Further Foolishness

Further Foolishness

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Title: Further Foolishness
Author: Stephen Leacock
Release Date: March 7, 2004 [EBook #11504]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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FOOLISHNESS ***

This etext was produced by Gardner Buchanan.

Further Foolishness Sketches and Satires on The Follies of The Day
by Stephen Leacock

Preface
Many years ago when I was a boy at school, we had over our class an
ancient and spectacled schoolmaster who was as kind at heart as he was
ferocious in appearance, and whose memory has suggested to me the
title of this book.
It was his practice, on any outburst of gaiety in the class-room, to chase
us to our seats with a bamboo cane and to shout at us in defiance:
_Now, then, any further foolishness?_

I find by experience that there are quite a number of indulgent readers
who are good enough to adopt the same expectant attitude towards me
now.
STEPHEN LEACOCK McGILL UNIVERSITY MONTREAL
November 1, 1916

Contents
FOLLIES IN FICTION
I. Stories Shorter Still
II. The Snoopopaths; or Fifty Stories in One
III. Foreign Fiction in Imported Instalments. Serge the Superman: A
Russian Novel. (Translated, with a hand pump, out of the original
Russian)
MOVIES AND MOTORS, MEN AND WOMEN
IV. Madeline of the Movies: A Photoplay done back into Words
V. The Call of the Carburettor; or, Mr. Blinks and his Friends
VI. The Two Sexes, in Fives or Sixes A Dinner-party Study
VII. The Grass Bachelor's Guide With Sincere Apologies to the Ladies'
Periodicals
VIII. Every Man and his friends. Mr. Crunch's Portrait Gallery (as
Edited from his Private Thoughts)
IX. More than Twice-told Tales; or, Every Man his Own Hero
X. A Study in Still Life--My Tailor
PEACE, WAR, AND POLITICS
XI. Germany from Within Out
XII. Abdul Aziz has His: An Adventure in the Yildiz Kiosk
XIII. In Merry Mexico
XIV. Over the Grape Juice; or, The Peacemakers
XV. The White House from Without In
TIMID THOUGHTS ON TIMELY TOPICS
XVI. Are the Rich Happy?
XVII. Humour as I See It

Follies in Fiction

I. Stories Shorter Still

Among the latest follies in fiction is the perpetual demand for stories
shorter and shorter still. The only thing to do is to meet this demand at
the source and check it. Any of the stories below, if left to soak
overnight in a barrel of rainwater, will swell to the dimensions of a
dollar-fifty novel.
(I) AN IRREDUCIBLE DETECTIVE STORY
HANGED BY A HAIR OR A MURDER MYSTERY MINIMISED
The mystery had now reached its climax. First, the man had been
undoubtedly murdered. Secondly, it was absolutely certain that no
conceivable person had done it.
It was therefore time to call in the great detective.
He gave one searching glance at the corpse. In a moment he whipped
out a microscope.
"Ha! ha!" he said, as he picked a hair off the lapel of the dead man's
coat. "The mystery is now solved."
He held up the hair.
"Listen," he said, "we have only to find the man who lost this hair and
the criminal is in our hands."
The inexorable chain of logic was complete.
The detective set himself to the search.
For four days and nights he moved, unobserved, through the streets of
New York scanning closely every face he passed, looking for a man
who had lost a hair.
On the fifth day he discovered a man, disguised as a tourist, his head
enveloped in a steamer cap that reached below his ears. The man was
about to go on board the Gloritania.
The detective followed him on board.
"Arrest him!" he said, and then drawing himself to his full height, he
brandished aloft the hair.
"This is his," said the great detective. "It proves his guilt."
"Remove his hat," said the ship's captain sternly.
They did so.
The man was entirely bald.
"Ha!" said the great detective without a moment of hesitation. "He has
committed not one murder but about a million."
(II) A COMPRESSED OLD ENGLISH NOVEL
SWEARWORD THE UNPRONOUNCEABLE

CHAPTER ONE
AND ONLY
"Ods bodikins!" exclaimed Swearword the Saxon, wiping his mailed
brow with his iron hand, "a fair morn withal! Methinks twert lithlier to
rest me in yon glade than to foray me forth in yon fray! Twert it not?"
But there happened to be a real Anglo-Saxon standing by.
"Where in heaven's name," he said in sudden passion, "did you get that