A TRY-OUT FOR TOODLEISM
Eh? Yes, maybe I do walk a little stiff jointed; but, say, I'm satisfied
to be walkin' around at all. If I hadn't had my luck with me the other
day, I'd be wearin' that left leg in splints and bein' pushed around in a
wheel chair. As it is, the meat is only a little sore, and a few more
alcohol rubs will put it in shape.
What was it come so near gettin' me on the disabled list? Toodleism! No,
I expect you didn't; but let me put you next, son: there's more 'isms and
'pathys and 'ists floatin' around these days, than any one head can keep
track of. I don't know much about the lot; but this Toodleism's a punk
proposition. Besides leavin' me with a game prop, it come near bu'stin'
up the fam'ly.
Seems like trouble was lookin' for me last week, anyway. First off, I has
a run of old timers, that panhandles me out of all the loose coin I has
in my clothes. You know how they'll come in streaks that way, sometimes?
Why, I was thinkin' of havin' 'em form a line, one while. Then along
about Thursday one of my back fletchers develops a case of jumps. What's
a fletcher? Why, a steak grinder, and this one has a ripe spot in it.
Course, it's me for the nickel plated plush chair, with the footrest and
runnin' water attached; and after the tooth doctor has explored my jaw
with a rock drill and a few other cute little tools, he says he'll kill
the nerve.
"Don't, Doc.!" says I. "That nerve's always been a friend of mine until
lately. Wouldn't dopin' it do?"
He says it wouldn't, that nothin' less'n capital punishment would reform
a nerve like that; so I tells him to blaze away. No use goin' into
details. Guess you've been there.
"Say, Doc.," says I once when he was fittin' a fresh auger into the
machine, "you ain't mistakin' me for the guilty party, are you?"
"Did I hurt?" says he.
"You don't call that ticklin', do you?" says I.
But he only grins and goes on with the excavation. After he's blasted out
a hole big enough for a terminal tunnel he jabs in a hunk of cotton
soaked with sulphuric acid, and then tamps down the concrete.
"There!" says he, handin' me a drug store drink flavored with
formaldehyde. "In the course of forty-eight hours or so that nerve will
be as dead as a piece of string. Meantime it may throb at intervals."
That's what it did, too! It dies as hard as a campaign lie. About every
so often, just when I'm forgettin', it wakes up again, takes a fresh
hold, and proceeds to give an imitation of a live wire on an alternatin'
circuit.
"Ahr chee!" says Swifty Joe. "To look at the map of woe you're carryin'
around, you'd think nobody ever had a bum tusk before."
"Nobody ever had this one before," says I, "and the way I look now ain't
chronic, like some faces I know of."
"Ahr chee!" says Swifty, which is his way of bringin' in a minority
report.
The worst of it was, though, I'm billed to show up at Rockywold for a May
party that Sadie and Mrs. Purdy-Pell was pullin' off, and when I lands
there Friday afternoon the jaw sensations was still on the job. I'm
feeling about as cheerful and chatty as a Zoo tiger with ingrowin'
toenails. So, after I've done the polite handshake, and had a word with
Sadie on the fly, I digs out my exercise uniform and makes a sneak down
into their dinky little gym., where there's a first class punchin' bag
that I picked out for Purdy-Pell myself.
You know, I felt like I wanted to hit something, and hit hard. It wa'n't
any idle impulse, either. That tooth was jumpin' so I could almost feel
my heels leave the floor, and I had emotions that it would take more than
language to express proper. So I peels off for it, down to a sleeveless
jersey and a pair of flannel pants, and starts in to drum out the devil's
tattoo on that pigskin bag.
I was so busy relievin' my feelin's that I didn't notice anything float
in the door; but after awhile I looks up and discovers the audience.
She's a young female party that I didn't remember havin' seen before at
any of the Rockywold doin's; but it looks like she's one of the guests,
all right.
Well, I hadn't been introduced, and I couldn't see what she was buttin'
into the gym. for, anyway, so I keeps right on punchin' the bag; thinkin'
that if she was shocked any by my costume she'd either get over it, or
beat it and have a fit.
