The Idiot | Page 3

much. It
would be outside of one's dwelling, and not within it, as is the case with
so many houses. A canal-boat having no cellar could not have a damp
one, and if by some untoward circumstance it should spring a leak, the
water could be pumped out at once and the leak plugged up. However
this might be, I'll offer another wager to this board on that point, and
that is that more people die in houses than on canal-boats."
"We'd rather give you our money right out," retorted the Doctor.
"Thank you," said the Idiot. "But I don't need money. I don't like
money. Money is responsible for more extravagance than any other
commodity in existence. Besides, it and I are not intimate enough to get
along very well together, and when I have any I immediately do my
level best to rid myself of it. But to return to our canal-boat, I note a
look of disapproval in Mr. Whitechoker's eyes. He doesn't seem to
think any more of my scheme than do the rest of you--which I regret,
since I believe that he would be the gainer if land edifices were
supplanted by the canal system as proposed by myself. Take church on
a rainy morning, for instance. A great many people stay at home from
church on rainy mornings just because they do not want to venture out
in the wet. Suppose we all lived in canal-boats? Would not people be
deprived of this flimsy pretext for staying at home if their homes could

be towed up to the church door? Or, better yet, granting that the
churches followed out the same plan, and were themselves constructed
like canal-boats, how easy it would be for the sexton to drive the
church around the town and collect the absentees. In the same manner it
would be glorious for men like ourselves, who have to go to their daily
toil. For a consideration, Mrs. Pedagog could have us driven to our
various places of business every morning, returning for us in the
evening. Think how fine it would be for me, for instance, instead of
having to come home every night in an overcrowded elevated train or
on a cable-car, to have the office-boy come and announce, 'Mrs.
Pedagog's Select Home for Gentlemen is at the door, Mr. Idiot.' I could
step right out of my office into my charming little bedroom up in the
bow, and the time usually expended on the cars could be devoted to
dressing for tea. Then we could stop in at the court-house for our legal
friend; and as for Doctor Capsule, wouldn't he revel in driving this
boarding-house about town on his daily rounds among his patients?"
"What would become of my office hours?" asked the Doctor. "If this
house were whirling giddily all about the city from morning until night,
I don't know what would become of my office patients."
"They might die a little sooner or live a little longer, that is all," said the
Idiot. "If they weren't able to find the house at all, however, I think it
would be better for us, for much as I admire you, Doctor, I think your
office hours are a nuisance to the rest of us. I had to elbow my way out
of the house this morning between a double line of sufferers from
mumps and influenza, and other pleasingly afflicted patients of yours,
and I didn't like it very much."
"I don't believe they liked it much either," returned the Doctor. "One
man with a sprained ankle told me about you. You shoved him in
passing."
"Well, you can apologize to him in my behalf," returned the Idiot; "but
you might add that he must expect very much the same treatment
whenever he and a boy with mumps stand between me and the door.
Sprained ankles aren't contagious, and I preferred shoving him to the
other alternative."

The Doctor was silent, and the Idiot rose to go. "Where will the house
be this evening about six-thirty, Mrs. Pedagog?" he asked, as he pushed
his chair back from the table.
"Where? Why, here, of course," returned the landlady.
"Why, yes--of course," observed the Idiot, with an impatient gesture.
"How foolish of me! I've really been so wrapped up in my canal-boat
ideal that I came to believe that it might possibly be real and not a
dream, after all. I almost believed that perhaps I should find that the
house had been towed somewhere up into Westchester County on my
return, so that we might all escape the city's tax on personal property,
which I am told is unusually high this year."
With which sally the Idiot kissed his hand to Mr. Pedagog and retired
from the scene.

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