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Literary Lapses
·
Stephen Leacock
83
Such
was
the
childhood
of
Smith.
At
its
close
there
was
nothing
in
his
outward
appearance
to
mark
the
man
of
genius.
The
casual
observer
could
have
seen
no
genius
concealed
behind
the
wide
face,
the
massive
mouth,
the
long
slanting
forehead,
and
the
tall
ear
that
swept
up
to
the
close-cropped
head.
Certainly
he
couldn't.
There
wasn't
any
concealed
there.
It
was
shortly
after
his
start
in
business
life
that
Smith
was
stricken
with
the
first
of
those
distressing
attacks,
to
which
he
afterwards
became
subject.
It
seized
him
late
one
night
as
he
was
returning
home
from
a
delightful
evening
of
song
and
praise
with
a
few
old
school
chums.
Its
symptoms
were
a
peculiar
heaving
of
the
sidewalk,
a
dancing
of
the
street
lights,
and
a
crafty
shifting
to
and
fro
of
the
houses,
requiring
a
very
nice
discrimination
in
selecting
his
own.
There
was
a
strong
desire
not
to
drink
water
throughout
the
entire
attack,
which
showed
that
the
thing
was
evidently
a
form
of
hydrophobia.
From
this
time
on,
these
painful
attacks
became
chronic
with
Smith.
They
were
liable
to
come
on
at
any
time,
but
especially
on
Saturday
nights,
on
the
first
of
the
month,
and
on
Thanksgiving
Day.
He
always
had
a
very
severe
attack
of
hydrophobia
on
Christmas
Eve,
and
after
elections
it
was
fearful.
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