Delphi complete works of.., p.118
Delphi Complete Works of Stephen Leacock, page 118
There he sat, a huge figure, clad in a great wolfskin. Besides him lay a great club. Across his knee was a spear round which he was binding sinews that tightened under his muscular hand. His head was bent over his task. His matted hair had fallen over his eyes. He did not see me till I was close beside him on the sanded floor of the cave. I gave a slight cough.
“Excuse me!” I said.
The Cave-man gave a startled jump.
“My goodness,” he said, “you startled me!”
I could see that he was quite trembling.
“You came along so suddenly,” he said, “it gave me the jumps.” Then he muttered, more to himself than to me, “Too much of this darned cave-water! I must quit drinking it.”
I sat down near to the Caveman on a stone, taking care to place my revolver carefully behind it. I don’t mind admitting that a loaded revolver, especially as I get older, makes me nervous. I was afraid that he might start fooling with it. One can’t be too careful.
As a way of opening conversation I picked up the Cave-man’s club.
“Say,” I said, “that’s a great club you have, eh? By gee! it’s heavy!”
“Look out!” said the Cave-man with a certain agitation in his voice as he reached out and took the club from me. “Don’t fool with that club! It’s loaded! You know you could easily drop the club on your toes, or on mine. A man can’t be too careful with a loaded club.”
He rose as he said this and carried the club to the other side of the cave, where he leant it against the wall. Now that he stood up and I could examine him he no longer looked so big. In fact he was not big at all. The effect of size must have come, I think, from the great wolfskin that he wore. I have noticed the same thing in Grand Opera. I noticed, too, for the first time that the cave we were in seemed fitted up, in a rude sort of way, like a dwelling-room.
“This is a nice place you’ve got,” I said.
“Dandy, isn’t it?” he said, as he cast his eyes around. “She fixed it up. She’s got great taste. See that mud sideboard? That’s the real thing, A-one mud! None of your cheap rock about that. We fetched that mud for two miles to make that. And look at that wicker bucket. Isn’t it great? Hardly leaks at all except through the sides, and perhaps a little through the bottom. She wove that. She’s a humdinger at weaving.”
He was moving about as he spoke, showing me all his little belongings. He reminded me for all the world of a man in a Harlem flat, showing a visitor how convenient it all is. Somehow, too, the Cave-man had lost all appearance of size. He looked, in fact, quite little, and when he had pushed his long hair back from his forehead he seemed to wear that same, worried, apologetic look that we all have. To a higher being, if there is such, our little faces one and all appear, no doubt, pathetic.
I knew that he must be speaking about his wife.
“Where is she?” I asked.
“My wife?” he said. “Oh, she’s gone out somewhere through the caves with the kid. You didn’t meet our kid as you came along, did you? No? Well, he’s the greatest boy you even saw. He was only two this nineteenth of August. And you should hear him say ‘Pop’ and ‘Mom’ just as if he was grown up. He is really, I think, about the brightest boy I’ve ever known — I mean quite apart from being his father, and speaking of him as if he were anyone else’s boy. You didn’t meet them?”
“No,” I said, “I didn’t.”
“Oh, well,” the Cave-man went on, “there are lots of ways and passages through. I guess they went in another direction. The wife generally likes to take a stroll round in the morning and see some of the neighbours. But, say,” he interrupted, “I guess I’m forgetting my manners. Let me get you a drink of cave-water. Here, take it in this stone mug! There you are, say when! Where do we get it? Oh, we find it in parts of the cave where it filters through the soil above. Alcoholic? Oh, yes, about fifteen per cent, I think. Some say it soaks all through the soil of this State. Sit down and be comfortable, and, say if you hear the woman coming just slip your mug behind that stone out of sight. Do you mind? Now, try one of these elm-root cigars. Oh, pick a good one — there are lots of them!”
We seated ourselves in some comfort on the soft sand, our backs against the boulders, sipping cave-water and smoking elm-root cigars. It seemed altogether as if one were back in civilization, talking to a genial host.
