The Idiot | Page 4

"Let's write a book," suggested the Idiot, as he took his place at the
board and unfolded his napkin.
"What about?" asked the Doctor, with a smile at the idea of the Idiot's
thinking of embarking on literary pursuits.
"About four hundred pages long," said the Idiot. "I feel inspired."
"You are inspired," said the School-Master. "In your way you are a
genius. I really never heard of such a variegated Idiot as you are in all
my experience, and that means a great deal, I can tell you, for in the
course of my career as an instructor of youth I have encountered many
idiots."
"Were they idiots before or after having drank at the fount of your
learning?" asked the Idiot, placidly.
Mr. Pedagog glared, and the Idiot was apparently satisfied. To make

Mr. Pedagog glare appeared to be one of the chiefest of his ambitions.
"You will kindly remember, Mr. Idiot," said Mrs. Pedagog at this point,
"that Mr. Pedagog is my husband, and such insinuations at my table are
distinctly out of place."
"I ask your pardon, Mrs. Pedagog," rejoined the offender, meekly.
"Nevertheless, as apart from the question in hand as to whether Mr.
Pedagog inspires idiocy or not, I should like to get the views of this
gathering on the point you make regarding the table. Is this your table?
Is it not rather the table of those who sit about it to regale their inner
man with the good things under which I remember once or twice in my
life to have heard it groan? To my mind, the latter is the truth. It is our
table, because we buy it, and I am forced to believe that some of us pay
for it. I am prepared to admit that if Mr. Brief, for instance, is
delinquent in his weekly payments, his interest in the table reverts to
you until he shall have liquidated, and he is not privileged to say a
word that you do not approve of; but I, for instance, who since January
1st have been compelled to pay in advance, am at least sole lessee, and
for the time being proprietor of the portion for which I have paid. You
have sold it to me. I have entered into possession, and while in
possession, as a matter of right and not on sufferance, haven't I the
privilege of freedom of speech?"
"You certainly exercise the privilege whether you have it or not,"
snapped Mr. Pedagog.
"Well, I believe in exercise," said the Idiot. "Exercise brings strength,
and if exercising the privilege is going to strengthen it, exercise it I
shall, if I have to hire a gymnasium for the purpose. But to return to
Mrs. Pedagog's remark. It brings up another question that has more or
less interested me. Because Mrs. Smithers married Mr. Pedagog, do we
lose all of our rights in Mr. Pedagog? Before the happy event that
reduced our number from ten to nine--"
"We are still ten, are we not?" asked Mr. Whitechoker, counting the
guests.

"Not if Mr. Pedagog and the late Mrs. Smithers have become one," said
the Idiot. "But, as I was saying, before the happy event that reduced our
number from ten to nine we were permitted to address our friend
Pedagog in any terms we saw fit, and whenever he became sufficiently
interested to indulge in repartee we were privileged to return it. Have
we relinquished that privilege? I don't remember to have done so."
"It's a question worthy of your giant intellect," said Mr. Pedagog,
scornfully. "For myself, I do not at all object to anything you may
choose to say to me or of me. Your assaults are to me as water is to a
duck's back."
"I am sorry," said the Idiot. "I hate family disagreements, and here we
have Mrs. Pedagog taking one side and Mr. Pedagog the other. But
whatever decision may ultimately be reached, of one thing Mrs.
Pedagog must be assured. I on principle side against Mr. Pedagog, and
if it be the wish of my good landlady that I shall refrain from playing
intellectual battledore and shuttlecock with her husband, whom we all
revere, I certainly shall refrain. Hereafter if I indulge in anything that in
any sense resembles repartee with our landlord, I wish it distinctly
understood that an apology goes with it."
"That's all right, my boy," said the School-Master. "You mean well.
You are a little new, that's all, and we all understand you."
"I don't understand him," growled the Doctor, still smarting under the
recollection of former breakfast-table discomfitures. "I wish we could
get him translated."
"If you prescribed for me once or twice I think it likely I should be
translated in short order," retorted the Idiot. "I wonder