Part 3

He.--Yes; or, "IF YOU HAVE ANY TIME TO KILL, KILL YOUR OWN." At what a rapid pace we live, anyway. People in the country--the peasant class--are never in a hurry. They talk slowly, eat slowly, and work at the same laggard pace.

She.--In other words, they exist, but do not live. They do not enjoy what we enjoy. A daily feast is spread before them, but they do not partake of it. What do they know of glowing sunsets and of moonlit waves; of shaded walks through pathless woods; of narrow streams in-walled with trees? The sunset tells the peasant only of what the weather will bring to his crops; the stretch of velvet through which the streamlet winds, of green pastures for his flocks. But I have gotten away from my subject. In other words, like the bore, I have "side-tracked."

He.--Only what you say does not bore.

She.--You mean, not you.

He.--Nor any one else.

She.--Thank you.

He.--I should thank you, instead. Now, I am to remember, first, that Golden Rule Number I is.: AVOID UNNECESSARY DETAILS. Rule Number II.: DO NOT ASK QUESTION NUMBER TWO UNTIL QUESTION NUMBER ONE HAS BEEN ANSWERED; and, furthermore, one must be neither too curious nor too disinterested; that is, one must not ask too few nor too many questions; just enough. I fear that I shall find it difficult to observe this rule, but I shall try to acquire the tact that is necessary for one to have. May I practice the art when with you?

She.--That will be charming, and you may begin at once.

GOLDEN RULE NUMBER III

Do not interrupt another while he is speaking.

He.--So we agree that the greatest fault that a person can have is to ask questions, and then, without waiting for the answers, to plunge at once into a detailed account of his own doings. I have discovered another fault, and one, I fear, that I, too, possess; that is, to ask questions concerning the welfare of my friend and of his family, and then after he has gotten fairly under way in the recital of his woes, to interrupt him with irrelevant remarks.

She.--I am sure that you haven't this fault, although it is very common. It is based upon the principle that people, as a rule, are vitally concerned only in what concerns themselves. I have a friend who maintains that no one really enjoys listening to what another has to say. He says that the interested (?) listener is interested only in having the other person finish in order that he may have the opportunity to tell his story.

He.--I note, however, that, as a rule, people recite their woes, and not their "weals." But, of course, that depends upon the individual. Some persons always have a "hard luck story;" others, dwell upon the bright happenings in their lives.

She.--I think we each can recall some friend whose greatest pleasure is to pose as a martyr; another, who, no matter what are his ills, has always something of interest to impart pertaining to some good fortune, fancied or otherwise, which has befallen him.

He.--Speaking of our faults, I think that the best way to correct them is to notice them in our friends, and then to try to avoid them. But, of course, you haven't any.

She.--Any friends?

He.--Any faults, of course.

She.--I fear that you are not a good critic.

He.--I may not be; but you certainly have none of the bad habits that we have enumerated.

She.--Oh! you couldn't see them if I had.

He.--From sheer stupidity?

She.--Hardly; only as far as I am concerned, you have become accustomed to think of me as did Dick of Maisie, in "The Light that Failed" that "The Queen can do no wrong."

He.--That reminds me--I have just finished reading "The Light that Failed," and I am sure that I shall never get away from the awfulness of it--the awfulness of having the light go out forever.

She.--Kipling makes one see it all so vividly, where he says:

"'I shan't.' The voice rose in a wail, 'My God! I'm blind, and the darkness will never go away.' He made as if to leap from the bed, but Torpenhow's arms were around him, and Torpenhow's chin was on his shoulder, and his breath was squeezed out of him. He could only gasp, 'Blind!'"

He.--And again, the picture that Kipling draws of the blind man who suddenly finds himself unable to do that which he has been accustomed to do. I have the book with me:

"A wise man (who is blind) will keep his eyes on the floor and sit still. For amusement he may pick coal, lump by lump, out of a light scuttle, with the tongs, and pile it in a little heap by the fender, keeping count of the lumps, which must all be put back again, one by one, and very carefully. He may set himself sums if he cares to work them out; he may talk to himself, or to the cat if she chooses to visit him; and if his trade has been that of an artist he may sketch in the air with his forefinger: but that is too much like drawing a pig with his eyes shut. He may go to his bookshelves and count his books, ranging them in order of their size; or to his wardrobe and count out his shirts, laying them in piles of two or three on the bed, as they suffer from frayed cuffs or lost buttons. Even this entertainment wearies after a time; and all the times are very, very long."

I suppose that this portrayal is true to life.