And old GiasticuticusStood on a mountain side,His right legs shorter than his left,And scratched his tough, thick hide."I live upon a bias, true,With legs I'd like to hide,But that arose from dwelling hereUpon the mountain side."
And old GiasticuticusStood on a mountain side,His right legs shorter than his left,And scratched his tough, thick hide.
"I live upon a bias, true,With legs I'd like to hide,But that arose from dwelling hereUpon the mountain side."
And Gud came upon a paradise, its streets of hammered gold. Iridescent fountains played beneath o'er-hanging palms, and gentle breezes, wafting through the glistening latticery of ornate edifice, made music soft and low that lulled of peace and quiet and eternal joy.
Here was a paradise prepared for most exacting saints. Gud strolled its million leagues about and wondered why there was no sign of occupants. These heavenly mansions were not newly built but rather spoke of use. While all the major structures were intact, the minor furnishings gave evidence of chaos and disorder. This paradise, it seemed to Gud, had once o'erflown with life, but now was empty and abandoned.
All this puzzled Gud and worried him. He was familiar with the ruins of many a paradise that had been smashed and broken by rebellion or by war, but his mind could find no reason why a heaven so fine as this should be deserted, and yet remain in such fair state of preservation.
The most likely theory which he could conceive, was that some pestilence had raged and stripped the place of every living soul. Over this Gud cogitated. Had it been a dwelling place of mortal flesh, a pestilence would have left its tell-tale stench or whitening bones. But immortal souls—how could pestilence have slain them? His theory thus became a paradox or worse yet a dilemma, and either one is harrowing to the mind. So Gud started out again in search of facts.
After much meandering he was rewarded by finding himself looking down into a high-walled garden, most beautiful of any spot that he had yet discovered. And better still, he noted signs of life. He hastened to descend, that he might explore the garden. It was there beneath a bower that he found a female soul most radiant. She was sitting on a gorgeous purple rock, and singing, and knitting as she sang, while all about her, tumbling on the grass in a most completely idiotic fashion, were little souls at play.
"Good morning," said Gud.
The soul stared up at him in most incredulous manner and replied; "I thought they were all dead."
With much patient questioning, Gud wrested from this soul, alone in a vast heaven—save for the little souls that played most idiotically upon the grass—a tale of a paradise gone wrong because of a theological blunder.
It was a tedious tale and she who sat knitting there upon the purple rock told it to Gud in broken fragments of narration. First she related how the place had been peopled by all the host of souls passed over from a certain muddy sphere, and who came to this heaven as the result of faith in a most liberal theology that promised universal salvation to saint alike with sinner.
And so they all in one triumphal procession came to claim the rewards and demand the fulfillment of the promises. And yet they had not tarried—none but she who told the tale and the bevy of little tumbling spirits, who were none other than the souls of idiotic babes born into their material world of long ago, deaf and blind as they were imbecile.
Gud suspected, even as the tale unfolded, that there had been some fearful blunder in the promises; and right enough he was, for the ninth promise of their creed had been, "Then ye shall know the truth."
So all the myriads of saved souls, who had cherished the promises, had come to know the truth as it had been promised them. When they arose in glittering gowns and halos bright upon that Resurrection Morn and started singing, one by one and then by twos and tens and soon by scores and thousands they remembered all that they had wished to know of all their pasts and ponderings. And to their minds, reborn to omniscience of the truth of what had been as it had really been, came also the memories of what they thought had been.
The books of hymns had fallen from their hands, and voices lost the key and shrieked in agony. Insane ravings, babblings and cursing smote the air of heaven. Chaos reigned supreme and all the hosts of heaven went raving mad and babbled as they raved.
I buy my clothes in high-priced shops;My collars match my shirts;I swing a dapper cane with easeAnd ogle all the skirts.I follow the ads in the Satevepost;I have picked the car to buy;I read the "Book of Etiquette,"And "Sappho" on the sly.A bit of my handkerchief always showsIn a pocket of my coat....I carry a letter next to my heartThat a movie actress wrote.I said to a lady I flirted with:"I'm a gent!" But then she ran,Though over her shoulder sweetly said:"That's a third of a gentleman!"
I buy my clothes in high-priced shops;My collars match my shirts;I swing a dapper cane with easeAnd ogle all the skirts.
I follow the ads in the Satevepost;I have picked the car to buy;I read the "Book of Etiquette,"And "Sappho" on the sly.
A bit of my handkerchief always showsIn a pocket of my coat....I carry a letter next to my heartThat a movie actress wrote.
I said to a lady I flirted with:"I'm a gent!" But then she ran,Though over her shoulder sweetly said:"That's a third of a gentleman!"
And Gud came to a great Republic and sat himself down at meat in a tavern of the capital city thereof. Said the damsel who came to serve him: "Alas, there is no meat, for we have civil war, and all the meat is requisitioned for the soldiers."
