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'Charge It': Keeping Up With Harry, a fiction by Irving Bacheller |
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Chapter 5. In Which Socrates Discusses The Over-Production Of Talk |
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_ CHAPTER V. IN WHICH SOCRATES DISCUSSES THE OVER-PRODUCTION OF TALK "Marie was my ward, and as pretty a girl as ever led a bulldog or ate a box of chocolates at a sitting. She was a charming fish-hook, baited with beauty and wealth and culture and remarkable innocence. She had dangled about on mama's rod and line for a year or so, but the fish wouldn't bite. For that reason I grabbed the rod from the old lady and put on a bait of silence and a sinker, and moved to deep water and began to do business. "Marie had a failing, for which, I am sorry to say, she was in no way distinguished. She talked too much, as Harry had said. There are too many American women who talk too much. Marie's mother used to talk about six-thirds of the time. You had to hear it, and then you had to get over it. She had a way of spiking the shoes of Time so that every hour felt like a month while it was running over you. You ought to have seen her climb the family tree or the sturdy old chestnut of her own experience and shake down the fruit! Marie had one more tree in her orchard. She had added the spreading peach of a liberal education to the deadly upas of Benson genealogy and the sturdy old chestnut of mama's experience. The vox Bensonorum was as familiar as the Congregational bell. The supply of it exceeded the demand, and after every one was loaded and ready to cast off, the barrels came rolling down the chute. "The next time I saw Marie she was a bit cast down. She wished me to suggest something for her to do. Said she wanted a mission--a chance to do some good in the world. Thought she'd enjoy being a nurse. I felt sorry for the girl, and suddenly I saw the flicker of a brilliant thought. "'Marie,' I said, 'as a member of The Society of Useful Women you are under a serious obligation, and you have taste for missionary work. Well, what's the matter with beginning on Nancy Doolittle? You owe her a duty and ought to have the courage--nay, the kindness--to perform it. Nancy talks too much.' "'Well, I should say so,' said Marie. 'Nancy is a scourge--I have often thought of it.' "'She's downright wasteful,' I went on. 'She fills every hour with information, and then throws on some more. It keeps coming. Your seams open, and then it's every hand to the pumps! Dora Perkins and Rebecca Ford are just as extravagant. They toss out gems of thought and chunks of knowledge as if they were as common as caramels. "'You should go to these girls and kindly but firmly remind them of this fault. Tell them that too much conversation has created more old maids and grass and parlor widows than any other cause. Give them a little lecture on the old law of supply and demand. Show them that it applies to conversation as well as to cabbages--that if one's talk is too plentiful, it becomes very cheap. Suggest that if Methuselah had lived until now and witnessed all the adventures of the human race, he couldn't afford to waste his knowledge. If he talked only half the time nobody would believe him. They'd think he was crazy, and they'd know why, in past ages, everybody had died but him, and they'd wonder how he had managed to survive the invention of gunpowder. These girls have overestimated the value of good-will. Their securities are not well secured. There are millions of watered stock in their treasuries, and it isn't worth five cents on the dollar. Marie, you can have a lot of fun. I almost envy you. "'Tell these girls that the remedy is simple. They must be careful to regulate the supply to the demand. They could easily raise the price above par by denying now and then that they have any conversation in the treasury.' "Marie promised to undertake this important work, and I knew that in connection with it she would also get some valuable advice. "You see, this tendency to extravagant display has sunk in very deep. Our young people really do know a lot, and they want others to know that they know it. They are plumed with culture, and it has become a charge instead of a credit. "Well, things began to mend. Betsey and I went to dine with the Bensons one evening, and Marie was as quiet as a lamb. She answered modestly when we spoke to her. She told no stories; her jeweled crown of culture was not in sight; she listened with notable success, and delighted us with well-managed and illuminating silence. Neither she nor her mother nor Mrs. Bryson ventured to interrupt the talk of a noted professor who dined with us. Marie was charming. "After dinner she led me into the library, where we sat down together. "She seemed a little embarrassed, and presently said, with a laugh, 'I had a talk with those girls, as you suggested.' "'What did they say?' I asked. "'What didn't they say?' she exclaimed. 'They flew at me like wildcats. They tore me to pieces--said I was the most dreaded talker in Pointview, that I had talked a steady stream ever since I was born, that nobody had a chance to get in a word with me, that I had made all the boys sick who ever came to see me. What do you think of that?' [Illustration: "WHAT DIDN'T THEY SAY? THEY FLEW AT ME LIKE WILDCATS."] "'It's a gross exaggeration!' I said. "'Well, I thought it over, and made up my mind they were right,' she went on. 'We kissed and made up and organized the Listeners' Circle, and mama and Mrs. Bryson and Mrs. Doolittle have joined. Our purpose is to regulate our talk supply very strictly to the demand.' "'It's a grand idea!' I exclaimed. 