‘Thomas’—for he was one of those cats that you would no more have called
‘Tom’ than you would call Mr. Gladstone ‘Bill’—‘Thomas,’ I said, ‘I want
you to come with me to Miss Susan’s and tell that Maltese beast that if
she doesn’t quit her practice of swearing at me whenever I come into the
room it will be the worse for her.’
“‘That’s easy enough,’ said Thomas. ‘I know one or two little things
about that cat that would not do to be told, and she knows that I know
them. Never you fear but that I can shut her up in a moment. I heard
that she was going about bragging that she would get square with you
for something you said to her one day, but I didn’t feel called upon to
interfere without your express approval.’”
“The next day Thomas and I strolled over to Susan’s, and, as luck
would have it, we were shown into her reception-room before she came
downstairs. The Maltese cat was in the room, and began her usual game
of being filled with horror at the sight of such a hardened wretch as
myself. Of course, Thomas Aquinas took it up at once, and the two had
a pretty hot argument. Now Thomas, in spite of his colossal mind, was
a quick-tempered cat, and he was remarkably free-spoken when he was
roused. One word led to another, and presently the Maltese flew at
Thomas, and for about two minutes that room was so thick with fur that
you could hardly see the fight. Of course, there could have been only one
end to the affair. My cat weighed twice what the Maltese weighed, and
after a few rounds he had her by the neck, and never let go until he had
killed her. I was just saying ‘Hooray! Thomas!’ when Susan came into the
room.
“I pass over what she said. Its general sense was that a man who
encouraged dumb animals to fight, and who brought a great savage brute
into her house to kill her sweet little pussy in her own parlor, wasn’t
fit to live. She would listen to no explanations, and when I said that
Thomas had called at my request to reason with the Maltese about her
unkind conduct toward me, Susan said that my attempt to turn an infamous
outrage into a stupid joke made the matter all the worse, and that she
must insist that I and my prize-fighting beast should leave her house at
once and never enter it again.
“So you see that if it had not been that I understood what the Maltese
cat said at Martha Washington’s milk party, I should probably never have
quarrelled with either Susan or her cat, and should now have been a
missionary in Central Africa, if I hadn’t blown my brains out or taken
to drink. I have often thought that the man Susan did marry might have
been saved if he had known the cat language in time and had made the
acquaintance of the Maltese.”
The Colonel paused, and presently I asked him if he really expected us to
believe his story.
“Why not?” he replied. “It isn’t any stiffer than Darwin’s yarn about our
being descended from monkeys. You believe that on the word of a man you
never saw, and I expect you to believe my story that I understand the cat
language on my unsupported word. Perhaps the story is a little tough,
but if you are going in for science you shouldn’t let your credulity be
backed down by any story.”
SILVER-PLATED.
The _Etruria_ was nearing New York, and the prospect of the inevitable
interview with the custom-house officers had already cast a gloom over
the passengers. For the most part they were silent, and their faces wore
an anxious and solemn expression. The Rev. Mr. Waterman, of the Eighth
Day Baptist Church, who had bought largely of ready-made clothing in
London, even suggested that it might be well to hold a prayer-meeting in
the saloon.
A group of half a dozen men were sitting in the lee of one of the
deck-houses, smoking silently, when one of the number, a young and
sanguine person, suddenly exclaimed:
“I don’t believe any honest man ever has any trouble with the
custom-house. It’s the fellows who want to defraud the Government who
make all the complaints.”
“What you say may be patriotism and it may be ignorance——”
“What’s the difference?” murmured a cynical interrupter.
“But,” continued the speaker, “it isn’t true. I never tried to defraud
the Government, but for all that I’ve had more trouble with the
custom-house than if I’d been an honest collector of the port trying not
to mix up politics with the business of the office.”
“America expects every man to pay his duty, Colonel,” replied the
sanguine young man, with a vague reminiscence of Nelson. “Tell us about
your trouble, and I rather think you’ll have to admit that it was because
you didn’t want to pay duty on something.”
The Colonel was generally understood by the rest of the passengers to
be a sort of theatrical manager, a position which in the United States
entitles a man to the relative rank of colonel in the militia and
commodore in the canal-boat service. He had on several occasions shown a
knowledge of music and of professional musicians which had won for him
some respect among those of his fellow-passengers who did not know the
difference between a hurdy-gurdy and a hautboy, and were therefore fond
of posing as musical critics. He was a shrewd, good-tempered colonel, and
the barkeeper said that he was the most elegant, high-toned gentleman he
had ever crossed with.
“Electricity, gentlemen,” resumed the Colonel, “is the biggest thing of
the century, but it has its drawbacks. Did any of you ever happen to ride
on that electric railroad in Berlin? Well, I have, and ’most anybody who
goes to Berlin is liable to ride on it. It taught me, however, that a man
ought to be pretty careful when he trusts himself in an electric car.
“It happened in this way. I was an agent in the general show business,
and was collecting an opera company for a friend of mine who was going
to open in Chicago. I had come across a first-class tenor—found him in a
country church choir in Germany—and was bringing him home with me under
a contract, when he and I took that ride on that Berlin electric road.