When she had said that a volley of guns sounded in the street. Gud looked out of the window and saw two armies firing at each other. The one army was composed of men richly garbed, and the other of men poorly clad, and the rich men and the poor men were killing each other. Seizing the white table linen, Gud went out into the midst of the murderous armies and waved the table linen peacefully.
The General of the Rich Men and the General of the Poor Men rushed up angrily to Gud and both demanded in aggrieved tones to know why he was peacefully interfering with the war.
"Because," said Gud, "The soldiers are eating all the meat."
"But," cried the generals, "you have stopped the war—and now what shall we do? We had tried the courts; we had tried the ballot; we had tried arbitration and all failed. So we resorted to war, which is the last resort of civilized people, and we do not wish to revert to savagery."
"I stopped the war," said Gud, "because I dislike to have the streets covered with blood—it makes them slippery, but I am sorry. Is there anything I can do to help you start it again?"
The generals shook their heads sadly, for they saw that the Poor Men and the Rich Men were fraternizing and exchanging cigarettes, and they knew that the war was over.
"I wonder," said Gud, "since I spoiled the war, if you would mind telling me what it was all about?"
"Gladly," said the generals, and they invited Gud into the tavern—and now the damsel brought meat which Gud ate, while the generals of the late war related the cause thereof.
"It so happened," they said, "that we wished to erect a shrine to the President of our Republic while he was yet alive to be worshipped therein. The rich men gave the money and the poor men held their hats to receive it.
"When the money was gathered, the committee took it to our beloved President and asked him the manner of shrine he would have. And our President said: 'All that any man is, his mother made him—therefore I ask that the shrine shall consist of a great gallery, and in this gallery shall hang the portrait of my mother.'
"So our committee called upon all the artists and they selected the two best. One artist's name was Jake Smith, and he was born naked into the world amidst dire poverty and considerable adversity, but he had become a great artist for all that and had painted the portraits of many rich and be-jeweled ladies.
"And the other artist bore the name of Glengary Du Peyster, and he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth; but in spite of that he also learned to paint, and he had searched out all the poor and wretched old women of our slums and hovels and painted of them very great pictures.
"When these artists took samples of their work to show to our President, he said: 'You may both paint my mother, and then my mother shall decide which is the best painting.'
"'Very well,' said the artists, 'will you conduct us to her home?'
"So the President took them to a little flat in K Street where lived a poor, blind widow and he said: 'Artists, meet my mother!'
"Glengary Du Peyster was over-joyed, for this was the kind of a woman he could paint best, and he wished to send immediately for his canvas and brushes.
"But it was not to be so, for the President now conducted the artists to a mansion in D Street, and here in a great hall hung with tapestry and shaded lights was a fine old lady, and the president said again: 'Artists, meet my mother!'
"And now it was Jake Smith's time to rejoice; and he glared at Glengary Du Peyster, and neither of them durst speak their thoughts.
"Then the President took them both back to his official residence and feasted them on grouse and wine, and as they sat about their cigars Jake Smith said: 'Mr. President, which is your mother?'
"'Alas,' said our great President, 'I do not know.'
"At this both artists lost their artistic tempers and rushed into the street. As the news-makers gathered about them, they told what had happened and what the president had said, and it was published abroad in our great Republic, together with photos of the two women, each of whom the President had introduced as his mother.
"Then our citizens warmed to heated arguments and gathered themselves into two parties, the poor to themselves under the leadership of Jake Smith, for they agreed with him that our great President should have a fine and noble lady for his mother. But the rich, under the leadership of Glengary Du Peyster said: 'Surely our President was born of the poor and lowly mother, how else can we be a true republic, where all men are born free and equal?'"
"That is very interesting," said Gud as he took another forkful of meat, "but why did you not ask the women themselves?"
"We did ask them," said the leaders of the late war, "but both said they did not know. So we thought war was the only way to settle the matter. And now you have spoiled the war, which is the last resort of civilized people, and we shall surely revert to savagery."
The following day Gud was conducted with great pomp and ceremony to the Hall of Justice, where he sat down upon the judge's bench.
Said Gud to the President of the great Republic, who was there in his own person: "Bring in your poor mother and put her on the witness stand."
The President did so, and Gud saw before him a stooped, wrinkled and blind creature who was poorly dressed but neat and clean.
"Now," said Gud in his most kindly tone, "we will dispense with the swearing and you may tell me all that happened in your own language."
"Believe me, your honor," said the poor mother, "it was no fault of mine, for I was blind and how could I tell which one was which? You see, I was a widow, because my husband died by the falling on him of a stone in the quarry when he was getting out rocks for the cellar of the house of Eben Gratz. And so when they buried him I was left all by myself, but for the babe that was coming. When it came it was a twin and they both cried just alike, so that I could not tell which one was which.
"And nobody had ever seen them until the day I heard a fine automobile driving up the road, purring like a cat fed upon cream. It stopped by my cabin and a lady with a rustly gown got out and came into the cabin. I sat waiting for her to speak to me, thinking that perhaps in her rich kindness she might have brought some clothes for my twins. I heard her go to the old cow trough where the twins were lying under the horse blanket. Then, without saying a word, she rustled out again and was gone.