“Yes,” said the Cave-man, and he spoke, as it were, in a large and patronizing way. “I generally let my wife trot about as she likes in the daytime. She and the other women nowadays are getting up all these different movements, and the way I look at it is that if it amuses her to run around and talk and attend meetings, why let her do it. Of course,” he continued, assuming a look of great firmness, “if I liked to put my foot down—”
“Exactly, exactly,” I said. “It’s the same way with us!”
“Is it now!” he questioned with interest. “I had imagined that it was all different Outside. You’re from the Outside, aren’t you? I guessed you must be from the skins you wear.”
“Have you never been Outside?” I asked.
“No fear!” said the Cave-man. “Not for mine! Down here in the caves, clean underground and mostly in the dark, it’s all right. It’s nice and safe.” He gave a sort of shudder. “Gee! You fellows out there must have your nerve to go walking around like that on the outside rim of everything, where the stars might fall on you or a thousand things happen to you. But then you Outside Men have got a natural elemental fearlessness about you that we Cave-men have lost. I tell you, I was pretty scared when I looked up and saw you standing there.”
“Had you never seen any Outside Men?” I asked.
“Why, yes,” he answered, “but never close. The most I’ve done is to go out to the edges of the cave sometimes and look out and see them, Outside Men and Women, in the distance. But of course, in one way or another, we Cave-men know all about them. And the thing we envy most in you Outside Men is the way you treat your women! By gee! You take no nonsense from them — you fellows are the real primordial, primitive men. We’ve lost it somehow.”
“Why, my dear fellow—” I began.
But the Cave-man, who had sat suddenly upright, interrupted.
“Quick! quick!” he said. “Hide that infernal mug! She’s coming. Don’t you hear!”
As he spoke I caught the sound of a woman’s voice somewhere in the outer passages of the cave.
“Now, Willie,” she was saying, speaking evidently to the Cave-child, “you come right along back with me, and if I ever catch you getting in such a mess as that again I’ll never take you anywhere, so there!”
Her voice had grown louder. She entered the cave as she spoke — a big-boned woman in a suit of skins leading by the hand a pathetic little mite in a rabbit-skin, with blue eyes and a slobbered face.
But as I was sitting the Cave-woman evidently couldn’t see me; for she turned at once to speak to her husband, unconscious of my presence.
“Well, of all the idle creatures!” she exclaimed. “Loafing here in the sand” — she gave a sniff— “and smoking—”
“My dear,” began the Cave-man.
“Don’t you my-dear me!” she answered. “Look at this place! Nothing tidied up yet and the day half through! Did you put the alligator on to boil?”
“I was just going to say—” began the Cave-man.
“Going to say! Yes, I don’t doubt you were going to say. You’d go on saying all day if I’d let you. What I’m asking you is, is the alligator on to boil for dinner or is it not — My gracious!” She broke off all of a sudden, as she caught sight of me. “Why didn’t you say there was company? Land sakes! And you sit there and never say there was a gentleman here!”
She had hustled across the cave and was busily arranging her hair with a pool of water as a mirror.
“Gracious!” she said, “I’m a perfect fright! You must excuse me,” she added, looking round toward me, “for being in this state. I’d just slipped on this old fur blouse and run around to a neighbour’s and I’d no idea that he was going to bring in company. Just like him! I’m afraid we’ve nothing but a plain alligator stew to offer you, but I’m sure if you’ll stay to dinner—”
She was hustling about already, good primitive housewife that she was, making the stone-plates rattle on the mud table.
“Why, really—” I began. But I was interrupted by a sudden exclamation from both the Cave-man and the Cave-woman together:
“Willie! where’s Willie!”
“Gracious!” cried the woman. “He’s wandered out alone — oh, hurry, look for him! Something might get him! He may have fallen in the water! Oh, hurry!”
They were off in a moment, shouting into the dark passages of the outer cave: “Willie! Willie!” There was agonized anxiety in their voices.
And then in a moment, as it seemed, they were back again, with Willie in their arms, blubbering, his rabbit-skin all wet.
