idle thoughts of an idle fellow-第16节
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ning the shy fellowwalks into a room； or； turning to him with 〃This is the way you shake hands；〃 proceeds to go through a comic pantomime with the rest of the room； taking hold of every one's hand as if it were a hot plate and flabbily dropping it again。 And then they ask him why he blushes； and why he stammers； and why he always speaks in an almost inaudible tone； as if they thought he did it on purpose。 Then one of them； sticking out his chest and strutting about the room like a pouter…pigeon； suggests quite seriously that that is the style he should adopt。 The old man slaps him on the back and says： 〃Be bold； my boy。 Don't be afraid of any one。〃 The mother says； 〃Never do anything that you need be ashamed of； Algernon； and then you never need be ashamed of anything you do；〃 and； beaming mildly at him； seems surprised at the clearness of her own logic。 The boys tell him that he's 〃worse than a girl；〃 and the girls repudiate the implied slur upon their sex by indignantly exclaiming that they are sure no girl would be half as bad。
They are quite right； no girl would be。 There is no such thing as a shy woman； or； at all events； I have never come across one； and until I do I shall not believe in them。 I know that the generally accepted belief is quite the reverse。 All women are supposed to be like timid； startled fawns； blushing and casting down their gentle eyes when looked at and running away when spoken to； while we man are supposed to be a bold and rollicky lot； and the poor dear little women admire us for it； but are terribly afraid of us。 It is a pretty theory； but； like most generally accepted theories； mere nonsense。 The girl of twelve is self…contained and as cool as the proverbial cucumber； while her brother of twenty stammers and stutters by her side。 A woman will enter a concert…room late； interrupt the performance； and disturb the whole audience without moving a hair； while her husband follows her； a crushed heap of apologizing misery。
The superior nerve of women in all matters connected with love； from the casting of the first sheep's…eye down to the end of the honeymoon； is too well acknowledged to need comment。 Nor is the example a fair one to cite in the present instance； the positions not being equally balanced。 Love is woman's business； and in 〃business〃 we all lay aside our natural weaknessesthe shyest man I ever knew was a photographic tout。
ON BABIES。
Oh； yes； I doI know a lot about 'em。 I was one myself once； though not longnot so long as my clothes。 They were very long； I recollect； and always in my way when I wanted to kick。 Why do babies have such yards of unnecessary clothing？ It is not a riddle。 I really want to know。 I never could understand it。 Is it that the parents are ashamed of the size of the child and wish to make believe that it is longer than it actually is？ I asked a nurse once why it was。 She said：
〃Lor'； sir； they always have long clothes； bless their little hearts。〃
And when I explained that her answer； although doing credit to her feelings； hardly disposed of my difficulty； she replied：
〃Lor'； sir； you wouldn't have 'em in short clothes； poor little dears？〃 And she said it in a tone that seemed to imply I had suggested some unmanly outrage。
Since than I have felt shy at making inquiries on the subject； and the reasonif reason there beis still a mystery to me。 But indeed； putting them in any clothes at all seems absurd to my mind。 Goodness knows there is enough of dressing and undressing to be gone through in life without beginning it before we need； and one would think that people who live in bed might at all events be spared the torture。 Why wake the poor little wretches up in the morning to take one lot of clothes off； fix another lot on； and put them to bed again； and then at night haul them out once more； merely to change everything back？ And when all is done； what difference is there； I should like to know； between a baby's night…shirt and the thing it wears in the day…time？
Very likely； however； I am only making myself ridiculousI often do； so I am informedand I will therefore say no more upon this matter of clothes； except only that it would be of great convenience if some fashion were adopted enabling you to tell a boy from a girl。
At present it is most awkward。 Neither hair； dress； nor conversation affords the slightest clew； and you are left to guess。 By some mysterious law of nature you invariably guess wrong； and are thereupon regarded by all the relatives and friends as a mixture of fool and knave； the enormity of alluding to a male babe as 〃she〃 being only equaled by the atrocity of referring to a female infant as 〃he〃。 Whichever sex the particular child in question happens not to belong to is considered as beneath contempt； and any mention of it is taken as a personal insult to the family。