"And presently the twins began to cry and I could tell now that they did not cry alike, and I knew that she had stolen one of my babies and left another in its place.
"So I raised them up as best I could. The girl she was good and dutiful and married a good man. But the boy, he was smart and did not marry anybody; and he became the President of his country just as I knew he would. While I am not saying whether he is my son or not, I can not say he isn't; and he can't, either, because he can't remember whether it was himself or his sister that was brought that day by the fine lady and exchanged for his brother. So you see, sir, just how it is."
Gud did not see, but disliked to admit it, so he asked that the rich mother of the President of the Great Republic be brought also before him.
As she came into the room he saw what a grand old lady she was, for she walked erect and proud and her manners were queenly and stately, and Gud could see how she impressed all the poor men in the courtroom with her greatness.
When the rich mother of the President began speaking in a low, melodious voice that quivered with emotion, she said:
"Your honor, there is naught I can tell save to confess that when my child was born I was so overwhelmed with maternal emotion that I became ambitious for my child. But I knew that I was rich and lived in a mansion and that riches are a handicap to any child. I recalled that it was always the boys born in log cabins and nurtured in poverty that became our great men, and presidents of our great Republic.
"So I took my darling babe with me in my car and drove out into the mountains where the soil was rocky and the people were poor, and finally I came to a very picturesque log cabin that had only three sides. I stopped the car, and took my own child and stole toward the cabin and peeped in. There sat a poor, blind, widowed mother knitting with a ball of coarse yarn.
"And over in the corner I saw a cow trough and a horse blanket and it was from there that the cry of the child came. So I stole over and raised the blanket and saw there the faces of two sweet babes. I closed my eyes and tore off the wrappings from my own child and quietly placed him in the trough; and then, seizing one of the babes in the trough, I wrapped it in the silken robes I had taken from my own child and hastened back to my car.
"The child I stole, when he learned to talk, told me that he was a boy."
"Pardon me, madame," interrupted Gud, "but what was the sex of your own child that you left in the cow trough?"
At the question the refined lady blushed painfully. "Do not insult me, sir," she said icily. Then she continued: "I raised this child of the poor blind widow and he became the best dancer of the younger set. But while I lavished on him all of a fond mother's care, deep in my heart was the love for my own child that I had so bravely committed to the care of the poor blind widow in the log cabin with only three sides.
"So I employed detectives to keep secret watch about the cabin, and when the two children were old enough to be dressed distinctively the detective reported to me that one was a boy and one was a girl.
"It was then that I realized my grievous error in exchanging my own child for one of two twins, for I could not know whether the boy or the girl was my own child. So I waited to see how they would turn out. And when the girl married a clam digger down on the river I decided to say nothing to her. But when the boy worked his way through college by delivering milk before dawn, I sent for him and confessed to him that I was either his mother or his sister's mother.
"So from that day to this he has been a dutiful son to me as well as to the poor blind widow who may also be his mother. And when he was elected President of our Great Republic, both she and I rejoiced. All would be well, if only his love for his mother had not prompted him to wish to have her painting hung in the memorial shrine. That is all I have to confess."
Who shall say that his love was not goodFor the dummy of cloth and wax and wood?I know that more curious things existThan the love of a dreaming ventriloquist.He liked to perch her on his kneeCombing her black hair lovingly,Then talk by the hour just as thoughShe understood and ought to know.Her chatter merged with his and twice,I know, he struck her ... it wasn't nice.Repenting, he bought her costly things—Gowns, rare necklaces and rings.One night they found him on the floorStark dead ... each year I wonder moreWhy, killing himself, he never wroteOf the dagger he sank in her wooden throat.
Who shall say that his love was not goodFor the dummy of cloth and wax and wood?I know that more curious things existThan the love of a dreaming ventriloquist.
He liked to perch her on his kneeCombing her black hair lovingly,Then talk by the hour just as thoughShe understood and ought to know.
Her chatter merged with his and twice,I know, he struck her ... it wasn't nice.Repenting, he bought her costly things—Gowns, rare necklaces and rings.
One night they found him on the floorStark dead ... each year I wonder moreWhy, killing himself, he never wroteOf the dagger he sank in her wooden throat.
Now the fame of Gud's wisdom was broadcast about, so that important personages of other worlds came and laid their problems at the feet of Gud and begged of him solutions.
Among them were two citizens of a world that was in dire distress. And one of these citizens was a Keeper of Morals of his sphere, and the other was the Vital Statistician.
To Gud the Statistician said: "Our world is full, so that there is no more room for further population, and I have therefore ordered that the issue of birth permits be curtailed."
"And in doing so," cried the Keeper of Morals, "you have ignored the law which bade us be fruitful and multiply."
"That have I done," replied the Statistician, "because the facts have obsoleted the law. Our world is full, and what good would it do to issue more birth permits when there is no more room to be born into?"
