My Uncle James, whose memoirs I am now preparing for publication, was a
many-sided man; but his chief characteristic, I am inclined to think, was
the indomitable resolution with which, disregarding hints, entreaties and
even direct abuse, he would lie in bed of a morning. I have seen the
domestic staff of his hostess day after day manoeuvring restlessly in the
passage outside his room, doing all those things which women do who wish to
rout a man out of bed without moving Uncle James an inch. Footsteps might
patter outside his door; voices might call one to the other; knuckles might
rap the panels; relays of shaving-water might be dumped on his wash-stand;
but devil a bit would Uncle James budge, till finally the enemy, giving in,
would bring him his breakfast in bed. Then, after a leisurely cigar, he
would at last rise and, having dressed himself with care, come downstairs
and be the ray of sunshine about the home.
For many years I was accustomed to look on Uncle James as a mere sluggard.
I pictured ants raising their antennae scornfully at the sight of him. I
was to learn that not sloth but a deep purpose dictated his movements, or
his lack of movement.
"My boy," said Uncle James, "more evil is wrought by early rising than by
want of thought. Happy homes are broken up by it. Why do men leave charming
wives and run away with quite unattractive adventuresses? Because good
women always get up early. Bad women, on the other hand, invariably rise
late. To prize a man out of bed at some absurd hour like nine-thirty is to
court disaster. To take my own case, when I first wake in the morning my
mind is one welter of unkindly thoughts. I think of all the men who owe me
money, and hate them. I review the regiment of women who have refused to
marry me, and loathe them. I meditate on my faithful dog, Ponto, and wish
that I had kicked him overnight. To introduce me to the human race at that
moment would be to let loose a scourge upon society. But what a difference
after I have lain in bed looking at the ceiling for an hour or so. The milk
of human kindness comes surging back into me like a tidal wave. I love my
species. Give me a bit of breakfast then, and let me enjoy a quiet
meditative smoke, and I am a pleasure to all with whom I come in contact."
He settled himself more comfortably upon the pillows and listened
luxuriously for a moment to the sound of rushing housemaids in the passage.
"Late rising saved my life once," he said. "Pass me my tobacco pouch."
He lit his pipe and expelled a cloud of smoke.
"It was when I was in South America. There was the usual revolution in the
Republic which I had visited in my search for concessions, and, after due
consideration, I threw in my lot with the revolutionary party. It is
usually a sound move, for on these occasions the revolutionists have
generally corrupted the standing army, and they win before the other side
has time to re-corrupt it at a higher figure. In South America, thrice
armed is he who has his quarrel just, but six times he who gets his bribe
in fust. On the occasion of which I speak, however, a hitch was caused by
the fact of another party revolting against the revolutionists while they
were revolting against the revolutionary party which had just upset the
existing Government. Everything is very complicated in those parts. You
will remember that the Tango came from there.
"Well, the long and the short of it was that I was captured and condemned
to be shot. I need not go into my emotions at the time. Suffice it to say
that I was led out and placed with my back against an adobe wall. The
firing-party raised their rifles.
"It was a glorious morning. The sun was high in a cloudless sky. Everywhere
sounded the gay rattle of the rattle-snake and the mellow chirrup of the
hydrophobia-skunk and the gila monster. It vexed me to think that I was so
soon to leave so peaceful a scene.
"And then suddenly it flashed upon me that there had been a serious
mistake.
"'Wait!' I called.
"'What's the matter now?' asked the leader of the firing squad.
"'Matter?' I said. 'Look at the sun. The court-martial distinctly said that
I was to be shot at sunrise. Do you call this sunrise? It must be nearly
lunch-time.'
"'It's not our fault,' said the firing-party. 'We came to your cell all
right, but you wouldn't get up. You told us to leave it on the mat.'
"I did remember then having heard someone fussing about outside my cell
door.
"'That's neither here nor there,' I said firmly. 'It was your business to
shoot me at sunrise, and you haven't done it. I claim a re-trial on a
technicality.'
"Well, they stormed and blustered, but I was adamant; and in the end they
had to take me back to my cell to be tried again. I was condemned to be
shot at sunrise next morning, and they went to the trouble of giving me an
alarm clock and setting it for 3 A.M.
"But at about eleven o'clock that night there was another revolution. Some
revolutionaries revolted against the revolutionaries who had revolted
against the revolutionaries who had revolted against the Government, and,
having re-re-corrupted the standing army, they swept all before them, and
at about midnight I was set free. I recall that the new President kissed me
on both cheeks and called me the saviour of his country. Poor fellow, there
was another revolution next day, and, being a confirmed early riser, he got
up in time to be shot at sunrise."
Uncle James sighed, possibly with regret, but more probably with happiness,
for at this moment they brought in his breakfast.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Pavement Artist_ (_who has not yet recovered the nerve
which he lost on hearing of the attack upon the VELASQUEZ Venus_). "PASS
ALONG THEM COVERS, GEORGE--THE SUFFRAGETTES IS COMING."]
* * * * *
"It would be amusing, if it were not athletic, to read that this
satirist who ridiculed sentiment made himself ridiculous by falling
violently in love with a young girl of eighteen."
_Winnipeg Telegram._
He who runs may read--but apparently he mustn't be amused.
* * * * *
"It is known the play is in three acts and nine scenes, and that there
is an exceptionally long cast, but beyond that the strictest scenery
is being preserved."--_Birmingham Daily Mail._
Which will be good news for Mr. GORDON CRAIG.
* * * * *