He was a careless sort of chap, and he sat down in a corner of the car
where the electricity had been leaking and the seat was pretty wet.”
“I never knew before,” remarked the young man, “that electricity could
make a seat wet.”
“Probably not,” retorted the Colonel. “I should judge that there might
be a right smart lot of things that you mightn’t know. Most of these
gentlemen here, however, have probably heard that nowadays electricity
is put up for use in bottles and metallic cans. It stands to reason that
anything capable of being put into a bottle is capable of leaking, and
wetting whatever it leaks on. If there is anybody here who knows more
about bottles than I do, I’m ready to let him tell this story.
“As I was saying, my man sat down in a sort of pool of electric fluid,
and sat there for about half an hour. He was wearing in the fob-pocket
of his trousers a cheap silver watch. I had given it to him so that he
might get some exercise and prevent himself from getting too fat. He
never suspected my motive, but he tired himself all out winding it up
for two hours every night. Now you may not believe it, but I give you
my word that the electricity completely dissolved that watch-case and
deposited the silver around the man’s waist. He didn’t find it out till
night, and you never saw a man so scared as when he found that there was
a band about four inches wide silver-plated all round his waist. The
doctor told him that the only possible way of getting it off would be to
dissolve it with acid, but that the acid would eat clean through to his
spine and injure his voice. So my tenor had to let bad enough alone, and
be satisfied with another ten-and-sixpenny gymnasium that I gave him to
mollify his feelings.
“We came over on the _Arizona_, and it got around during the passage that
my man was silver-plated. There was a custom-house spy on board, and it
happened that after the tenor had sworn that he had nothing dutiable with
him, the inspector ordered him to strip and be personally examined. Of
course when this was done it was discovered that he was silver-plated,
and he was held for duty under the general heading in the tariff of
‘all other articles, silver-plated, or in whole, and not elsewhere
enumerated,’ and taxed fifty per cent _ad valorem_ and fined two hundred
and fifty dollars for failing to declare that he was plated. He couldn’t
pay and I wouldn’t pay, and so he was locked up in a bonded warehouse,
and I went to consult my lawyer.
“I laid all the facts before him, and told him I would pay him handsomely
if he could get my man out of the custom-house without paying either
duty or fine. Now, the lawyer knew the tariff from beginning to end, and
if any man could help me I knew he could. He didn’t promise anything at
first, but he discussed the question by and large and in all its bearings.
“‘I’m afraid,’ said he, ‘that there is no hope of getting your friend out
without paying duty, but we may succeed in having him classified so as to
make the duty very low. For instance, you say the man is a professional
singer. Now, we might have him classed as a musical instrument and taxed
forty-five per cent _ad valorem_. By the bye, what did you agree to pay
him?’
“‘I agreed to pay him,’ says I, ‘a hundred dollars per week.’
“‘That’s bad,’ says the lawyer. ‘A hundred dollars a week is fifty-two
hundred per year, which is about the interest at six per cent on
eighty-seven thousand dollars. You wouldn’t like to pay forty-three or
four thousand dollars duty on him.’
“‘I’d see him sent to Congress first!’ says I.
“‘Very well,’ says the lawyer. ‘Then perhaps we could classify him as
machinery or parts thereof. But you wouldn’t save much in that way. You’d
have to pay forty per cent _ad valorem_, and very likely the appraisers
would say that you had undervalued the man, and would value him at double
what your contract seems to say he is worth. They’re bound to protect
American machinery against the pauper labor of Europe every time.’
“‘How would it do to classify him as old family plate?’ said I.
“‘Worse and worse,’ said the lawyer. ‘He’d have to pay sixty per cent,
and you’d have a good deal of difficulty in proving that he is old
family plate. Of course it could be done, but it would probably cost you
more than the whole amount of the duty. They’re a perfectly honest set of
men, the appraisers, and they naturally come high.’
“‘What will I do, then?’ said I; ‘let him die in the custom-house and
then sue for damages?’
“‘There might be something worth while done in that way,’ says the
lawyer, ‘but it would be middling hard on the man. But I’ll tell you what
we can do. Didn’t you say that the man was singing in a church choir when
you hired him?’
“‘I did so,’ says I.
“‘All right,’ says the lawyer. ‘We’ll classify him as an “article used
in the service of religion,” and get him in free of any duty whatever.
You go and get him an engagement in a church without an hour’s delay, and
then come to me. We’ll beat the custom-house this time, sure enough.’
“I got the man an engagement to sing for a week in a Methodist
meeting-house, and before the week was out he was decided to be an
article used in the service of religion, and was returned to me free of
duty, and cursing the head off of every officer in the revenue service.
The end of it was that my tenor claimed that I had broken my contract by
setting him to sing in a church, and he sued me for damages, and got them
too. So you see, my young friend, that a man may have trouble with the
custom-house who does not want to defraud the Government out of anything,
not even the duty on that sealskin sack that I hear you have taken apart
and packed in a spare pair of boots.”
THE END.