_THE_ FABLE _OF_ HOW _THE_ FOOL-KILLER BACKED OUT _OF A_ CONTRACT
The Fool-Killer came along the Pike Road one Day and stopped to look at
a Strange Sight.
Inside of a Barricade were several Thousands of Men, Women and Children.
They were moving restlessly among the trampled Weeds, which were clotted
with Watermelon Rinds, Chicken Bones, Straw and torn Paper Bags.
It was a very hot Day. The People could not sit down. They shuffled
Wearily and were pop-eyed with Lassitude and Discouragement.
A stifling Dust enveloped them. They Gasped and Sniffled. Some tried to
alleviate their Sufferings by gulping down a Pink Beverage made of
Drug-Store Acid, which fed the Fires of Thirst.
Thus they wove and interwove in the smoky Oven. The Whimper or the
faltering Wail of Children, the quavering Sigh of overlaced Women, and
the long-drawn Profanity of Men--these were what the Fool-Killer heard
as he looked upon the Suffering Throng.
"Is this a new Wrinkle on Dante's Inferno?" he asked of the Man on the
Gate, who wore a green Badge marked "Marshal," and was taking Tickets.
"No, sir; this is a County Fair," was the reply.
[Illustration: THE FOOL-KILLER]
"Why do the People congregate in the Weeds and allow the Sun to warp
them?"
"Because Everybody does it."
"Do they Pay to get in?"
"You know it."
"Can they Escape?"
"They can, but they prefer to Stick."
The Fool-Killer hefted his Club and then looked at the Crowd and shook
his Head doubtfully.
"I can't tackle that Outfit to-day," he said. "It's too big a Job."
So he went on into Town, and singled out a Main Street Merchant who
refused to Advertise.
MORAL: _People who expect to be Luny will find it safer to travel in a
Bunch._
_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ CADDY _WHO_ HURT HIS HEAD WHILE THINKING
One Day a Caddy sat in the Long Grass near the Ninth Hole and wondered
if he had a Soul. His Number was 27, and he almost had forgotten his
Real Name.
As he sat and Meditated, two Players passed him. They were going the
Long Round, and the Frenzy was upon them.
They followed the Gutta Percha Balls with the intent swiftness of
trained Bird Dogs, and each talked feverishly of Brassy Lies, and
getting past the Bunker, and Lofting to the Green, and Slicing into the
Bramble--each telling his own Game to the Ambient Air, and ignoring what
the other Fellow had to say.
As they did the St. Andrews Full Swing for eighty Yards apiece and then
Followed Through with the usual Explanations of how it Happened, the
Caddy looked at them and Reflected that they were much inferior to his
Father.
His Father was too Serious a Man to get out in Mardi Gras Clothes and
hammer a Ball from one Red Flag to another.
His Father worked in a Lumber Yard.
He was an Earnest Citizen, who seldom Smiled, and he knew all about the
Silver Question and how J. Pierpont Morgan done up a Free People on the
Bond Issue.
[Illustration: MEDITATIVE CADDY]
The Caddy wondered why it was that his Father, a really Great Man, had
to shove Lumber all day and could seldom get one Dollar to rub against
another, while these superficial Johnnies who played Golf all the Time
had Money to Throw at the Birds. The more he Thought the more his Head
ached.