Delphi complete works of.., p.228
Delphi Complete Works of Stephen Leacock, page 228
Striking westward across the Atlantic, he sees Teneriffe from the ocean (with a two-cent Spanish issue), and near it Funchal, whose stamps issued in 1892 carry a picture of the king of Portugal.
His journey now carries him southward past the Gold Coast, Ascension, Dahomey, Angola, Anjouan, Whango-Whango and other great world centers.
Rounding Africa, he catches sight of Madagascar (Republique Francaise, 10 centimes), Diego Suarez Djibouti, and some of the principal places in the world.
As he crosses the Indian Ocean, he finds himself, to his renewed enchantment, in the land of Oriental wealth, the Indies. Here he disembarks on the soil of India and visits the great centers of Ghopal, Bussahir, Chamba, Charkari, Nowanuggar, and Jaipur. Here his album leads him to the scene of the great battles fought by the British Military Postal Authorities (1 shilling, very rare) and Burmese Expeditionary Force.
Leaving on his left Macao and on his right the Caicos Islands, he reaches the territory of the Chinese Expeditionary Force Military Commissariat Postal Service and the area represented by the Japanese Interim arrangement for the Korean Postal Despatch.
Sailing on eastward across the Pacific, the traveler gets a glimpse of the Guam, Ding-Dong, Tahiti, Pingo-Pongo, and Houtchi-Koutchi Islands, and having thus seen the whole world, he passes through the Panama Canal and thus arrives at his home.
Nor is it only in geography that we find our minds illuminated by the study of our stamp book. It opens for us the pages of our history.
Consider, for example, the history of the British settlements in North America. At the end of what is called the colonial period in American history, there was great dissatisfaction over what was called the Stamp Act, which compelled all the people to use stamps made in England.
As a result, Thomas Jefferson designed the Declaration of Independence, which said, “When in the course of human events, a country gets large enough to have stamps of its own, it becomes a free and independent state and deserves to be recognized as such by the International Postal Union.”
Even the most recent history can be understood if examined in the light of the stamp album. Thus in the year 1914 there broke out what is called the Great War, which began between the German Imperial Field Kitchen and the French Commissariat Parcel Post.
Inevitably other countries were drawn in: first of all the British Expeditionary Force (one penny), and then the Austro-Hungarian K. and K. Post (20 Pfennig), and then the Italian Posta della Gherra and other powers. Presently the Canadian Expeditionary Force (two cents) joined in the World War, and the final advent of the United States Army Post (three cents) brought the struggle to its climax.
The final result of the war was the issuance of a five-cent stamp by the League of Nations.
One of the chief advantages of the stamp album is that it brings us to an intimate knowledge of some of the great men of the modern times whose faces and names are recognized by the Postal Union as official designs for stamps. Here is Prince Ferdinand of Lichtenstein, one of the chief sovereigns of the world; here General Bingerville of the Ivory Coast; and here Marshall Spudski of Polish Paraguay.
Some of the faces and names leave us perhaps in a little doubt, but a little imagination will always help us through. Here is a beautiful design of the Panama Canal Zone representing, we presume, Theodore Roosevelt wading across the Panama River and waving the Portuguese flag. Here is King Edward the Seventh, dictator of Nyassaland, eating a giraffe; and the great French soldier and statesman, Marshall Foch, sitting on a velocipede in Oubanguichari-Tchad in the North Central French Congo, Republique Francaise, ten centimes, poste militaire du Congo, 1915.
Short Circuits by Radio and Cinema
If Only We Had the Radio Sooner BROADCASTING THE NORMAN CONQUEST
THE SCENE IS laid in the castle of Count Guesshard de Discard of Normandy, one of the companions of William the Conqueror. It takes place in the “bower” of Lady Angela de Discard, a stone room with open slots for windows, rather inferior to a first-class cow-stable. There are tapestries blowing against the walls, sheepskin rugs on the floor and wooden stools. But in one corner of the room there stands a radio receiving apparatus, and on the wall is a telephone.
In the bower are Lady Angela de Discard and her daughter Margaret of the Rubber Neck.
