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Literary Lapses
·
Stephen Leacock
134
Saloonio
seemed
inexhaustible.
There
were
new
sides
to
him--new
phases
at
every
turn.
The
Colonel
even
read
over
the
play,
and
finding
no
mention
of
Saloonio's
name
in
it,
he
swore
that
the
books
were
not
the
same
books
they
had
had
out
in
Wyoming;
that
the
whole
part
had
been
cut
clean
out
to
suit
the
book
to
the
infernal
public
schools,
Saloonio's
language
being--at
any
rate,
as
the
Colonel
quoted
it--undoubtedly
a
trifle
free.
Then
the
Colonel
took
to
annotating
his
book
at
the
side
with
such
remarks
as,
"Enter
Saloonio,"
or
"A
tucket
sounds;
enter
Saloonio,
on
the
arm
of
the
Prince
of
Morocco."
When
there
was
no
reasonable
excuse
for
bringing
Saloonio
on
the
stage
the
Colonel
swore
that
he
was
concealed
behind
the
arras,
or
feasting
within
with
the
doge.
But
he
got
satisfaction
at
last.
He
had
found
that
there
was
nobody
in
our
part
of
the
country
who
knew
how
to
put
a
play
of
Shakespeare
on
the
stage,
and
took
a
trip
to
New
York
to
see
Sir
Henry
Irving
and
Miss
Terry
do
the
play.
The
Colonel
sat
and
listened
all
through
with
his
face
just
beaming
with
satisfaction,
and
when
the
curtain
fell
at
the
close
of
Irving's
grand
presentation
of
the
play,
he
stood
up
in
his
seat,
and
cheered
and
yelled
to
his
friends:
"That's
it!
That's
him!
Didn't
you
see
that
man
that
came
on
the
stage
all
the
time
and
sort
of
put
the
whole
play
through,
though
you
couldn't
understand
a
word
he
said?
Well,
that's
him!
That's
Saloonio!"
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