“When the germ of egotism is discovered,” said the Curmudgeon
Philosopher, “it will be readily recognized. The cholera germ is
sometimes called the ‘comma bacillus,’ from its resemblance to the
printer’s comma; the bacillus of egotism does not look like a capital
I, as you would naturally suppose, but like the note of admiration.
In order to discover it you have only to shed the gore of the first
man you meet (who is sure to be a bore and deserve it) and put a drop
under the microscope. True, you may have defective eyesight from long
contemplation of your dazzling self, and so miss it, but it is there as
plain as the nose on an elephant’s face.”
The Timorous Reporter ventured to suggest that when the note of
admiration was named, to admire meant, not to esteem, but to
wonder—that Milton so uses it in relating the meeting of Satan and
Death at the gates of Hell. There was no reason, he said, why the germ
of egotism or self-esteem should have the shape of that point.
“Having discovered and isolated the germ of egotism,” continued the
Curmudgeon Philosopher, apparently addressing some exalted intelligence
behind the Timorous Reporter, “the physicians will naturally cast about
for a serum that will be powerful enough to beat it.”
The Curmudgeon Philosopher had the condescension to darken his
environment with a smile.
“I should suppose that this might be made from the blood of a whale, a
rhinoceros, a tiger and an anaconda, all, of course, duly inoculated
with the germ till silly. If a few gallons of this mighty medicament
were injected into the veins of a patient not more than two years of
age it might so check his self-esteem that on growing up he would
emblazon the violet on his coat of arms.”
The Curmudgeon Philosopher manifested his sense of his own distinction
as a wit by a gesture singularly and appropriately elephantine. He had
the goodness to continue: “A few years ago, before a just appreciation
of the dignity of my position as a philosopher had compelled my
withdrawal from the clubs and taverns, I used to observe that of a
half-dozen men sitting about a table and engaged in the characteristic
industry of smoking and drinking, four were commonly talking of
themselves, one, with an impediment in his enterprise, was endeavoring
to ‘get the floor’ in order to talk about _him_self, and the other
(I trust it is needless to name him) was vainly asking attention to
matters of interest and importance.
“It was customary among these gentlemen to interrupt one another in the
middle of a sentence by ordering drinks or entering into a colloquy
with the waiter, or addressing a trivial question to another of the
party. Habitually the person speaking had the mortification to see his
interlocutor turn squarely away from him and himself begin a monologue,
only to be disregarded in his turn. There is something singularly
pathetic in the spectacle of a man with an unfinished discourse turning
to the only one of the party that has the civility to hear him out. It
is one of the minor tragedies of social life, demanding an infinite
compassion. Sometimes the sufferer would signify a just resentment by
abruptly rising and leaving the table, but the rebuke was never even
observed.
“Not the monologist alone was ignored in this unmannerly way; the
nimble epigrammatist fared no better. The brightest sallies of wit,
the oddest ventures in paradox, the most delicious bits of humor and
the finest turns of wisdom—all met the same fate, all alike fell upon
the stony soil of inattention. Remember that I speak, not of ordinary
dullards, but of the so-called choice spirits of clubland, ‘gentlemen
of wit and pleasure about town.’”
With a sidewise movement toward the door the Timorous Reporter
cautiously advanced the notion that possibly something in the quality
of the Curmudgeon Philosopher’s wit may not have had the good fortune
to commend itself to his auditors.
“Selected from Apuleius, from Rabelais, Pascal, Rochefoucauld, Pope,
and boldly worked into the conversation, they always passed without
recognition of either their source or their wit. The company was simply
unaware that anything out of the common had been said. Egotism has a
bale of cotton in each ear.”
The Curmudgeon Philosopher paused to note the effect of his epigram.
Seeing that safety meant either applause or absence the Timorous
Reporter deemed it expedient to withdraw by way of an open window.