Lady Angela speaks: I wonder when we shall have news from England and hear whether Cousin William has killed Cousin Harold.
Lady Margaret of the Rubber Neck: By my halidome, Mamma, I think there ought to be something on the radio this morning. Papa said that Cousin William and Cousin Harold had both agreed to get the broadcast on as early in the day as possible.
Lady Angela: Is it so, by Heaven! Then I pray you, by God’s grace, turn on the radio.
(Lady Margaret of the Rubber Neck goes to the radio and starts turning the dials. There ensues a strange sound as of some one singing and wailing, and the music of a harp.)
Lady Angela: Heaven’s grace!
Lady Margaret: I’m afraid, Mamma, it is one of those Welsh bards. I think he is singing the sorrows of his country. I must have got Plynlimmon or Anglesea by mistake.
Lady Angela: Heavens! Shut him off. I thought that Cousin Harold promised to have all the Welsh bards killed. I know that Cousin William, just as soon as he has killed Cousin Harold, means to kill the bards. Do try again. I am getting so interested to know whether your father gets killed or not.
(Lady Margaret tries again. There is this time a wild and confused rush of sound. She shuts off the radio at once.)
Lady Angela: Odds Bones! What’s that?
Lady Margaret: I’m so sorry, Mamma; I think it was a Scottish concert. I’m afraid I really don’t know from what station the battle is to come. You see, Cousin William and Cousin Harold were to select the ground after the landing.
Lady Angela: Then, for the love of Moses, call up on the telephone and find out.
Lady Margaret: I’m so sorry, Mamma. So help me, I never thought of it.
(Lady Margaret of the Rubber Neck goes to the telephone. As she talks, the answering voice of the operator can be heard, rather faintly in the room.)
Hello!
(Hello!)
Is that the Central?
(In truth, it is!)
Wilt thou kindly impart information touching a matter on which I am most anxious to receive intelligence?
(In certain truth I will an so be it is something of which this office hath any cognizance.)
You will certainly put me under a deep recognaissance.
(Speak on, then.)
I will.
(Do.)
That will I.
(What is it?)
It is this. I am most curious to know if any broadcast or general exfusion of intelligence is yet received of the expedition of Duke William of Normandy.
(Truly indeed, yes, by Heaven, certainly. Even now the exfusion is about to come over the radio.)
(Lady Margaret with a few words, not more than a hundred, of hasty thanks, hangs up the telephone and again turns on the radio.
This time a clear voice with a twentieth-century accent is heard beginning to announce.)
Announcer: Good morning, folks! Gee! You’re lucky to be on the air this morning. . . .
Lady Angela: Tune him a little more; I don’t get him.
Lady Margaret (fumbling with the radio): It’s because it’s an Announcer. I heard Father Anselm say that the announcers are born a thousand years ahead of their time, though how that can be I know not. In any case it is agreed, they say, that the Saxons are to have the broadcasting rights, and Cousin William is to have the moving pictures. Now, wait a minute —— Heaven’s grace, that’s that Welsh bard again.
Lady Angela: Silence him.
Lady Margaret: There, now, I’ve got it.
(The Radio begins to talk again. The voice that speaks is as of the twentieth century like the voice of one “announcing” a football game.)
Announcer: Now, folks, this is Senlac Hill, and we’re going to put a real battle on the air for you, and it’s going to be some battle. The principals are Harold, King of England — lift your helmet, Harold — and William, the Dook, or as some call him, the Duck, of Normandy. Both the boys are much of a size, both trained down to weight, and each has got with him as nice a little bunch of knights and archers as you’d see east of Pittsburgh. Umpires are: for Harold, the Reverend Allbald of the Soft Head, Archbishop of Canterbury; for William, Odo the Ten-Spot, Bishop of Bayeux. Side lines, Shorty Sigismund and Count Felix Marie du Paté de Foie Gras. Referee, King Swatitoff of Sweden, ex-Champion of the Scandinavian League. Battle called at exactly ten a.m. They’re off. The Norman boys make a rush for the hill. Harold’s center forwards shoot arrows at them. William leads a rush at the right center. Attaboy, William! That’s the stuff! Harold’s boys block the rush. Two Norman knights ruled off for interference. William hurls his mace. Forward pass. Ten-year penalty. Quarter time.
