I Only
Wish He Had Been Able To Understand The Things I Called Him - That
Is All I Wish!
It is by a succession of miracles that the members of his maniacal
craft usually do dodge death and destruction.
The providence that
watches over the mentally deficient has them in its care, I guess;
and the same beneficent influence frequently avails to save those
who ride behind them and, to a lesser extent, those who walk ahead.
Once in a while a Paris cabman does have a lucky stroke and garner
in a foot traveler. In an instant a vast and surging crowd convenes.
In another instant the road is impassably blocked. Up rushes a
gendarme and worms his way through the press to the center. He
has a notebook in his hand. In this book he enters the gloating
cabman's name, his age, his address, and his wife's maiden name,
if any; and gets his views on the Dreyfus case; and finds out what
he thinks about the separation of church and state; and tells him
that if he keeps on the way he is headed he will be getting the
cross of the Legion of Honor pretty soon. They shake hands and
embrace, and the cabman cuts another notch in his mudguard, and
gets back on the seat and drives on. Then if, by any chance, the
victim of the accident still breathes, the gendarme arrests him
for interfering with the traffic. It is a lovely system and sweetly
typical.
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