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Brief Diversions: Being Tales, Travesties and Epigrams
Language: en374 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
In: Short Stories·Humour·British Literature
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #49755.
The opening · free to read
A Moving Story of Real Life
There was at one time upon the earth a Mr S. L. Binkle, who always spoke of himself as a Business Expert. He would, from time to time, scatter broadcast little sheets of paper, on which was printed: ‘Efficiency! What does it mean to you?’ and many other dark sayings.
This Binkle was a middle-aged man who lived strangely: he never laughed or sang or ate heartily, though some have said that he had a weakness for tapioca pudding.
It chanced that one afternoon when he was sitting in his office, there was some noisy music in the street near by, so Binkle put small pieces of cotton-wool in his ears. Far away, the gods laughed.
A few minutes later, the office door was flung open, and a red-faced man rushed in, crying: ‘You Mister Binkle?... come down to Balham ... next Tuesday evening ... talk on Business Efficiency ... no time to stop ... train ... ask for Mechanics Institute ... five guineas.’ After which, the stranger departed noisily.
These loose fragments of speech were quite intelligible and, indeed, welcome to Binkle, who made a note in a little book and smiled with satisfaction.
But alas--who can foresee what the gods have decreed? For, with the cotton-wool in his ears, Binkle had not heard the stranger rightly; and on the Tuesday following, instead of going to Balham, he went to Barham, which is full of poets and wild lovers, and there he perished miserably.
THE TRUE ACCOUNT OF A QUARREL BETWEEN A MAN WE ALL KNOW AND A VERY OLD FAMILY
The Man who thought about Proteids sat by the roadside, writing with an indelible pencil in a little notebook. And Spring, all in pink and white, came tripping by, and cried to him: ‘I will dance for you! Watch me dance!’ She danced very prettily, but the Man went on writing, and never looked at her once. So Spring, being young, burst into tears, and told her sister, Summer.
Summer said to herself: ‘Spring is very foolish to cry. Probably he does not like dancing. I will sing to him.’ She sang a beautiful sleepy song to him, but he never listened, being busy writing in his little note-book. Summer was indignant, and told her sister, Autumn.
Autumn said: ‘There are many good men who do not like dancing. I will give him some of my wine.’ So she went to the Man and offered him her purple wine, but he merely said, ‘I do not drink wine,’ and resumed his writing. Then Autumn was very angry indeed, and told her big brother, Winter, all that had passed.
Winter was an enormous fellow, with a dreadful roar and howl, and every time he moved, snowflakes came whirling from his flowing robes. ‘Show me the fellow,’ he bellowed, puffing out his cheeks. Then he saw the Man who thought about Proteids, still sitting by the roadside.
‘Do you know me?’ roared Winter, and the Man looked and his teeth chattered like dead men’s bones.
Then Winter seized him by the neck and whirled him round and round, and finally flung him over his left shoulder into space.
And the Man who thought about Proteids has not been seen since, but, the other day, a boy found the little note-book lying by the roadside.
At the ‘red Lion,’ Rample Street
Rather late one Saturday evening, Bacchus walked into the ‘Red Lion Inn,’ at the corner of Rample Street. He said nothing, but looked at the landlord, who, on his part, was trying to discover the ‘company’ (meaning rank or station) of the new customer; so that he should know whether to open the door of the Private Bar or Best Room, or wave his hand in the direction of the Taproom: this is the great problem and test for all inn-keepers in England.
The landlord was still puzzling his brains, when the god spoke in a rich, mellow voice: ‘Happy mortal, let us drink and sing together, and talk of the laughing glories of the world. See! I will garland thy brow with leaves of vine.’ And he stepped forward.
The landlord recoiled hastily. ‘No you don’t,’ he snarled, ‘you get nothing ’ere. Outside.’
The god did not move, so the landlord grew angry and cried: ‘Outside I say! ’Ere Bill! Jack! Throw ’im out!’
Bacchus, taken by surprise, was immediately flung through the swing doors, landing at the feet of a policeman outside.
On Monday, the god was fined many shillings for being drunk and disorderly, but fortunately no one in the police-court recognised him, for that morning he was dressed in an old suit and wore a cloth cap and red scarf, so that he looked like one of those men who shave only on Saturday afternoons.
THE DANGER OF ACCEPTING GIFTS WHILE HOLDING MUNICIPAL OFFICE
A poet, wishing to remove from Shotterden to Camden Town, found himself sadly encumbered with dreams and decided to give them away before he left.
He started with the little cripple girl next door, to whom he gave two splendid dreams of laughing gardens, and then went all round Shotterden (it is not a very large town) giving away his dreams.
When he returned to his lodging, he found he had one dream left, so he went to the policeman who always stood at the corner of the street, and said: ‘I cannot understand it. I have one dream left, yet I think I have given one to every person in the town, and to some I have given two.’
‘There is the Mayor--’ replied the policeman, doubtfully.
‘The very man! I had forgotten him!’ cried the Poet, and ran off to find the Mayor.
The Mayor accepted the gift very reluctantly, and tried to get rid of it, but it clung to him persistently, as dreams do. It was a good dream, a dream of the white neck of a queen who died four thousand years ago, but the Mayor did not want it.
As time went on, it weighed upon him more and more, and when he should have been attending to Municipal Affairs or Opening a Bazaar, he found his mind wandering, and he was for ever brooding on the dead queen.
Until one day, when the Council was discussing a new Byelaw to prevent Children from playing in the Public Parks, he was asked to speak, and, full of the dream, he burst into song, to the great astonishment of all present. He was then asked to resign, which he did.
And now, hardly anyone ever calls or even leaves a card.
THE HUMILIATING EXPERIENCE OF A FORGOTTEN GOD
The great Babylonian god, Marduk, revisiting the earth in the guise of a young man, fell in love with a girl in the silk Department of the Universal Stores. Her name was Lena.
‘O moon-faced one! O white flower of the world! I adore thee,’ Marduk whispered. ‘Thou hast the look of Sarpanitum, the leopard-eyed goddess, in days of old when the stars were young and kind!’
‘Well, well,’ cried Lena, ‘what will you do to please me?’
‘I will rebuild Babylon in an hour for thee,’ shouted the god, and away he sped to the great, silent plain, where he laboured mightily. In a short space of time he returned and wafted her away to the scene of his labouring.
‘Look, look,’ he cried, and waved his hand. And there was Babylon, the mighty city of splendour and dream, shimmering and glittering, the wonder of the world. There were the great gates, the towering palaces, the hanging gardens, as of old.
‘Well?’ and Marduk turned to her eagerly when she had gazed her fill, and wiped his forehead, for even he sweated from his vast labours.
Lena looked at him: ‘Yes, it’s very nice,’ she said.
HOW THE RATIONAL AMUSEMENTS OF THE GREAT ARE LIMITED
Before your time, two Mummers and a Unitarian were seated in a tavern playing cards, when a long, sallow-faced man, dressed in black, joined them and asked if he might have a game.
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