"But you should make room," protested the Keeper of Morals, "by issuing more death permits. Surely it is not as great a sin to die as it is not to be born."
"But I insist," declared the Statistician, "that to issue more death permits than there are people ready to sicken and die would be to encourage suicide and murder. Do you countenance such unmoral ways of dying?"
"Certainly not," retorted the Keeper of Morals, "suicide and murder are crimes. We must not encourage them, but neither must we discourage births, for we are commanded to be fruitful and multiply."
"I agree with you," said Gud, addressing himself to the Keeper of Morals, "in your belief that it is wrong to discourage births, and also wrong to encourage deaths—for unrestricted birth and unpremeditated death are great moral principles and nothing must be allowed to interfere with them."
"Exactly," replied the Keeper of Morals, "yet this Statistician is interfering by producing his unwelcome facts. He tells us that our world is full and that there is room in it for not a single being more."
Gud turned to the Statistician and demanded: "Is this fact that you have produced a true fact or is it only a statistical fact?"
And the Statistician replied: "The fact is a true fact. Indeed, when we left to come here to consult you, we were obliged to make dummies and leave them in our places so that we would find room for ourselves when we returned. All this I can readily prove to you, if you will come with us and see for yourself that there is room in our world for not a single being more."
"It is not necessary for me to go out of my way," said Gud, "to see your world, but I will send for it." And Gud called Fidu and commanded the Underdog to go and fetch the world from whence his visitors came.
So Fidu went and fetched that world, and brought it and laid it at the feet of Gud.
Gud looked upon that world and saw that the fact of its fullness was a true fact and that there was room thereon for not a single being more. So Gud turned and said to the Keeper of Morals: "The fact of the absolute fullness of your world is a true fact and also obvious and incontrovertible. What do you propose to do about it?"
"Why, nothing, Your Deity," replied the Keeper of Morals, "it is not my business to deal with facts when they interfere with morals—I merely ignore them."
"Then," asked Gud, "why quarrel you with this Statistician? Why do you not let him and his facts alone?"
"And that I should do gladly, if he would but let me and my morals alone, but he is withholding the issuing of birth permits."
So Gud addressed the Statistician and said: "Why do you not let this man and his morals alone?"
"Because," the Statistician made reply, "his morals are incompatible with my facts, which are: First, our world is absolutely full: Second, there can be no more births than deaths: Third, we must either issue more death permits or cease to issue so many birth permits. That is absolutely logic, yet this Moralist refuses to accept it."
"I certainly do," shouted the Moralist. "Away with your sinful facts and your wicked logic! The morality of our world must be preserved at all costs. We must not encourage murder nor suicide, nor dare we discourage births, for that is also murder of those who would be born, and so it is race suicide. On these moral principles I stand as on the rock of truth, and no torrents of facts or floods of logic can dislodge me."
"You will have to admit," argued Gud, addressing the Vital Statistician, "that the Moralist has the courage of his convictions. Therefore the great truth of moral principle should be regarded above the smaller truths of material facts and mental logic—and many of the inhabitants of your world, if I know mortal nature, will agree with me."
"Sad but true," agreed the Statistician. "I am only able to hold my job because I am under civil service and not subject to popular election. But you, Great Gud, appear to me to be a rational being."
"Oh, yes," confessed Gud, "I am quite rational at times; but from the nature of my position it is only right that I should uphold morality when it clashes with rationality, as I regret to say it often does. Because I must do this, I can see both sides of the case, which neither of you gentlemen can. So to me the solution is very simple, and will outrage neither morals nor reason. Murder and suicide must not be encouraged, births must not be limited, yet your world is full. Obviously, you must proceed to empty it. There is only one moral way to do that. You must have a war—preferably a righteous war. That requires a cause with two right sides. Such causes are plentiful. Any question that can be looked at from two sides, either of which, when looked at rightly is the right side, will serve as the cause for a righteous war. This dispute that you gentlemen bring me will do nicely. Let the moralists fight for their moral principles and the rationalists fight for their facts."
"But," interrupted the Statistician, "my side would have very few adherents; men do not fight to defend facts. We would be overwhelmed by superior numbers and annihilated."
"Certainly," said Gud, "what more could you expect if you espouse an unpopular cause?
"But why stand here babbling? See, your valorous enemy has already returned to his followers and is calling them to arms. Why do you not hasten to join your colors?"
"Thanks," replied the Statistician, "but I left a dummy in my place and I am going to stay right here and count the stars."
Passing a heap of fossil platitudes Gud came to an oasis in a Desert of Righteousness and saw nineteen pretty murderers hanging in a row. There also he saw the couple who were parted at the altar, a woman who had lost her intuition, and a herd of ambitious animals who believed in the transmigration of souls.
Gud entered the caravansary of the place and bargained with the keeper thereof to make a supper with meat and wine—after which there should be dancing.
