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96
The Inventions of the Idiot
·
John Kendrick Bangs
83
"How
do
you
score
in
this
game
of
Alp?"
said
Mr.
Pedagog,
smiling
broadly
as
he
thought
of
there
being
an
embryo
idiot
somewhere
who
could
discomfit
the
one
fate
had
thrown
across
his
path.
"I
never
had
the
strength
to
inquire,"
said
the
Idiot.
"But
my
impression
is
that
the
game
is
to
see
which
has
the
greater
endurance,
the
chamois
or
the
Alp.
The
one
that
gets
tired
of
playing
first
loses.
I
always
lost.
My
small
cousin
is
a
storehouse
of
nervous
energy.
I
believe
he
could
play
choo-choo
cars
with
a
real
engine
and
last
longer
than
the
engine--which
being
the
case,
I
couldn't
hope
to
hold
out
against
him."
"My
nephews
didn't
play
Alp,"
said
the
Poet.
"I
believe
Alp
would
have
been
a
positive
relief
to
me.
They
made
me
tell
them
stories
and
poems
from
morning
until
night,
and
all
night
too,
for
one
of
them
shared
his
room
with
me,
and
the
worst
of
it
all
was
that
they
all
had
to
be
new
stories
and
new
poems,
so
I
was
kept
composing
from
one
week's
end
to
the
other."
"Why
weren't
you
firm
with
them
and
say
you
wouldn't,
and
let
that
end
it?"
said
Mr.
Pedagog.
"Ha--ha!"
laughed
the
Idiot.
"That's
fine,
isn't
it,
Mr.
Poet?
It's
very
evident,
Mr.
Pedagog,
that
you're
not
acquainted
with
children.
Now,
my
small
cousin
can
make
the
same
appeal
over
and
over
again
in
a
hundred
and
fifty
different
ways.
You
may
have
the
courage
to
say
no
a
hundred
and
forty-nine
times,
but
I
have
yet
to
meet
the
man
who
could
make
his
no
good
with
a
boy
of
real
persistent
spirit.
I
can't
do
it.
I've
tried,
but
I've
had
to
give
in
sooner
or
later."
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