Chapter 3

"I offer this package for shipment," he said with a trace of anger beginning to show in his voice. "I offer it to you just as it is; spelled as it is; and without change or anything else. This express company is a common carrier, under the Interstate Commerce Law, and it cannot refuse to take this package, spelling or no spelling. That is the law!"

"I have no quarrel with th' intercommerce state law, Mr. Warold, sir," said Flannery with dignity, "and 'tis none of my business, sir. But th' spellin' of th' English language is, for 't is my duty by gineral order number sivin hunderd and noineteen t' spell three hundred worrds with th' proper simplification, and spell thim I will, and so will all that does business with Mike Flannery from sivin A.M. till nine P.M. Worrds that is not in th' three hunderd ye may spell as ye please, Mr. Warold, for there be no rule agin it, and in conversation or correspondince with Mike Flannery, before th' hour av sivin and after th' hour av nine, ye may spell as ye please, and I will do th' same, for thin I am off duty; but durin' th' office hours th' whole dang list from 'abridgment' t' 'wrapt' must be spelled accordin' t' orders. Yis, sir, 'polyp' and 'dactyl' and th' whole rist av thim. So tek th' package an' change th' address like a good man."

Mr. Warold glared at Flannery, and then turned to the door. He took one or two stiff strides, and then turned back. Anger was well enough as a luxury, but the Phoenix Sulphur Company had telegraphed for the tags, and business was a necessity. The tags must go out by the first train. He leaned over the counter and smiled at Flannery. Flannery glared back.

"See here, now, Flannery," he said gently, "you don't want to get into trouble with the United States Government, do you? And maybe get yourself and your president and every employee and officer of your company in jail for no one knows how long, do you? Well, then, just telegraph to your president and ask him whether he makes an exception in favour of the old spelling of names of companies, will you? That will do no harm. Tell him a package is offered, and tell him the address, and let him decide."

Flannery considered a moment and then took his telegraph pad.

"President Interurban, Franklin," he wrote, "Shall i take pakag for Phoenix Sulphur Company, Armourdale. Anser quick. Westcote."

He ran across the street with it and came back. The head office had a direct wire, and the answer came a minute after Flannery reached the waiting Mr. Warold.

"Westcote. Give fuller particulars. Name consignor. Contents. Objection to receiving. (Signed) Franklin."

Flannery showed the message to Mr. Warold, and then took up his pen again.

"President Interurban, Franklin," he wrote, "Consinor Westcote tag company, tags in it. o is in phenix and ph in sulfur and u in armordale. Westcote."

The president sitting in his private office, received the message and wrinkled his brow as he read it. Telegraphing does not always improve the legibility of a message. As the message reached the president it read:

"Consinor westcote tag company tag sis in it oisin phenix phin sulfur uin armordale."

The president reached for his pile of various code-books and looked up the strange words. He found "phoenix" in one codebook with its meaning given as "extremely ill, death imminent." "Oisin" was not given, but the word "oisanite" was, and the meaning of that the code stated to be "five hundred head prime steers." It was enough. The Interurban did not wish to accept the transportation of five hundred extremely ill steers, whose death was imminent.

"Westcote, refuse consignment absolutely. Write particulars," he wired.

Flannery showed the telegram to Mr. Warold, who would have sworn, if swearing had been his custom, but it was not. He took the package of tags and went back to his office and did the tags up in smaller bundles and sent them by mail with a special delivery stamp on each lot, and charged the cost to the Interurban. Then he wrote a long and fervid letter to the president of the Interurban, in which he gave his opinion of the simplified spelling, and particularly of a man who would interpolate it into business by the power of his personal fiat.

And Flannery wrote too.

"President Interurban, Franklin," he wrote, "i sent warold away with his tags pakag as you say to. he is mad I gess he will try to make trubbel. i tole him we coud not acsept pakags addrest to Phoenix Sulphur Company Armourdale and it made him mad. no falt of mine. i ast him to leve out o out of phoenix and to yous f insted of ph in sulphur and too take that u out of armourdale agreeble to generl order numbr 719 and he wont do it. no falt of mine. i got to spell rite when the rules sa so. no falt of mine. i aint makin rules i sais to him. pres of interurban is responssibel how we spel. i onnly spel as he sais too. Flannery."

