FORTY

Dominion, Volume 10, Issue 2976, 13 January 1917, Page 10

FORTY

6—: A TELEGRAM, AND SUBSEQUENT REFLECTIONS (By "Wi.») Tho other clay I received a telegram from a frivolous young person of my acquaintance. She—er —never mind, lot it pass. Wo will discuss tho telegram. This is what site said: "Many happy returns, or deepest sympathy?" 1 frowned. I had just arrived at tho fortieth post on tho Great Highway, and was inclined to bo serious ahuut it. The telegram rubbed it in some more, and the spirit, of jest behind it was curiously irritating. Why should young and frivolous persons of my acquaintance regard tho event as something to bo funny about? Is there anything funny about forty? H—m, I don't quito know. Certain phrases associated witli forty are depressing, even disrespectful. In "AiDiirrica" a man is supposed to be too old at forty.- Ladies of a certa/in age are described by irreverent youth as "fair, fat, and forty." In tho days of my extreme youth, the disciplinary restraints of forty were stigmatised as the capricious tyranny of "old fools." My male parent. tlien in his forties, was privily referred to by liis offspring as the "old man." What am Ito do about it? Am I to accept the traditional role allotted to forty and onward, pull my face down, eschew irresponsible amusements, and in general present to tho public the pomp and circumstance of senatorial gravity, or what? Somehow I feel ihat I ought to feel that way, but I don't. Why should I? In the midst of these perplexities I sought counsel amongst my contemporaries. My friend Vassar is fortyone. Having had a full year wherean to digest tho reflections of forty, I felt that lie ought by this time to have some settled convictions about the matter. I found him playing tennis, so I let him finish his game. Presently he came over. "Pliow!" he said, "I'm hot." "Who won?" I asked. "I did. Knocked him all over the place, too. Look at him." . Vassar's opponent was spread-eagled on the grass, and visibly "outed." Then I remembered that Vassar was forty-one. "Vassar," I began, "you're fortyone, aren't you?" He stared at me. "Well," he said, shortly, "and what if I am?" There you aro, you see! He didn't like it. ' "How does it feel to be forty-one?" I asked him. "How does it feel?" he echoed. "I don't know. Haven't really thought about it. What's the matter with you?" "I'm forty," I informed him. "Well," he said, "how does it feel to bo forty?" "I'm just trying to think," I said. "You and I are getting on, you know, Vassar. In another nine years you'll be fifty. Ten years after • that you'll-—" "Don't be a silly ass," said Vassar, politely. "If you want to be an old fool you can. I'm going to play tennis." And he rose and strode off. .. ' It was plain that Vassar had not 1 realised tho seriousness of his case. Thero ho was, dasliing about tlie teji'nis court liko a stripling of nineteen, and to all intents aud purposes thoroughly enjoying himself. Was the man ever going to grow old? According to tradition ho ought to have been ashamed of himself—but ho wasn't. I decidcd to pursue my investigations elsewhere. This time I selected a lady of a certain age, and a largo supply of sound common-sense. "Amaryllis," quoth I, "how docs it 'feel to be forty?" "Go on with your Amaryllis," slio said severely, "are you never going to grow old?" "I'm forty," I said. "Well," said she, "it!s high time you realised the fact, aud cultivated somo sedateness. Don't you think ! so?" ' I lit a cigarette. 1 "Well, do you know/ 1 I said, "that's just what's been worrying mc. I ought to, I suppose, but I don't feel it. .You ought to havo seen Vassar skipping about tho tennis court liko a two-year-old a. little while ago. Shocking example to forty-year-olds, I call it." Slio laughed. "George Vassar will never grow old, I'm afraid," she said. "1 call him Peter Pan." I returned to the main question. "How do you feel about itp" I said. "A woman is as old as she looks," she quoted. "That's not what I'm after," I said. "Do yolt feel, for example, as if you'd like to romp about the tennis court liko Vassar docs?" "Good gracious! No, dear man, I do not," said she. "I'm quito happy as 1 am. Besides, I'm far too busy." Slio smiled iu her quiazical way. "It seems to be worrying you," slio said. I'showed her tho telegram. alio laughed. "How funny," said she. "I didn't think it was funny .it all," I said, crossly. "A man is as old as lie feels," said she, "but she paused. "Well?" "If you felt like playing marblos in public, or spinning a top, they'd put you in an asylum." "I see," said L | "People of forty aro supposed to be ; a pattern to the young,/' she pointed out. "You needn't rub it in." ' "If we didn't keep our place in tho ■ processioiu of life, youth wouldn't have its turn, you know." [ "Quito so," said I. "I suppose ! you're about right." I stood up and : turned gravely round. "Behold the pattern for the young—what do you ' think of me?" laughed. "Impossible, dear man —quite impossible." I then left her to keep a dinner appointment with Vassar. Wo had a st-at at tho window, and while Vassar glauccd through a newspaper I stared idly out of tho window. Just as our faro was brought in 1 caught sight of tho frivolous young person who had ■disturbed my peace of mind.. Slio was r standing on the pavement talking to a young lieutenant, and tho two were j gazing at eacli other i» the way youth . does wlion forty is a, long way off. ' 1 suddenly felt forty. ! "Dinner's ready, my son," said Vasi sar, breaking in on my thoughts. ; 1 turned to the table. i "Well," said this impossible fortyI one : ycar-old, with a cheerful grin, "have you mado up your mind about forty yet?" "i'ass the mustard," I said.