Smithers, with a smile. "Can't I
give you another cup of coffee?"
"You may," returned the School-master, pained at the lady's grammar, but
too courteous to call attention to it save by the emphasis with which he
spoke the word "may."
"That's one view to take of it," said the Idiot. "But in case we got a
Sunday breakfast every day in the week, we, on the other hand, would get
approximately what we pay for. You may fill my cup too, Mrs. Smithers."
"The coffee is all gone," returned the landlady, with a snap.
"Then, Mary," said the Idiot, gracefully, turning to the maid, "you may
give me a glass of ice-water. It is quite as warm, after all, as the
coffee, and not quite so weak. A perpetual Sunday, though, would have
its drawbacks," he added, unconscious of the venomous glances of the
landlady. "You, Mr. Whitechoker, for instance, would be preaching all
the time, and in consequence would soon break down. Then the effect upon
our eyes from habitually reading the Sunday newspapers day after day
would be extremely bad; nor must we forget that an eternity of Sundays
means the elimination 'from our midst,' as the novelists say, of
baseball, of circuses, of horse-racing, and other necessities of life,
unless we are prepared to cast over the Puritanical view of Sunday which
now prevails. It would substitute Dr. Watts for 'Annie Rooney.' We
should lose 'Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay' entirely, which is a point in its
favor."
"I don't know about that," said the genial old gentleman.
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