"Whaddyer think of Chicago?"
It had happened that every visit I had made to Chicago for several years
had shown that city almost completely hidden beneath a pall of sooty
cloud and lake fog; so I answered him accordingly.
"Why, I like Chicago very much," said I, "very much indeed; but there is
room for improvement here, of course. For instance, Chicago is dark, and
gloomy, and cold. Now over in New York," I added, "we have a little
round, yellow ball that is hauled up into the sky out of the wilds of
Long Island every morning, and it is so arranged that it moves in a
perfect semicircle through the sky at the rate of about sixty seconds a
minute. It is a wonderful invention. It sheds light on everything, on
everybody, and sort of warms things up for us, and unlike most things in
New York it doesn't cost anybody a cent. Best of all, when the day is
over, and we want things darkened up a bit so that we can go to sleep,
the little ball sinks out of sight over on the western side of the
city."
"Aw go wan!" he put in. "I know what you mean--you mean the sun."
"Yes," said I; "that's just what we call it. You've evidently heard of
it before--but why don't you have something of the kind out here?"
His reply was a mixture of a snort and a sniff.
I then went on my journey into Iowa, and at the end of about ten days
was back in Chicago once more, and in need of further renovation I again
sought the assistance of my tonsorial friend. After a cordial greeting
he said:
"Say--I told my wife how I'd fixed you up the other day, and _she'd
heard of you before_. You wrote a book called 'Tea and Coffee' once,
didn't cha?"
"Something like that," I replied. "It was called 'Coffee and
Repartee.'"
"Well, anyhow, whatever the thing was called, she'd read it," said the
barber.
"I have met two other people who have done the same thing and lived; so
don't worry," I observed.
"Whaddyer suppose she ast me?" he queried.
"I give it up," said I. "What?"
"She ast me," said he, "was you so very comical, and I told her no, _he
ain't so damned comical, but he's a hell of a kidder_!"
I may be wrong, but it has ever since seemed to me that there was a
particularly nice distinction involved in this spontaneous estimate of
my character, and it may be that a great many of our American humorists,
so called, would be more aptly described as _kidders_. Our guying
propensities, and the tongue-in-the-cheek style of humor so prevalent
to-day, suggest the thought anyhow that the term _kidder_ is more
discriminating than that of _humorist_, as signifying the qualities of a
Cervantes, a Rabelais, a Swift, or a Mark Twain.
It was in a South Carolina barber shop that the second nicety came
unexpectedly upon me. I had looked for a certain quaint philosophy and
humor among the negroes of the South, and must confess to considerable
disappointment in not finding much of it. The picturesque article in
the African line that has so delighted us in the fiction of our masters
of the pen from the South seems either to have vanished completely from
the face of the earth or to be a trifle shy in the revelation of itself
to outsiders. At any rate I found little of it in my wanderings in that
territory; although a somewhat disagreeable amount of self-conscious
quaintness, "for revenue only," was not wanting among negroes
encountered.
[Illustration: "She ast me was you so very comical," said he.]
But this white barber, an anemic little man, whose lazy drawl and
languid manner bespoke anything but independence of spirit, and in whose
presence I instinctively thought of the term "white trash," gave me in
full measure what I had looked for in the sons of Ham. After sitting in
his chair for a few minutes I mentioned casually that South Carolina
had a "fine Governor," referring to an individual named Blease, who at
that time, occupied the high seat at Columbia, and of whose gyroscopic
talents I had yet to find a South Carolinian of standing who was proud.
"I ain't got no use fo' _Mistuh_ Blease, suh," the man replied, stroking
his razor up and down the strop with a vigor entirely out of keeping
with his presumed character. If I had been a blind man, I should have
felt sure he was a negro, such was his accent.
"I am sorry to hear that," said I. "It would be pleasant to find
somebody in the State who has some use for him; but so far it all seems
to be the other way."
"No, suh, I ain't got no use fo' him, suh," continued the barber. "I
don't like his kind, suh. I have shaved _Mistuh_ Blease many a time,
suh, an' when he was runnin' fo' Governah he came in hyere most every
day, suh. One mornin' I says to him, 'Mistuh Blease,' says I, 'you'd
ought to be a mighty proud man, suh, runnin' fo' Governah of South
Cyarolina, suh, an' sure to git it. That's an honah, suh,' I says, 'fo'
yo' and yo' children and yo' children's children to be proud of.' And
what do you suppose he answered, suh? 'To Blank with the honah!' says
he. 'What the blank do yo' suppose I caiah fo' the honah?'
"_And I've nuvver give him the honah, suh; no, suh._ _Mis_-tuh Blease
done got elected, and I've shaved him twenty times since, suh; _but he's
nuvver had the honah from me, suh. I've nuvver called him Governah yit,
suh; but it's been Mistuh Blease every time, suh!_"
It was when I was recovering from this loyal assertion of the little
man's respect for the Commonwealth of his birth that the stillness of
the shop was broken by the excited voice of a tall, lantern-jawed
individual with a distinct type of accent, who came rushing in from the
street.
"Anybody round hyah knows what it costs to beat up a niggah in this hyah
State?" he cried.
I gasped, and the barber paused languidly in his ministrations, holding
his razor poised like the sword of Damocles over my head, while he
reflected.
"Why," said he, "I dunno aigsactly; but the las' time the co'hts decided
the question I think it was ten dollahs, suh."
"All right," said the intruder, starting to the door. "If it don't come
to no moh'n ten dollahs, I'll do it. Up home in Ferginia, where I come
from, it never costs moh'n five; but I'm willin' to go as high as
fifteen. A coon down hyah at my bohdin' house done give my wife some
back talk this mornin', _an if it don't cost moh'n fifteen dollahs I'm
gwine to throw the critter outen de winder_!"
X