To the supper, Gud bade a Skeptic, a Cynic, a Critic and a Cryptic. And Gud and his guests made merry.
Gud blew four halos of phosphorescent smoke and gave one to each of his guests. Whereupon they were flattered and waxed loquacious, and the Cynic said to Gud: "If you had not insisted on following that Impossible Curve, but had come here by the straight way, how much sooner you would have joined us."
"True," agreed the Critic, "but the straight and narrow way would have seemed much further, for it lies wholly in the Desert of Righteousness."
"But most of all I hate to see," remarked the Cynic, "is a female cat sitting on a gravestone in the moonlight, after I carefully killed her the day before."
"Quite true," replied the Cryptic, with a weary shrug.
Then the Skeptic related to Gud some of the gossip of the place. "We have here," said he, "a powerful sheik who rules over this oasis in the Desert of Righteousness. The sheik being old, had twenty young wives; and each of these wives had a lover. Came a time when the old sheik went on a journey but returned a day before he was expected. Finding only one of his wives in the harem, he called the masons and walled up the windows and doors of the place, and that is why the nineteen pretty murderers are hanging in a row."
"But," said Gud, "the story seems incomplete."
"Not at all," replied the Skeptic, "it is only that you do not understand our laws and customs. These things are relative, you know...."
"If you will listen well," spoke up the Cryptic, "I will expound relativity to you. Now, if a man should buy a lot on time and the lot had but two dimensions, then if time should be destroyed, could the real estate agent justly demand payment for the lot?"
"Why, certainly," answered Gud. "Is not the Impossible Curve in the Nth dimension?"
"But I have not told you yet," interrupted the Skeptic, "what the old sheik did. You see, he felt so remorseful that he endowed a School of Theological Mathematics, and each year he grants a doctor's dilemma to the young man who can most nearly solve the problem of the trinity."
"What is the solution?" asked Gud.
"We do not know," replied the Skeptic, "for as yet no man has ever solved it."
"But I was explaining relativity to our host," cried the Cryptic, "and you interrupt me with this trifling gossip. Now, if a mass of silence traveling at the speed of light, should be deflected by a caricature of a phantom magnetic force, would the energy engendered—"
But at that moment the keeper of the caravansary appeared in the doorway and looked upon Gud questioningly. Gud nodded to him approvingly, whereupon five beautiful damsels entered dancing to flats and sharps, and flute and cymbal.
So the discussion of relativity was forgotten, as all things of the intellect are forgotten, when damsels young and beautiful dance to lute and timbrel.
After there had been much joyous dancing, the Cynic plucked at Gud's sleeve and asked:
"Who be these beautiful damsels, who dance so divinely, and whence came they?"
And Gud made answer and said: "These damsels be the daughters of the Pope, but I know not whence they came."
And it came to pass that as Gud was making a long journey to a certain place he neared a wayside inn, and being weary he entered and found six characters drinking tea.
"Good evening," spoke Gud. "Why are you drinking tea?"
"We are drinking tea," replied the Clerical Collar, "so that we can engage in theological disputation without cutting one another's throats."
"What is the dispute about?" asked Gud.
The Black Bathrobe made answer and said: "It concerns our belief in Gud."
"May I join you?" inquired Gud.
"Delighted!" cried the Vest with the Silver Horseshoes, not recognizing the caller.
Gud sat down and the Clerical Collar poured him a cup of hot water, but neglected to pass him the tea ball. Not wishing to attract attention to the oversight, which he realized was due to the host's being absorbed in spiritual matters, Gud was about to convert the water into tea by a miracle. Upon second thought he refrained, lest the display of miraculous power would reveal his incognito. Still Gud did not like the idea of drinking water straight; so instead of performing a miracle he reached over and helped himself to the tea ball—noting, as he did so, how much simpler it is to get results by natural laws than by unnecessary miracles.
The venerable Beard being less wrought up over the disputation, explained the nature of the meeting to the newcomer. Said he: "We are all worshipers and ministers of the one true Gud, having been born and baptised in the faith and duly ordained in its ministry. But of late certain heresies have arisen among us, and we are gathered here to ferret out the heretic and bring him to the bar of ecclesiastical justice. Sad to confess, I find that I alone have remained staunch in our faith, which is founded on the rock of unchanging truth."
"Liar," cried out the Spectacles of the Student, "we modernists are also staunch in the faith; it is merely the conceit of fundamentalist bigotry to argue that truth cannot be changed. Indeed, it must be changed or intelligent people will cease to believe it."
"You are more accurate than expedient," admonished the Vest with the Silver Horseshoes. "The faith of the people is waning fast, but it will never be restored by your muddled mixtures of science and psychology. What is needed is a great faith-arousing event, such as the trial and burning of a heretic, and for that purpose are we assembled here."
"Sad, but true," agreed the Threadbare Coat. "Any burning at the stake would tend to revive faith, but the revival would be much stronger if the burning flesh savored of heresy."