(The radio stops a minute.)
Lady Margaret: How terrifically exciting! Do you think we are winning?
Lady Angela: It’s very hard to tell. I’ve often heard your father say that in the first quarter of a battle they don’t really get warmed up.
(The radio starts.)
Announcer: Battle of Senlac. Second quarter. Change of ground. Duke William has won the west end. The Normans make a rush against the left center. Hand-to-hand scrimmage with Harold’s front line. Many knights unhorsed and out of the game. Several men hurt on both sides. Count Guesshard de Discard receives a crack on the bean with a mace.
Lady Margaret: Oh, Mamma, papa got one on the bean.
Lady Angela (laughing): He certainly did. I can just see your papa’s face when some one landed him one!
Lady Margaret: What happens to you, Mamma, if papa gets knocked out?
Lady Angela: I believe that Cousin William has promised to give me to one of his knights. I don’t think it’s settled yet who gets me. They generally raffle, you know. But stop, we’re missing the battle!
(The radio continues.)
Announcer: Second half of the game. Both sides rested up during half time. Duke William attacks the center. Man hurt. Battle stops, substitute replaces. Battle continues. William’s entire cavalry rides at the hill. Harold’s boys heaving rocks. Swatitoff, the referee, knocked down by the cavalry. Umpires whistle. General melee. Battle degenerating into a fight. William’s men ride off apparently in full flight. Norman boys retreating everywhere. Harold’s men rushing down hill at them. Battle all in Saxon’s favor. The noble Harold driving the foul Normans off the field. Listen, folks, and . . .
(At this moment something goes wrong with the radio. It sinks to a mere murmuring of squeaks.)
Lady Angela: The ungodly radio is off!
(Lady Margaret tries in vain to fix the radio. It won’t work. While she works at it a long time passes. It is not till she has sent for a Norman carpenter with a sledge-hammer and a crowbar that the radio works again. When it does it is late in the afternoon. Then at last it speaks . . .)
Announcer: Battle all over. The foul Saxon, Harold, lies dead across the fifty-yard line with his whole center scrimmage dead round him. Spectators leaving in all directions in great haste. The noble William is everywhere victorious. Norman crowd invading the club house. Number of injured and dead knights being piled up at the side of the field. Among the dead are Count Roger the Sardine, Count Felix Marie de Paté de Foie Gras, the Seneschal Pilaffe de Volaille and Count Guesshard de Discard. . . .
Lady Margaret: Ah, do you hear that, Mamma? Odd’s life, papa’s killed. That must have been that smack on the bean. I had a notion that papa would get it, didn’t you?
Lady Angela (picking up a little steel mirror and adjusting her cap): Oh, I was sure of it. A juggler prophesied it to me last Whitsuntide. I wonder which of the knights Cousin William will give me to. . . .
What the Radio Overheard AN EVENING AT HOME OF THE UPTOWN BROWNS
I
THE SCENE IS in the dining-room of the house of Mr. Uptown Brown. It is a large room with a mahogany table and a mahogany sideboard and all the things that ought to be in the dining-room of people called Uptown Brown.
In a corner is a radio machine of the best and newest type with leather armchairs beside it and on a little wooden seat printed papers with announcements and programs. The time is evening, an hour or so after dinner, and the people who appear are Miss Flossie Fitzclippet Brown, the Only Girl in All the World, and Mr. Edwin Overflow, the Only Man in the Universe. But they have not yet told this to one another.
Flossie (as they come to the dining-room): There’s nobody in here. Wouldn’t you like to come in, and I’ll show you our new radio?
Mr. Overflow (in a deep voice, charged with static): With pleasure.
Flossie: How dark it is! The switch is over there. Won’t you please push it on?
Mr. Overflow (with more static): With pleasure.
Flossie: Now sit here and make yourself terribly comfy, and I’ll turn on the radio.
Mr. Overflow (speaking with a compressed voltage, which ought to warn any girl that there is something atmospheric doing): With pleasure.