The president received the two letters in the same mail. He read that of Mr. Warold first, and when he came to a threat to sue the company, he frowned. This was all new to him. There was nothing in the letter about five hundred indisposed cattle of any kind. He looked up Flannery's telegrams, but they cast no light on it. Then he opened Flannery's letter and read it. He got up and began walking up and down his office, stopping now and then to shake the fist in which he had crumpled Flannery's letter. Then he called for Miss Merrill.

She came, carrying her notebook in one hand and fixing a comb in the back of her hair with the other.

"Take this!" said the president angrily. "Flannery, Westcote--" He tramped back and forth, trying to condense all the bitterness that boiled in him into telling words.

"You are a fool!" he said at length, meaning Flannery and not Miss Merrill.

Then he thought a while. Having said that, there was not much stronger that he could say. He had reached his climax too soon.

"Scratch that out," he said, and began walking again. He looked at Flannery's letter and scowled.

Miss Merrill waited patiently. It gave her an opportunity to primp.

"Never mind, Miss Merrill," said the president finally. "I will call you later." He was wondering whether he should discharge Flannery, or issue Webster's Unabridged as General Order Number 720, or what he should do.

And Flannery went on with his letter to Mary O'Donnell, for it was a work of several days with him. A love-letter was alone enough to worry him, but, when he had to think of things to say and still keep one eye on the list of three hundred words, his thoughts got away from him before he could find whether they had to be put in simplified words or in the good old go-as-you-please English that he usually wrote.

He was sitting at the desk when a messenger from the head office came in. The messenger had been sent down to Westcote by the president, and had just been across to the tag company to fix things up with Mr. Warold. He had fixed them, and the lever he had used was a paper he held in his hand. It had mollified Mr. Warold.

As the messenger entered, Flannery looked up from his letter, and he smiled with pleasure. He was glad to see some one from the head office. He wanted information about some of the words he was ordered to use. He was puzzled about "stript." Did it mean "striped" or "stripped"? And was "tost" the kind of toast you eat or the kind you drink? And how about that funny-looking combination of letters "thru," and a dozen others?

"I'm glad t'see th' sight av ye," he said, holding out his hand, "for I do be wantin' some help on these three hunderd worrds th' prisidint has been simplifyin' down. 'T is a turrible job they be, thim three hunderd! Some av thim I never will be after learnin'. Look at this, now," he said, putting his finger on "orthopedic." "And this wan," he said, touching "esophagus." "Thim be tough wans! But it's thankful I am there be but three hunderd av thim. There w'u'd be no ind t' th' day's worrk sh'u'd th' prisidint take a notion t' reforrm th' whole dic-shunnery. If he was t' shorten all th' worrds in th' English language, I w'u'd have a long job av it, niver knowin' whin th' worrds was spelled right or wrong. They be a powerful increase of worrk, thim three hunderd worrds. Take this wan, now--'thoroly'--'t is a bird, that wan is! But Flannery will stick t' th' list!"

The messenger laid the paper he had been holding upon Flannery's desk.

"I will be needin' an assistant sh'u'd th' prisidint promulgate any more worrds like thim," said Flannery; "and I w'u'd recommind he be Corbett or Sullivan or wan of th' other sluggers, for th' patrons av th' company be not all easy-goin' like Mr. Warold. But progress is th' worrd of th' day, and I stand for shorter worrds, no matter how much extry worrk they mek. Th' prisidint has a great head on him."

He opened the paper on his desk and read it.

"General Order Number Seven Hundred and Twenty:

"To all employees of the Interurban Express Company: Cancel General Order Number Seven Hundred and Nineteen. By order of the president."

"As I was sayin'," said Flannery, "th' prisidint has a great head on him."

III

FLEAS WILL BE FLEAS

Mike Flannery was the star boarder at Mrs. Muldoon's, and he deserved to be so considered, for he had boarded with Mrs. Muldoon for years, and was the agent of the Interurban Express Company at Westcote, while Mrs. Muldoon's other boarders were largely transient.

"Mike," said Mrs. Muldoon, one noon, when Mike came for his lunch, "I know th' opinion ye have of Dagos, and niver a-one have I took into me house, and I think the same of thim meself--dirthy things, an' takin' the bread away from th' honest Amercan laborin' man--and I would not be thinkin' of takin' one t' board at this day, but would ye tell me this:--is a Frinchmin a Dago?"

Flannery raised his knife and laid down the law with it.

