Get Next! Part 7

Mr. and Mrs. James Shine von Shine were divorced yesterday at the home of the bride's parents in Newport. The ceremony was very simple but expensive to the ex-husband. Considerable alimony changed hands.

The private cottage of Mrs. Offulrich Swellswell at Bar Harbor has been beautifully decorated in honor of the approaching divorce of their daughter, Gladys, from her husband, Percy Skiddoo. Percy is the well-known manufacturer of the reversible two-step so much used by Society.

Cards are all out for a divorce in the family of the Von Guzzles, but owing to a typographical error in the cards it is impossible to say whether it is the old man or the son. Both employ blonde typewriters.

JOHN HENEY ON GREAT MEN

Uncle Peter is one of the gamest little chunks of humanity that ever looked the world in the eye, but when he heard the edict put forth by Doctor Osler the old man went overboard with a splash.

He was under water a long time.

He thought the Bogey Man had him for sure.

Uncle Peter felt that it would no longer be possible for him to pa.s.s a drug store without some young fellow rushing out with a handkerchief full of chloroform and yelling, "Here, you old chestnut! here's where you get it in the nose!"

In the dark watches of the night Uncle Peter used to wake up covered with cold perspiration, because he had dreamed that Doc Osler was pounding him on the bald spot with a baseball bat after having poured hair dye all over his breakfast food.

At last Uncle Peter got so nervous I advised him to write to the Doctor.

"Ask him if he won't commute your sentence because you live in the country and are a commuter," I suggested.

The doctor replied to Uncle Peter at once and I will try to translate his letter from Johns Hopkins into pure English, as near as I can remember:

JOHNS HOPKINS, To-day.

Dear Uncle Peter:--When I cut loose with the observation that men were all in at 40 and _rauss mittim_ at 60 I kept several exceptions up my sleeve.

The exceptions include you, Uncle Peter, and myself also.

It could not apply in your case, Uncle Peter, because I have known you since we lived together in Baltimore many moons ago, and I realize that the years have only improved you, Uncle Peter, and that to-day you are a bigger shine than you ever were.

One point about my observation which seems to have escaped the eyes of the general public, but which you suggest so delicately in your letter, Uncle Peter, will be found in the beautiful words of the poet who says:

Some advertis.e.m.e.nt now and then Is needed by the greatest men!

Don't mention it, Uncle Peter, for what I tell you is confidential, but do you know that my little bunch of remarks, which cost me nothing anyway because I was invited to the banquet, have given me more widespread advertis.e.m.e.nt than Andy Carnegie can get for eighteen public libraries?

You know, Uncle Peter, there is nothing in the world so easy to make stand up on its hind legs as the general public if you just go after it right.

But the trick is, Uncle Peter, to know what to say and when to say it.

Look at my case and then tell me if it wasn't up to me to emit a rave.

There I was, just about to leave my native land to go to Oxford and become the squeegee professor in the Knowledge Factory and be all swallowed up in the London fog, but n.o.body seemed to miss me before I went away.

I began to feel lost, lonely and forgotten like a vice-president of the United States.

Then came the banquet, Uncle Peter, and like a flash the inspiration came to me and I arose in my seat and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, after a man reaches the age of 40 he is a seldom-happener, and after he gets to the age of 60 he is a dead rabbit and it's the woods for his."

What was the result, Uncle Peter?

Every man in the world felt that I was his personal insult.

Every man _over_ 40 listened to what I said and began to yell for the police; and every man _under_ 40 realized that he would be _over_ 40 some day, so he began to look for a rock to throw at me.

I had them, going and coming.

Then the newspapers heard about it and where formerly in their columns was nothing but dull and harmless war news my picture began, to blossom forth like the flowers that bloom in the spring, tra la!

Pretty soon, Uncle Peter, every man, woman and child in the world began to know me and I couldn't walk out in the public streets without being snap-shotted or bowed to, or barked at, according to the age of those present.

Of course, we all know, Uncle Peter, that my theory has wormholes all over it, but didn't I make good?

We do not need a book or history to tell us that Julius Caesar was over forty before he ever saw the base of Pompey's statue; that Brutus and Ca.s.sius were over forty before they saw a chance to carve their initials on Caesar's wishbone; that Cleopatra was over forty before she saw snakes; that Carrie Nation was over forty before she could hatchet a barroom and put the boots to the rum demon; that Mrs. Chadwick was over forty before she opened a bank account; that Jonah was over forty before he saw a whale; that President Roosevelt was over forty before he saw a self-folding lion; that Kuropatkin was over forty before he learned to make five retreats grow where only one retreat grew before; that George Washington was over forty before he was struck with the idea of making Valley Forge a winter resort; and so forth, and so forth, world without end.

But these suggestions only prove the rule, Uncle Peter, and the rule is this:

Some advertis.e.m.e.nt now and then Is relished by the greatest men!

Don't worry, Uncle Peter, because you are getting to be a has-was.

You may do something in your old age which will make people think less of you than they do now--you never can tell.

With these few words I will leave you, Uncle Peter; wishing you as much age in the future as you have had in the past.

Yours with love, WILLIAM OSLER.

After getting this letter Uncle Peter began to breathe easier and two days later he was quite able to resist the desire to crawl under the bed every time a bottle of soothing syrup arrived from the drug store.

Uncle Peter got very gay the day after Admiral Togo won the battle of the Sea of j.a.pan.

Fifteen minutes after the last Russian battleship had been slapped on the cross-trees Uncle Peter had a letter written to Togo.

I am going to show you a copy of it, if I get pinched in the act:

NEW YORK, This Morning.

To Admiral William Duffy Togo, the j.a.panese crackerjack.

Dear Togie:--Please forgive me for writing you these few lines, but I have been through several wars myself and I have witnessed how easy it is for a hero to take the wrong road and walk unexpectedly into the cold storage department of the public's estimation. That is the reason I wish to give you a few points on the etiquette of being a hero, which I have studied from observation in this country.

Brave Togie:--When you get home in Tokio or Yokohama, or Communipaw, or wherever it is, keep the face closed, more especially in the region of the mouth, because the moment a hero begins to speak somebody will misconstrue what he says and get him talking politics when he only meant to say, "Drink hearty!"

Clever Togie:--Don't ever talk with an ambitious reporter unless you have a baseball mask over the face and a mosquito netting over the vocabulary; because if you only say to him, "How's the health?"