And as you value your fair name do not attempt to get out of the difficulty by talking of 〃it。〃
There are various methods by which you may achieve ignominy and shame。 By murdering a large and respected family in cold blood and afterward depositing their bodies in the water companies' reservoir； you will gain much unpopularity in the neighborhood of your crime； and even robbing a church will get you cordially disliked； especially by the vicar。 But if you desire to drain to the dregs the fullest cup of scorn and hatred that a fellow human creature can pour out for you； let a young mother hear you call dear baby 〃it。〃
Your best plan is to address the article as 〃little angel。〃 The noun 〃angel〃 being of common gender suits the case admirably； and the epithet is sure of being favorably received。 〃Pet〃 or 〃beauty〃 are useful for variety's sake； but 〃angel〃 is the term that brings you the greatest credit for sense and good…feeling。 The word should be preceded by a short giggle and accompanied by as much smile as possible。 And whatever you do； don't forget to say that the child has got its father's nose。 This 〃fetches〃 the parents （if I may be allowed a vulgarism） more than anything。 They will pretend to laugh at the idea at first and will say； 〃Oh； nonsense！〃 You must then get excited and insist that it is a fact。 You need have no conscientious scruples on the subject； because the thing's nose really does resemble its father'sat all events quite as much as it does anything else in naturebeing； as it is； a mere smudge。
Do not despise these hints； my friends。 There may come a time when； with mamma on one side and grand mamma on the other； a group of admiring young ladies （not admiring you； though） behind； and a bald…headed dab of humanity in front； you will be extremely thankful for some idea of what to say。 A manan unmarried man； that isis never seen to such disadvantage as when undergoing the ordeal of 〃seeing baby。〃 A cold shudder runs down his back at the bare proposal； and the sickly smile with which he says how delighted he shall be ought surely to move even a mother's heart； unless； as I am inclined to believe； the whole proceeding is a mere device adopted by wives to discourage the visits of bachelor friends。
It is a cruel trick； though； whatever its excuse may be。 The bell is rung and somebody sent to tell nurse to bring baby down。 This is the signal for all the females present to commence talking 〃baby；〃 during which time you are left to your own sad thoughts and the speculations upon the practicability of suddenly recollecting an important engagement； and the likelihood of your being believed if you do。 Just when you have concocted an absurdly implausible tale about a man outside； the door opens； and a tall； severe…looking woman enters； carrying what at first sight appears to be a particularly skinny bolster； with the feathers all at one end。 Instinct； however； tells you that this is the baby； and you rise with a miserable attempt at appearing eager。 When the first gush of feminine enthusiasm with which the object in question is received has died out； and the number of ladies talking at once has been reduced to the ordinary four or five； the circle of fluttering petticoats divides； and room is made for you to step forward。 This you do with much the same air that you would walk into the dock at Bow Street； and then； feeling unutterably miserable； you stand solemnly staring at the child。 There is dead silence； and you know that every one is waiting for you to speak。 You try to think of something to say； but find； to your horror； that your reasoning faculties have left you。 It is a moment of despair； and your evil genius； seizing the opportunity； suggests to you some of the most idiotic remarks that it is possible for a human being to perpetrate。 Glancing round with an imbecile smile； you sniggeringly observe that 〃it hasn't got much hair has it？〃 Nobody answers you for a minute； but at last the stately nurse says with much gravity：
〃It is not customary for children five weeks old to have long hair。〃 Another silence follows this； and you feel you are being given a second chance； which you avail yourself of by inquiring if it can walk yet； or what they feed it on。
By this time you have got to be regarded as not quite right in your head； and pity is the only thing felt for you。 The nurse； howev
