The Inventions of the Idiot

"If you swim in water as well as you do in verbiage," said the Bibliomaniac, "you must be able to go three or four strokes without sinking." "Oh, as for that, I can swim like a duck," said the Idiot. "You can't sink me." "I fancied not," observed Mr. Pedagog, with a smile at his own joke. "You are so light I wonder, indeed, that you don't rise up into space, anyhow." "What a delightful condition of affairs that suggestion opens up!" said the Idiot, turning to the Poet. "If I were you I'd make a poem on that. Something like this, for instance: "I am so very, very light That gravitation curbs not me. I rise up through the atmosphere Till all the world I plainly see. "I dance about among the clouds, An airy, happy, human kite. The breezes toss me here and there, To my exceeding great delight. "And when I would return to sup, To breakfast, or perchance to dine, I haul myself once more to earth By tugging on a piece of twine." Mr. Pedagog grinned broadly at this. "You aren't entirely without your good points," he said. "If we ever accept your comic-paper idea we'll have to rely on you for the nonsense poetry." "Thank you," said the Idiot. "I'll help. If I had a man like you to give me the suggestions I could make a fortune out of poetry. The only trouble is I have to quarrel with you before I can get you to give me a suggestion, and I despise bickering."