“Goodness gracious!” said the Cave-woman. “He’d fallen right in, the poor little man. Hurry, dear, and get something dry to wrap him in! Goodness, what a fright! Quick, darling, give me something to rub him with.”
Anxiously the Cave-parents moved about beside the child, all quarrel vanished.
“But surely,” I said, as they calmed down a little, “just there where Willie fell in, beside the passage that I came through, there is only three inches of water.”
“So there is,” they said, both together, “but just suppose it had been three feet!”
Later on, when Willie was restored, they both renewed their invitation to me to stay to dinner.
“Didn’t you say,” said the Cave-man, “that you wanted to make some notes on the difference between Cave-people and the people of your world of to-day?”
“I thank you,” I answered, “I have already all the notes I want!”
Ideal Interviews
I. WITH A EUROPEAN PRINCE
With any European Prince, travelling in America
On receiving our card the Prince, to our great surprise and pleasure, sent down a most cordial message that he would be delighted to see us at once. This thrilled us.
“Take us,” we said to the elevator boy, “to the apartments of the Prince.” We were pleased to see him stagger and lean against his wheel to get his breath back.
In a few moments we found ourselves crossing the threshold of the Prince’s apartments. The Prince, who is a charming young man of from twenty-six to twenty-seven, came across the floor to meet us with an extended hand and a simple gesture of welcome. We have seldom seen anyone come across the floor more simply.
The Prince, who is travelling incognito as the Count of Flim Flam, was wearing, when we saw him, the plain morning dress of a gentleman of leisure. We learned that a little earlier he had appeared at breakfast in the costume of a Unitarian clergyman, under the incognito of the Bishop of Bongee; while later on he appeared at lunch, as a delicate compliment to our city, in the costume of a Columbia professor of Yiddish.
The Prince greeted us with the greatest cordiality, seated himself, without the slightest affectation, and motioned to us, with indescribable bonhomie, his permission to remain standing.
“Well,” said the Prince, “what is it?”
We need hardly say that the Prince, who is a consummate master of ten languages, speaks English quite as fluently as he does Chinese. Indeed, for a moment, we could scarcely tell which he was talking.
“What are your impressions of the United States?” we asked as we took out our notebook.
“I am afraid,” answered the Prince, with the delightful smile which is characteristic of him, and which we noticed again and again during the interview, “that I must scarcely tell you that.”
We realized immediately that we were in the presence not only of a soldier but of one of the most consummate diplomats of the present day.
“May we ask then,” we resumed, correcting our obvious blunder, “what are your impressions, Prince, of the Atlantic Ocean?”
“Ah,” said the Prince, with that peculiar thoughtfulness which is so noticeable in him and which we observed not once but several times, “the Atlantic!”
Volumes could not have expressed his thought better.
“Did you,” we asked, “see any ice during your passage across?”
“Ah,” said the Prince, “ice! Let me think.”
We did so.
“Ice,” repeated the Prince thoughtfully.
We realized that we were in the presence not only of a soldier, a linguist and a diplomat, but of a trained scientist accustomed to exact research.
“Ice!” repeated the Prince. “Did I see any ice? No.”
Nothing could have been more decisive, more final than the clear, simple brevity of the Prince’s “No.” He had seen no ice. He knew he had seen no ice. He said he had seen no ice. Nothing could have been more straightforward, more direct. We felt assured from that moment that the Prince had not seen any ice.
The exquisite good taste with which the Prince had answered our question served to put us entirely at our ease, and we presently found ourselves chatting with His Highness with the greatest freedom and without the slightest gene or mauvaise honte, or, in fact, malvoisie of any kind.
We realized, indeed, that we were in the presence not only of a trained soldier, a linguist and a diplomat, but also of a conversationalist of the highest order.
His Highness, who has an exquisite sense of humour — indeed, it broke out again and again during our talk with him — expressed himself as both amused and perplexed over our American money.
“It is very difficult,” he said, “with us it is so simple; six and a half groner are equal to one and a third gross-groner or the quarter part of our Rigsdaler. Here it is so complicated.”