"What?" shrieked the horrified Spectacles of the Student. "Is it necessary to burn human flesh in this modern age? Would it not do quite as well to set fire to a cage of black cats? Surely the burning of cats would create a stench that would smell to high heaven."
"Tut, tut," sniffed the Clerical Collar.
Then the Venerable Beard spoke up nobly. "The red hand of heresy grapples white faith by the throat. What is the use of all our theological blue laws if the black heart of atheism continues to control our yellow press?"
"Softly, softly, Brother," the Threadbare Coat made answer; "It is not charitable, neither is it wise, to bite the hand that feeds the press."
"Do not worry," replied the Vest with the Silver Horseshoes. "I never let my theological hand know what my secular hand doeth. Let us proceed to business. The burning of any heretic is good for a headline."
The Spectacles of the Student now arose in righteous indignation, pointed a finger of contempt at the Vest with the Silver Horseshoes and cried: "Do not tell me that you merely wish to burn a heretic to make news for your paper. I know why you are a fundamentalist. You have a monopoly on the oil!"
"Young man, you betray your ignorance," spake the Clerical Collar. "The church has its own oil reserves."
"But we should save the oil to pour on troubled waters," suggested the Threadbare Coat; "and that we could do if we had an obese heretic who would burn in his own fat."
The Vest with the Silver Horseshoes became self-conscious. "There is no necessity of my being the martyr," he said. "I am already known to the masses. Moreover a heretic, to burn brilliantly, must have ideas, not mere fat."
A look of great fear now came into the Spectacles of the Student, who cried out: "You all assume because you see a light in my attic that I am burning the midnight candle at both ends in search of ideas; but I tell you it is the light of faith that shines from my window."
"What use is a false faith?" retorted the Clerical Collar. "I know that my faith alone is the true faith, because my mother told me it was so. But I will reveal the heretic to you." And he pointed an accusing finger at the Venerable Beard.
"If you have no respect for my grey hairs," wailed the accused, "I will pluck them out." And he seized his beard and tore it from his face.
"Do not think, brother," replied the Clerical Collar, "that by doing penance with self-torture, you can avoid the stake. Moreover you should feel honored at my charge, for I do not accuse you of any petty heresy, such as doubting that the eclipse of our moon is for the purpose of hiding the angels at their baths. I accuse you of theHeresis Maximus, that you doubt the virgin father!"
"Why, how absurd!" remarked Gud naively. "There never was one to doubt."
No sooner were these words out of the mouth of Gud than the six characters in search of a heretic pounced in frenzied joy upon him. Binding him with chains of iron and fetters of brass, they dragged him forth to the heretical pyre, to which the Vest of the Silver Horseshoes applied the torch, while the presses hummed with the news of the burning.
But as the flames licked hot about the feet of Gud, he slipped his chains; and blazing with ethereal fire that dulled the smoke of intolerance and the smudge of inquisition, Gud, the martyr, arose in a flame of splendor. And using the stars as stepping stones, he strode across the heavens to the place where he was going—for he had an assignation there.
She came toward Gud with an arch smile. In fact, her smile was very arch. Her brows were also arched. But her nose was as straight as the road to Hell and her lashes were curved as the new-born moon. They were also long and drooping. Her eyes were opalescent, her complexion translucent, her forehead high, and her cheekbones low. She had a cupid's bow mouth and her lips were very ruby. Her teeth were like genuine pearls and her chin was dimpled and single.
When she spoke to Gud her voice was as musical as the song the silkworms sing.
And when Gud spoke to her, she sighed in ecstasy of lavender-scented flattery, and her eyelids drooped like languid draperies across a seacoal fire.
"I have brought my book," she murmeled as she reached into her corsage and drew forth a manuscript bound with skins of humming birds. "May I read it to you? It's title is 'Art and Wealth and Anatomy Sesame.'"
She opened the book at random—which is the proper way to open any non-fiction book written by a woman—and her voice warbled as she read:
"The lambent enoughness of atomless ultraness vegetateth for eons in ultramarine slime and thence crawleth hencely, attaining esoteric power by the sublimation of the egomania into splenetic colorature which by chemic vortices electrifying plasmic erotifcanaticism ascends to organic indefinability and multitudinous indefinity, and soareth toward the inordinate fulfillment of superconscious metapsychoses."
She of the dimpled and single chin, laid aside her manuscript and stared reproachfully at Gud. "Do you comprehend it?" she beseeched.
"Why, certainly. But what does it mean?" said Gud, who was always willing to increase his knowledge if he could do so without interfering with his previous beliefs.
"It is a new theory," replied the ruby lips, "of the conquest of anatomy. This theory is based on the hypotheses that the organ called the brain is nothing but an adventitous, radio-active tumor that yields two secretions. The external secretion is what is called the mind and the internal secretion is known as the soul. From this hypothesis there follows the tetravalent truth:
"All life is anatomy.
"All anatomy is matter.
"All matter is nothing.
"Therefore nothing matters."
