock Id be willing to take a steak for security, but theres none of the pound of flesh business about me. I simply proceed cautiously, like any modern financial institution that intends to stay in the ring more than two weeks. Im not one of your fortnightly trust companies with an oak table, an unpaid bill for office rent, and a patent reversible disappearing president for its assets. I do business on the national-bank principle: millions for the rich, but not one cent for the man that needs the money.

I tell you what Ill do, said the Doctor. If youll lend me that quarter, I wont charge you a cent for my professional services next time you need them.

Thats a large offer, but Im afraid of it, replied the Idiot. It partakes of the nature of a speculation. Its dealing in futures, which is not a safe thing for a financial institution to do, I dont care how solid it is. You dont catch the Chemistry National Bank lending money to anybody on mere prospects, and, what is more, in my case, Id have to get sick to win out. No, Doctor, that proposition does not appeal to me.

Looks hopeless, doesnt it, said the Doctor. Mary, tell the boy to wait while I run up-stairs

I wouldnt do that, said the Idiot, interrupting. The matter can be arranged in another way. I honestly dont like to lend money, believing with Polonius that its a bad thing to do. As the Governor of North Carolina said to the Governor of South Carolina, who owed him a hundred dollars, Its a long time between payments on account, and that sort of thing breaks up families, not to mention friendships. But I will match you for it.

How can I match when I havent anything to match with? said the Doctor, growing a trifle irritable.

You can match your credit against my quarter, said the Idiot. We can make it a mental match a sort of Christian Science gamble. What am I thinking of, heads or tails?

Heads, said the Doctor.

By Jove, thats hard luck! ejaculated the Idiot. You lose. I was thinking of tails.

Oh, thunder! cried the Doctor, impatiently.

Try it again, double or quits. What am I thinking of? said the Idiot.

Heads, repeated the Doctor.

Somebody must have told you. Heads it is. You win. We are quits, Doctor, said the Idiot.