Flossie (at the radio): Now wait a minute. I never can remember which way these silly dials go — let me see. Do you under stand how to do it, Mr. Overflow?
Mr. Overflow (at a pressure of 200 atmospheres to the inch): Not at all.
Flossie (fingering the dial): I think this is the one and I think you turn it so ——
The Radio: Squa-ark —— ! ! !
Flossie (shutting it off): No, that’s wrong, I’m sure. I’ll try this other way.
Mr. Overflow (rising from his place and putting forward his antennæ as if about to make a contact): Please don’t!
Flossie: Don’t what? (She turns off the dial.)
Mr. Overflow: Don’t turn on the radio. There’s something I want to say, something I’ve been trying to say all evening ——
Flossie (who has been trying to make him say it all evening): To me?
Mr. Overflow: Yes, to you. Miss Brown —— (He stops with a static congestion in his feed pipe.)
Flossie: Yes?
Mr. Overflow: Miss Brown —— (He pauses; then with an effort he connects in on a better wave length.) Miss Brown, Flossie, ever since I’ve been coming to this house ——
Flossie: I wonder if I can get Atlanta.
Mr. Overflow: Don’t.
The Radio (in agony): Squa-ark ——
Mr. Overflow: Turn it off. Listen. Miss Brown — Flossie — ever since — that is to say — please don’t turn it on — Flossie — I only wanted to say — I love you. (He reaches out both his antennæ.)
Flossie: Oh, Edwin! (They make a contact and are joined in a short circuit. Connected thus, they sit down beside the radio. Their hands are joined as they sit in close conversation. Not a sound comes from the radio. It is listening, and is having a good time all by itself.)
Flossie: But how can you really love me? You’ve only known me three weeks.
Edwin (speaking now with far less strain on his aerial, owing to the removal of all atmospheric disturbance): Three weeks and one day and four hours.
Flossie: Oh, Edwin, how can you remember?
Edwin: Remember — can I ever forget it? That first afternoon when I met you crossing the park — and ——
Flossie: Oh, Edwin!
Edwin: Flossie!!
Ten minutes later Edwin is still saying— “And do you remember the day when I took you and your mother to the matinée?” And Flossie answers with a light laugh— “And mother would talk to you all the time.”— “Yes, I was wishing your mother was in Jericho!”— “How nice of you, dearest!!”
Twenty minutes later Flossie is saying— “Edwin, dear, I’m afraid we simply must go back to the drawing-room again. They’ll have finished their cards and mother will be wondering where we are. Wait a minute till I turn on the radio — —”
The Radio: Squa-ark ——
Flossie: Kiss me, darling. I’m so happy! And isn’t the radio just wonderful!
So they go upstairs to the drawing-room, and up there when they arrive there are two tables full of people playing bridge. At one of them Flossie’s mother, Mrs. Elizabeth Uptown Brown, and her father and two other people are playing and they have just thrown down their cards because their first rubber is over and Flossie goes up to her mother and kisses her and Flossie’s mother kisses her and says:
“Where have you been, darling?”
“Downstairs listening to the radio.”
“How is it working?”
“Perfectly.”
Flossie’s mother knows quite well where Flossie has been, and she wouldn’t have interrupted her for the world. But what she really means is, “Did you land him?” And when Flossie says, “Perfectly,” she knows that her mother knows and her mother knows she knows what she means.
At the other table, Flossie’s brother, Edward Wiseguy Brown, a college radio expert, is playing cards, with a cigarette permanently a part of his face, and he says without even turning his head round:
“What did you get, Floss?”
“Oh, I don’t know — —”
“Atlanta?”
“I think it may have been.”
“Did you get Yomsk in Siberia?”
“Oh, gracious no!”
“Did you get anything worth while?”
“I don’t think so — that is — —” and here she looks over at Edwin for a second and he happens to be looking at her and they both get extremely red, and the whole room gets charged with ecstatic electricity. In fact, it is a relief to everybody when Flossie’s father, Mr. Uptown Brown, rises and says to the other man at his table:
“Here, let these two young people take our places, Tommie, and you and I will drop out a bit.”