"Then why bother about it?" asked Gud.
But she did not answer, for her drooping eyes had again sought the open book that lay on her dimpled knees, and her voice whippled and yodeled as she read.
"The immortal soul is destroyed by the psychic spirit.
"The psychic spirit is destroyed by the mental psyche.
"The mental psyche is destroyed by the rational mind.
"The rational mind is destroyed by the common sense.
"The common sense is destroyed by the emotion.
"The emotion is destroyed by the instinct.
"The instinct is destroyed by the physiology.
"The physiology is destroyed by the anatomy.... How do you like my eyes?"
"Very," said Gud, "for your pupils shine as unborn souls of May-green stars floating in the nebulous nonentity."
After which her butler came to say that Messrs. Confucius and Buddha were calling.
We have built our own skyscrapersOut of slender metal girders,We have flung our shining cities,Reaped our harvests from the sod....With our paths of empire crimsonFrom a list of countless murders,We go shrieking down the darkness,Bent on worshipping a god.
We have built our own skyscrapersOut of slender metal girders,We have flung our shining cities,Reaped our harvests from the sod....With our paths of empire crimsonFrom a list of countless murders,We go shrieking down the darkness,Bent on worshipping a god.
Gud came around a bend in the Impossible Curve and lo, the Curve broadened into a great highway which was very smooth. The way had been rough before, so Gud now rejoiced and struck his staff gleefully on the pavement, as he walked on in the middle of the great highway. But ere he had progressed far, there came from behind him an agonizing shriek, as of a man being flayed alive because he loved his neighbor's wife.
The agonizing shriek startled Gud, so that he leaped sideways rather spryly—considering that he was not slender. Just as he leaped, a chariot rushed by with the speed of light, which is the speed limit. Had Gud been less spry he would have ended fatally, the chariot would not have stopped, and Gud would have never known what it was. But having been spry, Gud had leaped almost out of the way; only his staff had been knocked from his hand and his elbow broken. Observing the injury done to the pedestrian, the demon who drove the chariot caused its speed to abate, and presently it wheeled about and came roaring back to where Gud stood, and stopped.
The demon alighted and said: "Seems we had a little accident."
"Nay, it feels, I know not seems," returned Gud, rubbing his elbow.
"Pedigreed?" asked the demon.
"No, fractured," said Gud.
"Dead, I take it," remarked the demon, and he kicked something that lay limp and prone on the highway.
Then Gud observed that the Underdog was dead.
"How much?" asked the demon. And before Gud could speak, the demon pulled out a roll of the medium of exchange and unrolled it and handed Gud a portion of the medium.
As Gud had no pockets he put the medium under his girdle and remarked: "If my staff had not been broken, I could revive him."
"A pulmotor would be more likely," said the demon; and he went to the chariot, brought back an instrument and applied last aid to the Underdog, who presently wagged his tail feebly, opened his eyes and whined piteously.
Gud realized that the demon had paid him because the Underdog had been dead; and now that Fidu was no longer dead, Gud felt constrained to return that which the demon had given him.
Thereupon the demon looked more gracious and said: "Where are you going?"
"We were walking for pleasure," answered Gud.
At this foolish reply the demon looked confounded. "Well I don't see any pleasure in walking," he remarked. "Better jump in—I'll take you as far as Progress. It is just beyond Advertising."
So Gud assumed alacrity, and jumped into the chariot; and the demon threw the Underdog, which was still whining piteously, into the rear of the chariot, and then sat himself beside Gud.
The demon manipulated many mechanisms skilfully; and the chariot began to roar mightily and then to purr contentedly, as the great highway slipped beneath it.
Gud was pleased with the demon's chariot and sat back on the cushions and sighed enviously.
Suddenly the chariot swerved and shrieked its agonizing shriek, and Gud saw a lesser chariot, like unto the demon's chariot but smaller and meaner looking. And the demon smiled scornfully, and said: "That was a Lord."
And they had not gone far after they passed the Lord when they came to a small place with a great sign: "SPEED LIMIT THE SPEED OF SOUND."
And the demon swore balefully, and the powerful chariot heaved and groaned distressingly. Gud looked out upon the way and saw that it was rough like a washlady's board, and there were many sharp turns and detours; and at one place there was a sign: "THIS ROAD TO HIGHWATER." Presently there was another sign: "THIS ROAD TO BREAKFAST."
Gud asked: "What place is this?"
Just as he had spoken the chariot reversed its direction so that Gud could see behind it, and there was a sign which read: "FREE AIR AND GAS TO BURN, BUT DON'T ASK FOR WATER."
Gud was about to ask the meaning of all these strange signs and wonders when the chariot turned a somersault, and Gud saw another sign being written on the sky. This was mightier than all, and as Gud read it the Lord passed beneath them; for the reading of the sign was: "THIS IS HELL."