"Mrs. Muldoon, mam," he said, "there be two kinds of Frinchmin. There be the respictible Frinchmin, and there be th' unrespictible Frinchmin. They both be furriners, but they be classed different. Th' respictible Frinchmin is no worse than th' Dutch, and is classed as Dutch, but th' other kind is Dagos. There is no harm in th' Dutch Frinchmin, for thim is such as Napoleon Bonnypart and the like of him, but ye want t' have nawthin' t' do with th' Dago Frinch. They be a bad lot."

"There was a Frinchmin askin' would I give him a room and board, this mornin'," said Mrs. Muldoon.

Flannery nodded knowingly.

"I knowed it!" he cried. "'T was apparent t' me th' minute ye spoke, mam. And agin th' Dutch Frinch I have nawthin' t' say. If he be a Dutch Frinchmin let him come. Was he that?"

"Sure, I don't know," said Mrs. Muldoon, perplexed. "He was a pleasant-spoken man, enough. 'T is a professor he is."

"There be many kinds of professors," said Mike.

"Sure!" agreed Mrs. Muldoon. "This wan is a professor of fleas."

Mike Flannery grinned silently at his plate.

"I have heard of thim, too!" he said. "But 'tis of insects they be professors, and not of one kind of insects alone, Mrs. Muldoon, mam. Ye have mistook th' understandin' of what he was sayin'."

"I beg pardon to ye, Mr. Flannery," said Mrs. Muldoon, with some spirit, "but 'tis not mistook I am. Fleas th' professor said, and no mistake at all."

"Yis?" inquired Flannery. "Well, mebby 'tis so. He would be what ye call one of thim specialists. They do be doin' that now, I hear, and 'tis probable th' Frinchmin has fleas for his specialty. 'Tis like this, mam:--all professors is professors; then a bunch of professors separate off from the rest and be professors of insects; and then the professors of insects separate up, and one is professor of flies, and another one is professor of pinch-bugs, and another is professor of toads, and another is professor of lobsters, and so on until all the kinds of insects has each a professor to itself. And them they call specialists, and each one knows more about his own kind of insect than any other man in th' world knows. So mebbe the Frinchmin is professor of fleas, as ye say."

"I should think a grown man would want to be professor of something bigger than that," said Mrs. Muldoon, "but there's no accountin' for tastes."

"If ye understood, mam," said Mike Flannery, "ye would not say that same, for to the flea professor th' flea is as big as a house. He studies him throo a telescope, Mrs. Muldoon, that magnifies th' flea a million times. Th' flea professor will take a dog with a flea on him, mam, and look at th' same with his telescope, and th' flea will be ten times th' size of th' dog."

"'Tis wonderful!" exclaimed Mrs. Muldoon.

"It is so!" agreed Mike Flannery. "But 't is by magnifyin' th' flea that th' professor is able t' study so small an insect for years and years, discoverin' new beauties every day. One day he will be studyin' th' small toe of th' flea's left hind foot, and th' next day he will be makin' a map of it, and th' next he will be takin' a statute of it in plaster, an th' next he will be photygraftin it, and th' next he will be writin' out all he has learned of it, and then he will be weeks and months correspondin' with other flea professors in all parts of th' worrld, seein' how what he has learned about th' little toe of th' flea's left hind foot agrees with what they have learned about it, and if they don't all agree, he goes at it agin, and does it all over agin, and mebby he dies when he is ninety years old and has only got one leg of th' flea studied out. And then some other professor goes on where he left off, and takes up the next leg."

"And do they get paid for it?" asked Mrs. Muldoon, with surprise.

"Sure, they do!" said Flannery. "Good money, too. A good specialist professor gits more than an ixpriss agent. And 't is right they sh'u'd," he added generously, "for 't is by studyin' th' feet of fleas, and such, they learn about germs, and how t' take out your appendix, and 'Is marriage a failure?' and all that."

"Ye dumbfounder me, Mike Flannery," said Mrs. Muldoon. "Ye should have been one of them professors yourself, what with all the knowledge ye have. And ye think 't would be a good thing t' let th' little Frinchmin come and take a room?"

"'T would be an honour to shake him by th' hand," said Mike Flannery, and so the professor was admitted to the board and lodging of Mrs. Muldoon.

The name of the professor who, after a short and unfruitful season at Coney Island, took lodging with Mrs. Muldoon, was Jocolino. He had shown his educated fleas in all the provinces of France, and in Paris itself, but he made a mistake when he brought them to America.

