OVER THE ODDS

Dominion, Volume 11, Issue 4, 29 September 1917, Page 8

OVER THE ODDS

A MATTER OF TIME—PLACE—AND . SILENCE LByj<Wi."] Ladies, bear with me. Forgive me if, in what I am about to say, there be a savour of vinegar, a rasp, a hint of unrighteous wrath seeking to find expression in naughty, unchivalrous speech. Remember that till thi6 day have I bowed the knee in deep respect an 4 modest adoration to Woman, and ask yourselves whether it was a fair thing. There wero two of you in it. Had I been Caesar, these two would have been cast to the, lions, or the crocodiles. Listen. Yesterday 1 went to tho Library to chango two books. Yon don't talk when you go to a library. You read, and perhaps think. If yon MUST talk, it behoves you to assume your best church manner, and whisper decorously. When a man wants to change a bookat the library, so that tho domestic fireside and a little, mental refreshment from his favourite author may constitute attractions against which the lure of Mary Pickford, Billie Burke, tho corner lamppost, Philomena of tho Beer-pump, snooker, and the like, temptations are vain, he does it in silence. If distracting noises assail his cits .ho inay go home with a "stoomer" under his arm, and, after reading a few pages, leavo it nt the cat, and give himself up to. un- . Christian discontent. Hence the legend on the walls—"Silencp!" • Well, I was standing in front of tho B ' shelves, pondering whether George Birmingham's "Lalage Lovers." or Arnold Bennett's "Fivo Towns" would best suit my humour, when I felt a movement at tho bottom of my legs. I looked down, to encounter tho languishing-gaze of a fat pug, with a ribbon round'its neck, and an expression and general appearance which plainly said that it had never been sooled on to anything in its 1110-— except fancy biscuits. I 'glanced round for the owner, and picked lier in one. I wondered what, would happen if I accidentally dropped a'volume, of Honoi'o do Balzac where the pug would .feel it most, but dosisted, for just then a deep male bellow broke the silence provided for by rules and regulations. I looked, up in some surprise. The sounds issued from the lips of a lady-the lady to whom, instinctively, I had attributed tho presence of the pug. She was talking to another lady,' and the nineteen-to-the-dozen rate never had,a chance from the start. Had it been a thoughtful, intellectual discussion on some book, from which I could have derived sonio fur. tivo profit from a discreet position round the corner, I could hare stood the outrage with philosophic Ivunjoni;. But it wasn't. It was a babble of piffling gossip an inconsequent duet between a throaty soprano and a sepulchral contralto'whose voice boomed like the knelt of a felon who was'going to his last account. ' .. „ ' "Whit wey, paw," said Wee Macgregor, from the 801 l shelf, "ur they twa weemin makin' sich a colheshangie? "A don't know, Macgregor, said lus Paw, with a sigh, "ask yer mithei— she'll ken." i . "If I hear more of this exasperating babble," said old Honors de Balzac, peevishly,, "I'll say something about. hastily further along. The babble followed me. The boom of that deep contralto filled the air, echoed from the walls, and dinned against my brain. I couldn't fix my attention on my authors. You know how it is. You re reading, ox writing, we'll say. Some one comes into the room, and moves about: You stop, waiting for the air to settle. Well, the. air in the library-— . "I say," said 0. Henry, to Maurice Hewlett, on the. shelf, "can't wjet a fly cop, or a patrol wagon, or something ? 'Hewlett sniggered. "I wonder what the Forest Lovers would say if they had to listen to this on the other side of the glade " "Talk about Buttered Side Down! gasped Elba Ferber. "This puts it all over Fat Ed Meyers on his best Middle West flute solo!" „ , ■ "And I thought they were perfectly lovely!" boomed the contralto. "So did I," said the throaty 6oprano. "You know, I always go every year, I feel I must, you know." I went away down to the farthest shelves. ■' "What's the row?" said Vachell. 'Its enough to harrow The Hill." . . "I think I'll call it The Voice in the Barrel," said Louis Vance. "That ought to hit the market better than the Band "How'd it be," said Owen Wister, "if I shot 'em up? I've got the drop on "Wouldn't do," said Harold Bell Wright. "You can't let the Virginian loose in a place like this. When a Man's a Man. you know. You might lassoo the pug, though." "Let's put .Red Saunders on the job,' said Henry Wallace Phillips. "His pet ram 'ud jest uatcherlly make 'em scratch gravel for a distance. He'd leave tho pug to-'the ole bull snake. Ye wouldn't wanter see a slicker pug anywhere in the dog kingdom." "Well, good-bye, just now, came the final crash of the duet. "GO-00D-BYE!" said the throaty soprano. "Hooray!" shouted the authors. " 'Eave arf a brick!" suggested Private Ortheris from the Kipling shelf. "Whisht!" said Prirato Mulvaney. "Let be, let be. 'Tis the natur' av some wimmin. Ye sud hear Dinah Shad when oi reeturn trim an avnin' wid the Ould Regiment!" I ■■■