When they had passed through Hell the road became smooth again, and the demon smiled and began to burn up the road; and Gud looked into a small mirror and could see Hell diminishing according to the law of perspective. But of a sudden Hell ceased to be visible, for the demon was angry; and he was exceeding the speed limit, which was the speed of light, and that is why the light of Hell could no longer reach them.
As there was nothing now to be seen in the rear, Gud looked ahead and found that he could see more than twice as fast as usual, for they were meeting the light that came from that direction at more than its own speed. So Gud saw the tail light of the Lord that had passed them in Hell. The demon turned on the warning glare to apprize the little Lord of his approach, but this action was without avail since they were exceeding the speed of light and the glare could not shine fast enough to warn the Lord; and so the Lord was unwarned. Then the demon swore unjustly and called the Lord "A way-swine"; but it availed nothing and the Lord was run down and run over, and left as an empty tin that had been stepped on by a dinosaur with an iron heel.
After they had passed through Advertising and through Alltalk, which was a suburb of Advertising, they came to Progress and the demon slowed down and began to show Gud the town.
The Underdog had recovered from his injuries and crawled out and stood on the running board with his fore feet on the front defender and barked joyfully, for Progress was a lively enough town and largely made up of show windows and chariot factories.
When the demon came to the end of his journey Gud alighted and said: "Much obliged."
The demon said: "Not at all."
The Underdog jumped from the chariot and ran gleefully up to one who was standing in front of a factory and playing with an enormous horse-power.
Gud was jealous when he saw how much the Underdog seemed to love the stranger and how much the stranger seemed to love the Underdog, and Gud asked the demon who the stranger was. And the demon said: "Why, that is Lord, who makes the little Lord chariots. If you won't tell him I ran over one, I'll introduce you."
So Gud met Lord, and Lord said: "I think I make a pretty good chariot."
"Yes," said Gud, "It can pass any chariot in Hell."
After that Lord excused himself and went into his office to dictate an article on the "Importance of Eating Pork"; and Gud was left at the mercy of Lord's sales force.
So Gud went across the street and entered the palatial office of a great chariot maker and once inside he was obliged to pledge his honor and his name. And when Gud came out of that place he was the proud possessor of a great chariot with a mild roar.
They started off and went back toward Hell, for they were headed that way and could not turn around. They passed through Hell and went on from Hell to Breakfast, and the chariot roared beautifully.
Then the price of faith, which the great chariot burned, began to increase at each filling station, and the hope, which smoothed its running, became full of grit, and the charity on which it rolled began to blow up, and the way became rough and the curves became impossible, even for a great chariot; and Gud began to wish for a Lord.
But there was no Lord in sight. Gud tinkered with the great chariot with patience, and energized the battery with nerve, but all was of no avail.
So when a Blackamoor came along on a gray mule, Gud made a bargain and exchanged the great chariot for the mule. But Gud recalling the story about the old man and his son and the jackass, Gud threw his animal into the river at once, to avoid criticism.
Gud now whistled to the Underdog, and the Underdog harkened to the whistle and followed after Gud, for they were both meek in the humility of wisdom.
They had not gone far until Gud was arrested. His thumb print was taken and he was cast into jail. As he did not know how to change his thumb print, he wished to know why he had been arrested, in order to judge whether it would be honorable to escape. So he inquired of one of his fellow prisoners. And the prisoner listened to Gud's story and made answer: "You have been arrested because you drove a high-powered chariot without being possessed of a large amount of money. The catalog of crime which such a combination engenders is tedious and fulsome."
"But what is the remedy?" asked Gud, for he did not like to remain a criminal.
"Money," replied the prisoner, "you should make money. If we could get out of this place I would show you how, for I am by trade a money-maker."
"Very well," said Gud, and he commanded the walls of the jail to fall down, and he and the money-maker walked out over the fallen walls and proceeded to the money-maker's den.
But Gud soon tired of the tedious process of copper engraving; and going out for a stroll about the town he came upon the booth of a fortune-teller.
"I wish you would tell me a fortune," said Gud, "for I am badly in need of one."
"But for that I charge money," said the fortune-teller.
"Why?" asked Gud.
"Because, I know what is going to happen."
"So do I," said Gud.
"Liar!" cried the fortune-teller. "If you knew what was going to happen, and had any insight whatsoever into future events, you would not be standing idly here, for you would be in the Street."
"Thanks for the suggestion," replied Gud, "I will go there immediately."
When Gud reached the Street he found many bulls there and bears and lambs, and men who were busy watering their stock. And Gud found there also a private secretary who was watching the tape. And Gud said: "Why do you watch the tape with eager eyes?"
And she answered and said to Gud: "Because I wish to know what figures are on the tape as quickly as any one else."
"And how would you like to know more quickly?"
"Indeed," she cried, "if one could, he would soon own the earth."
"It is easy," said Gud. "All you have to do is to read these figures before they appear instead of afterwards."
"Can you do that?"
"Why certainly! It is easy to read the future, if you know how."
And so Gud showed her how to read the future, and she showed Gud how to cash in on the readings, and presently they owned the earth.