She's one of the kind you might expect 'most anything from,--one of these
long, limp, loppy, droop eyed fluffs, with terracotta hair, and a
prunes-and-prisms mouth all puckered to say something soulful. She's
wearin' a whackin' big black feather lid with a long plume trailin' down
over one ear, a strawb'ry pink dress cut accordin' to Louis Catorz
designs,--waist band under her armpits, you know,--and nineteen-button
length gloves. Finish that off with a white hen feather boa, have her
hands clasped real shy under her chin, and you've got a picture of what I
sees there in the door. But it was the friendly size-up she was givin'
me, and no mistake. She must have hung up there three or four minutes
too, before she quits, without sayin' a word.
At the end of half an hour I was feelin' some better; but when I'd got
into my tailor made, I didn't have any great enthusiasm for tacklin'
food.
"Guess I'll appoint this a special fast day for mine," says I to Sadie.
"Why, Shorty!" says she. "Whatever is the matter?" And she has no sooner
heard about the touchy tusk than she says, "Oh, pooh! Just say there
isn't any such thing as toothache. Pain, you know, is only a false mental
photograph, an error of the mind, and----"
"Ah, back up, Sadie!" says I. "Do you dream I don't know whether this
jump is in my brain or my jaw? This is no halftone; it's the real
thing."
"Nonsense!" says she. "You come right downstairs and see Dr. Toodle.
He'll fix it in no time."
Seems this Toodle was the one the party had been arranged for, and Sadie
has to hunt him up. It didn't take long to trail him down; for pretty
soon she comes towin' him into the drawin'-room, where I'm camped down on
a sofa, holdin' on with both hands.
"Dr. Toodle," says she, "I want to present Mr. McCabe."
Now, I don't claim any seventh-son powers; but I only has to take one
look at Toodle to guess that he's some sort of a phony article. No
reg'lar pill distributor would wear around that mushy look that he has
on. He's a good sized, wide shouldered duck, with a thick crop of long
hair that just clears his coat collar, and one of these smooth, soft,
sentimental faces the women folks go nutty over,--you know, big nose,
heavy chin, and sagged mouth corners. His get-up is something between a
priest's and an actor's,--frock coat, smooth front black vest, and a
collar buttoned behind. He gurgles out that he's charmed to meet Mr.
McCabe, and wants to know what's wrong.
"Nothin' but a specked tooth," says I. "But I can stand it."
"My de-e-ear brother," says Toodle, puttin' his fingers together and
gazin' down at me like a prison chaplain givin' a talk to murderers' row,
"you are possessed of mental error. Your brain focus has been disturbed,
and a blurred image has been cast on the sensitive retina of the----"
"Ah, say, Doc.," says I, "cut out the preamble! If you've got a cocaine
gun in your pocket, dig it up!"
Then he goes off again with another string of gibberish, about pain bein'
nothin' but thought, and thought bein' something we could steer to suit
ourselves. I can't give you the patter word for word; but the nub of it
was that I could knock that toothache out in one round just by thinkin'
hard. Now wouldn't that peeve you? What?
"All right, Doc.," says I. "I'll try thinkin' I ain't got any ache, if
you'll sit here and keep me comp'ny by thinkin' you've had your dinner.
Is it a go?"
Well, it wa'n't. He shrugs his shoulders, and says he's afraid I'm a
difficult subject, and then he teeters off on his toes. Sadie tells me I
ought to be ashamed of myself for tryin' to be so fresh.
"He's a very distinguished man," she says. "He's the founder of
Toodleism. He's written a book about it."
"I thought he looked like a nutty one," says I. "Keep him away from me;
I'll be all right by mornin'."
The argument might have lasted longer; but just then comes the dinner
call, and they all goes in where the little necks was waitin' on the
cracked ice, and I'm left alone to count the jumps and enjoy myself.
Durin' one of the calm spells I wanders into the lib'ry, picks a funny
paper off the table, and settles down in a cozy corner to read the jokes.
I must have been there near an hour, when in drifts the loppy young lady
in the pink what-d'ye-call-it,--the one I'd made the silent hit with in
the gym.,--and she makes straight for me.
"Oh, here you are!" says she, like we was old friends. "Do you know, I've
just heard of your--your trouble."
"Ah, it ain't any killin' matter," says I. "It don't amount to much."
"Of course it doesn't!" says she. "And that is what I came to talk to you
about. I am Miss Lee,--Violet Lee."
"Ye-e-es?" says I.
"You see," she goes on, "I am Dr. Toodle's secretary and assistant."
"Oh!" says I. "He's in luck, then."