We ventured to show the Prince a fifty-cent piece and to explain its value by putting two quarters beside it.
“I see,” said the Prince, whose mathematical ability is quite exceptional, “two twenty-five-cent pieces are equal to one fifty-cent piece. I must try to remember that. Meantime,” he added, with a gesture of royal condescension, putting the money in his pocket, “I will keep your coins as instructors” — we murmured our thanks— “and now explain to me, please, your five-dollar gold piece and your ten-dollar eagle.”
We felt it proper, however, to shift the subject, and asked the Prince a few questions in regard to his views on American politics. We soon found that His Highness, although this is his first visit to this continent, is a keen student of our institutions and our political life. Indeed, His Altitude showed by his answers to our questions that he is as well informed about our politics as we are ourselves. On being asked what he viewed as the uppermost tendency in our political life of to-day, the Prince replied thoughtfully that he didn’t know. To our inquiry as to whether in his opinion democracy was moving forward or backward, the Prince, after a moment of reflection, answered that he had no idea. On our asking which of the generals of our Civil War was regarded in Europe as the greatest strategist, His Highness answered without hesitation, “George Washington.”
Before closing our interview the Prince, who, like his illustrious father, is an enthusiastic sportsman, completely turned the tables on us by inquiring eagerly about the prospects for large game in America.
We told him something — as much as we could recollect — of woodchuck hunting in our own section of the country. The Prince was interested at once. His eye lighted up, and the peculiar air of fatigue, or languor, which we had thought to remark on his face during our interview, passed entirely off his features. He asked us a number of questions, quickly and without pausing, with the air, in fact, of a man accustomed to command and not to listen. How was the woodchuck hunted? From horseback or from an elephant? Or from an armoured car, or turret? How many beaters did one use to beat up the woodchuck? What bearers was it necessary to carry with one? How great a danger must one face of having one’s beaters killed? What percentage of risk must one be prepared to incur of accidentally shooting one’s own beaters? What did a bearer cost? and so on.
All these questions we answered as best we could, the Prince apparently seizing the gist, or essential part of our answer, before we had said it.
In concluding the discussion we ventured to ask His Highness for his autograph. The Prince, who has perhaps a more exquisite sense of humour than any other sovereign of Europe, declared with a laugh that he had no pen. Still roaring over this inimitable drollery, we begged the Prince to honour us by using our own fountain-pen.
“Is there any ink in it?” asked the Prince — which threw us into a renewed paroxysm of laughter.
The Prince took the pen and very kindly autographed for us seven photographs of himself. He offered us more, but we felt that seven was about all we could use. We were still suffocated with laughter over the Prince’s wit; His Highness was still signing photographs when an equerry appeared and whispered in the Prince’s ear. His Highness, with the consummate tact to be learned only at a court, turned quietly without a word and left the room.
We never, in all our experience, remember seeing a prince — or a mere man for the matter of that — leave a room with greater suavity, discretion, or aplomb. It was a revelation of breeding, of race, of long slavery to caste. And yet, with it all, it seemed to have a touch of finality about it — a hint that the entire proceeding was deliberate, planned, not to be altered by circumstance. He did not come back.
We understand that he appeared later in the morning at a civic reception in the costume of an Alpine Jaeger, and attended the matinee in the dress of a lieutenant of police.
Meantime he has our pen. If he turns up in any costume that we can spot at sight, we shall ask him for it.
II. WITH OUR GREATEST ACTOR
That is to say, with Any One of our Sixteen Greatest Actors
It was within the privacy of his own library that we obtained — need we say with infinite difficulty — our interview with the Great Actor. He was sitting in a deep arm-chair, so buried in his own thoughts that he was oblivious of our approach. On his knee before him lay a cabinet photograph of himself. His eyes seemed to be peering into it, as if seeking to fathom its unfathomable mystery. We had time to note that a beautiful carbon photogravure of himself stood on a table at his elbow, while a magnificent half-tone pastel of himself was suspended on a string from the ceiling. It was only when we had seated ourself in a chair and taken out our notebook that the Great Actor looked up.
