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Literary Lapses
·
Stephen Leacock
24
He
spent
half
the
night
slinging
himself
around
his
room.
He
said
it
made
his
brain
clear.
When
he
got
his
brain
perfectly
clear,
he
went
to
bed
and
slept.
As
soon
as
he
woke,
he
began
clearing
it
again.
Jiggins
is
dead.
He
was,
of
course,
a
pioneer,
but
the
fact
that
he
dumb-belled
himself
to
death
at
an
early
age
does
not
prevent
a
whole
generation
of
young
men
from
following
in
his
path.
They
are
ridden
by
the
Health
Mania.
They
make
themselves
a
nuisance.
They
get
up
at
impossible
hours.
They
go
out
in
silly
little
suits
and
run
Marathon
heats
before
breakfast.
They
chase
around
barefoot
to
get
the
dew
on
their
feet.
They
hunt
for
ozone.
They
bother
about
pepsin.
They
won't
eat
meat
because
it
has
too
much
nitrogen.
They
won't
eat
fruit
because
it
hasn't
any.
They
prefer
albumen
and
starch
and
nitrogen
to
huckleberry
pie
and
doughnuts.
They
won't
drink
water
out
of
a
tap.
They
won't
eat
sardines
out
of
a
can.
They
won't
use
oysters
out
of
a
pail.
They
won't
drink
milk
out
of
a
glass.
They
are
afraid
of
alcohol
in
any
shape.
Yes,
sir,
afraid.
"Cowards."
And
after
all
their
fuss
they
presently
incur
some
simple
old-fashioned
illness
and
die
like
anybody
else.
Now
people
of
this
sort
have
no
chance
to
attain
any
great
age.
They
are
on
the
wrong
track.
Listen.
Do
you
want
to
live
to
be
really
old,
to
enjoy
a
grand,
green,
exuberant,
boastful
old
age
and
to
make
yourself
a
nuisance
to
your
whole
neighbourhood
with
your
reminiscences?
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