"Now, now!" says she, just like that, givin' me a real giddy tap with her
fan. "You must be real serious."
"I'm in condition to be all of that," says I. "Are you plannin' to try
the----"
"I am going to help you to banish the imaginary pains, Mr. McCabe," says
she. "Now first you must repeat after me the _summum bonum_."
"Eh?" says I.
"It's very simple," says she, floppin' down on the cushions alongside and
reachin' out for one of my hands. "It begins this way, 'I am a child of
light and goodness.' Now say that."
Say, how would you duck a proposition of that kind? There was Violet,
with her big eyes rolled at me real pleadin', and her mouth puckered up
real cunning, and the soft, clingin' grip on my right paw. Well, I says
it over.
"That's it!" she purrs. "Now, 'Evil and fear and pain are the creatures
of darkness.' Go on!"
"Sure thing!" says I. "'Evil and fear and----Ouch!"
Ever feel one of them last gasps that a nerve gives when it goes out of
business? I thought the top of my head was comin' off. But it didn't, and
a couple of seconds later I knew the jumpin' was all over; so I
straightens my face out, and we proceeds with the catechism.
It was a bird, too. I didn't mind doin' it at all with Miss Lee there to
help; for, in spite of her loppy ways, she's more or less of a candy
girl. There was a good deal to it, and it all means the same as what
Toodle was tryin' to hand out; but now that the ache has quit I'm ready
for any kind of foolishness.
Violet had got to the point where she has snuggled up nice and close,
with one hand still grippin' mine and the other smoothin' out my jaw
while she told me again how pain was only a pipe dream,--when I glances
over her shoulder and sees Sadie floatin' in hangin' to Dr. Toodle's
arm.
And does Sadie miss the tableau in our corner? Not to any extent! Her
eyebrows go up, and her mouth comes open. That's the first indication.
Next her lips shut tight, and her eyes narrow down, and before you could
count three she's let go of Toodle as if he was a hot potato, and she's
makin' a bee line for the cozy corner.
"Why!" says Miss Lee, lookin' up and forecastin' the comin' conditions in
a flash. "Is dinner over? Oh, and there's Dr. Toodle!" and off she trips,
leavin' the McCabe fam'ly to hold a reunion.
"Well, I never!" says Sadie, givin' me the gimlet gaze. And say, she puts
plenty of expression into them three words.
"Me either," says I. "Not very often, anyway. But a chance is a chance."
"I hope I didn't intrude?" says she, her eyes snappin'.
"There's no tellin'," says I.
"It was a very touching scene!" says she. "Very!"
"Wa'n't it?" says I. "Nice girl, Violet."
"Violet! Humph!" says she. "There's no accounting for tastes!"
"Just what I was thinkin' when I see you with the timelock clutch on that
freak doctor's south wing," says I.
"Dr. Toodle," says she, "was explaining to me his wonderful self healing
theories."
"And dear Violet," says I, "was puttin' me through a course of sprouts in
the automatic toothache cure."
"Oh, indeed!" says Sadie. "Was patting your cheek part of it?"
"I hope so," says I.
"Huh!" says she. "I suppose it worked?"
"Like a charm," says I. "All that bothers me now is how I can dig up
another pain."
"You might have your dear Violet see what can be done for that soft spot
in your head!" she snaps. "Only next time take her off out of sight,
please."
"Oh, we'll attend to that, all right," says I. "This havin' a green eyed
wife buttin' in just at the interestin' point is something fierce!" And
that's where I spread it on too thick.
"Don't be a chump, Shorty!" says Sadie, lettin' loose a sudden giggle and
mussin' my hair up with both hands. It's a way she has of gettin' out of
a corner, and she's skipped off before I'm sure whether she's still got a
grouch, or is only lettin' on.
By that time my appetite has come back; so I holds up the butler and has
him lay out a solitaire feed. And when I goes back to the crowd again I
finds Toodle has the center of the stage, with the spotlight full on him.
All the women are gathered round, listening to his guff like it was sound
sense. Seems he's organized a new deal on the thought cure stunt, and
he's workin' it for all it's worth. The men, though, don't appear so
excited over what he's sayin'.
"Confounded rubbish, I call it!" says Mr. Purdy-Pell.
"You ought to hear it from Violet," says I. "She's the star explainer of
that combination."