'The Ladies' Talk and Information Trust! Why, it will soon control the entire product of Pointview, and can fix the price. Marie, it's only a matter of time when the conversation of you girls is going to be in the nature of a luxury and as much desired as diamonds. It won't be long before some young fellow will offer his life for one word from you.' "'Oh, I'm hopeless! Nobody cares for me--not a soul!' said Marie. "'Wait and give 'em a chance,' I answered. "'Do you think it's true that I've been such a pestilence?' she asked, as her fingers toyed with the upholstery. 'You know you've been a kind of father to me, and I want you to tell me frankly if I've really made the boys sick.' "'Why, my dear child, if I were a young man I'd be kneeling at your feet,' I said; and no wonder, for they were a beautiful pair of feet, and none ever supported a nobler girl. Then I went on: 'Marie, your talk is charming. The demand continues. I feel honored by your confidence. Please go on.' "'I believe I've been foolish without knowing it,' she said, her smile beautiful with its sadness. "'My dear child, if there were no folly in the world it would be a stupid place, and I for one should want to move,' I said. 'Some never discover their own follies, and they are hopeless. You are as wise as you are dear. It's in your power to do a lot of good. Think what you've already accomplished. I wish you would continue to help us discourage foolish display in America. "'Are there any more chestnuts in the fire?' she asked, with a laugh. 'Not that I'm afraid. I suppose the fire is good for me.' "'Marie, I love your fingers too well to burn them unduly,' I said. 'By the way, I expect that Harry Delance will be wanting to marry you soon.' "'Harry!' she exclaimed. 'I talked him to death--and out of the notion--long ago, and I'm not sorry. He isn't my kind.' "'Harry's a good fellow,' I insisted. "'But he's so dreadfully nice--such a hopeless aristocrat! Grandfather would have a fit. I want a big, full-blooded, brawny chap, who isn't a slave to his coat and trousers--the kind of man you've talked so much about--one who could get his hands dirty and be a gentleman. I'm longing for the outdoor life--and the outdoor man to live it with me.' "'Give Harry a chance--his uneducation had only just begun,' I urged. "I left Marie with a rather serious look in her face, and began to wonder how I should accomplish the uneducation of Harry. "That young man came to see me, in a day or two, at our home. My new set of Smollett lay on the piano, and he greatly admired it. Above all things Harry loved books, and his specialty was Smollett; he had read every tale in the series, at college, and made a mark with his thesis on 'The Fathers of English Fiction.' He spent an hour of delight with those books of mine. Then he said to me: "'Only fifty copies printed?' "'Only fifty,' I said. "'Could I get a set?' "'All sold,' I assured him, 'but I shall be glad to give these books to you on two conditions.' "He turned in astonishment. "'They can do you no further harm, and my first request is that you do not lend them. My second is that you take them home in my wheelbarrow by daylight with your own hands.' "He silently demurred. "'At last those books have a chance to do some little good in the world, and I don't want them to lose it,' I urged. 'The hands, feet, and legs of the high and low born are slowly being deprived of their rights in this community. Pride is robbing them of their ancient and proper offices. How many of the young men and women of our acquaintance would be seen on the street with a package in their hands, to say nothing of a wheelbarrow? Their souls are above it!' "'Why should they carry packages and roll wheelbarrows?' Harry asked. 'Stores deliver goods these days.' "'That's one reason why it costs so much to live. We have to pay for our pride and our indolence and the delivery of the goods. It's all charged in the bill. Some member of the family used to go to market every morning with his basket and carry the goods home with him.' "'It would be ridiculous for me to do that,' said Harry. 'We're able to pay the bills.' "'But you're doing a great injustice to those who are not. You make the delivery system a necessary thing, and those who can't afford it have to help you stand the expense--a gross injustice. I want you to help me in this cause of the hand and foot. Your example would be full of inspiration. Excuse me a moment.' "I went for the wheelbarrow and rolled it up to the front door. Then we brought out the books and loaded them. That done, I seized the handles of the barrow. "'Come on,' I said. 'I'll do the work--you share the disgrace with me.' "My gray hairs were too much for him. "'No; give me the handles,' he insisted. 'If it won't hurt you, it won't hurt me--that's sure.' "So, in his silk hat and frock-coat and spats, with a carnation in his buttonhole, he seized the wheelbarrow like a man, and away we went. I steered him up the Main Street, and people began to hail us with laughter from automobiles, and to jest with us on the sidewalk, and Marie came along with two other pretty girls, and the barrow halted in a gale of merriment. "'What in the world are you doing?' one of them asked. "'It's the remains of the late Mr. Smollett,' I explained. "'I'm setting an example to the young,' said Harry, as he mopped his forehead. 'Couldn't help it. I had to do this thing.' "'Great!' Marie exclaimed. 'Simply great! I'm going to get me a wheelbarrow.' "She would take hold of the handles and try it, and went on half a block in spite of our protests, creating much excitement. "That was the first rude beginning of The Basket and Wheelbarrow Brigade in Pointview, of which I shall tell you later. And now I shall explain my generosity--it can generally be explained--and how I came by the Smollett." _ |
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