But Violet seems to have faded into the background. We don't see anything
more of her that evenin', nor she wa'n't in evidence next mornin'. Doc.
Toodle was, though. He begins by tellin' how he never takes anything but
hot water and milk on risin'; but that in the middle of the forenoon he
makes it a point to put away about three fresh laid eggs, raw, in a glass
of sherry.
"How interesting!" says Mrs. Purdy-Pell. "Then we must drive over to
Fernbrook Farm, right after breakfast, and get some of their lovely White
Leghorn eggs."
That was the sort of excursion I was rung into; so the bunch of us piles
into the wagonette and starts for a fresh supply of hen fruit. When we
gets to the farm the superintendent invites us to take a tour through the
incubator houses, and of course they all wants to see the dear little
chickies and so on. All but me. I stays and chins with the coachman while
he walks the horses around the driveway.
In about half an hour they comes troopin' back, Toodle in the lead,
luggin' a paper bag full of warm eggs. He don't wait for the others, but
pikes for the wagonette and climbs in one of the side seats facin' me. We
was just turnin' to back up to the block for the ladies, when a yellow
kyoodle dashes around the corner after a cat. Them skittish horses was
just waitin' for some such excuse as that, and before Mr. Driver can put
the curb bit on 'em hard enough they've done a quick pivot, cramped the
wheels, and turned us over on the soggy grass as neat as anything you
ever see.
Me bein' on the low side, I strikes the ground first; but before I can
squirm out, down comes Toodle on top, landin' his one hundred and ninety
pounds so sudden that it knocks the wind clear out of me. He's turned
over on the way down, so I've got his shoulder borin' into my chest and
the heavy part of him on my leg.
Course, the women squeals, and the horses cut up some; but the driver has
landed on his feet and has them by the head in no time at all, so we
wa'n't dragged around any. Noticin' that, I lays still and waits for
Toodle to pry himself loose. But the Doc. don't seem in any hurry to
move, and the next thing I know I hear him groanin' and mumblin' under
his breath. Between groans he was tryin' to say over that rigmarole of
his.
"I am a child of light--Oh, dear me!--of light and goodness!" he was
pantin' out. "Evil and fear and--Oh, my poor back!--and pain are
creatures of--Oh my, oh my!--of darkness! Nothing can harm me!"
"Say, something is goin' to harm you mighty sudden," says I, "if you
don't let me up out of this."
"Oh, my life blood!" he groans. "I can feel my life blood! Oh, oh! I am a
child of----"
"Ah, slush!" says I. "Get up and shake yourself. Think I'm a bloomin'
prayer rug that you can squat on all day? Roll over!" and I manages to
hand him a short arm punch in the ribs that stirs him up enough so I can
slide out from under. Soon's I get on my feet and can hop around once or
twice I finds there's no bones stickin' through, and then I turns to have
a look at him.
And say, I wouldn't have missed that exhibition for twice the shakin' up
I got! There he is, stretched out on the wet turf, his eyelids
flutterin', his breath comin' fast, and his two hands huggin' tight
what's left of that bu'sted paper bag, right up against the front of his
preacher's vest. And can you guess what's happened to them eggs?
"Oh, my life blood!" he keeps on moanin'. "I can feel it oozing
through----"
"Ah, you're switched, Toodle!" says I. "Your brain kodak is out of
register, that's all. It ain't life blood you're losin'; it's only your
new laid omelet that's leakin' over your vest front."
About then I gets a squint at Sadie and Mrs. Purdy-Pell, and they're
almost chokin' to death in a funny fit.
Well, say, that was the finish of Toodleism with the Rockywold bunch. The
Doc. didn't have a scratch nor a bruise on him, and after he'd been
helped up and scraped off, he was almost as good as new. But his
conversation works is clogged for good, and he has his chin down on his
collar. They sends him and Violet down to catch the next train, and Sadie
and Mrs. Purdy-Pell spends the rest of the day givin' imitations of how
Toodle hugged up the eggs and grunted that he was a child of light.
"Not that I don't believe there was something in what he said," Sadie
explains to me afterwards; "only--only----"
"Only he was a false alarm, eh?" says I. "Well, Violet wa'n't that kind,
anyway."
"Pooh!" says she. "I suppose you'll brag about Violet for the rest of
your life."
Can you keep 'em guessin' long, when it comes to things of that kind? Not
if they're like Sadie.