The professor was a small man, and not talkative. He was, if anything, inclined to be silently moody, for luck was against him. He put his baggage in the small bedroom that Mrs. Muldoon allotted to him, and much of the time he spent in New York. He had fellow countrymen there, and he was trying to raise a loan, with which to buy a canvas booth in which to show his educated insects. He received the friendly advances of Flannery and the other boarders rather coldly. He refused to discuss his specialty, or show Mike the toe of the left hind foot of a flea through a telescope. When he remained at home after dinner he did not sit with the other boarders on the porch, but walked up and down the walk, smoking innumerable cigarettes, and thinking, and waving his hands in mute conversations with himself.

"I dunno what ails th' professor," said Mrs. Muldoon, one evening when she and Flannery sat at the table after the rest had left it.

Flannery hesitated.

"I would not like to say for sure, mam," he said, slowly, "but I'm thinkin' 't is a loss he has had, maybe, that's preyin' on his mind. Ever since ye told me, Missus Muldoon, that he was a professor of th' educated fleas, I have had doubts of th' state of th' mind of th' professor. Th' sense of studyin' th' flea, mam, I can understand, that bein' th' way all professors does these days, but 't is not human t' spend time givin' a flea a college education. Th' man that descinds t' be tutor t' a flea, and t' teach it all th' accomplishments, from readin' and writin' t' arithmetic and football, mebby, is peculiar. I will say he is dang peculiar, Missus Muldoon, beggin' your pardon. Is there any coffee left in the pot, mam?"

"A bit, Mr. Flannery, an' you 're welcome t' it."

"I understand th' feelin' that makes a man educate a horse, like that Dutchman I was readin' about in th' Sunday paper th' other day," said Mike, "and teachin' it t' read an' figger, an' all that. An' I can see th' sinse of educatin' a pig, as has been done, as you well know, mam, for there be no doubt a man can love a horse or a pig as well as he can love his own wife--"

"An' why not a flea?" asked Mrs. Muldoon. "'T is natural for an Irishman t' love a pig, if 't is a pig worth lovin', and 't is natural, I make no doubt, for a Dutchman t' love a horse th' same way, and each t' his own, as th' sayin' is. Mebby th' Frinch can learn t' love th' flea in th' same way, Mr. Flannery."

"I say th' same, Missus Muldoon," said Flannery, "an' I say th' professor has done that same, too. I say he has educated th' flea, an' mebby raised it from a baby, and brung it from his native land, mam, an' taught it, an' learned t' love it. Yes, Missus Muldoon! But if th' educated horse or th' educated pig got loose would they be easy t' find agin, or would they not, mam? And if th' professor come t' have a' grrand love for th' flea he has raised by hand, an' taught like his own son, an' th' flea run off from him, would th' educated flea be easy t' find? Th' horse an' th' pig is animals that is not easy t' conceal themselves, Missus Muldoon, but th' flea is harrd t' find, an' when ye have found him he is harrd t' put your thumb on. I'm thinkin' th' reason th' professor is so down is that he has lost th' flea of his hearrt."

"Poor man!" said Mrs. Muldoon.

"An' th' reason I'm thinkin' so," said Flannery slowly, and leaning toward Mrs. Muldoon across the table, "is that, if I be not mistaken, Missus Muldoon, th' professor's educated flea spent last night with Mike Flannery!"

Mrs. Muldoon raised her hands with a gesture of wonderment.

"And listen to that, now!" she cried, in astonishment. "Mike Flannery, do you be thinkin' th' professor has _two_ of them? Sure, and he must have two of them, for was it not mesilf was thinkin' all last night I had th' same educated flea for a bed-felly? I would have caught him," she added, sadly, "but he was too brisk for me."

"There was forty-sivin times I thought I had mine," admitted Flannery, "but every time whin I took up me thumb he had gone some other place. But I will have him to-night!"

"But mebby he has gone by now," said Mrs. Muldoon.

"Never fear, mam," said Flannery. "He's not gone, mam, for he has been close to me every minute of th' day. I could put me thumb on him this minute, if he would but wait 'till I did it."

"Well, as for that, Mike Flannery," said Mrs. Muldoon, mischievously, as she arose from the table, "go on along with ye, and don't be bringin' th' blush t' me face, but whin I want t' find th' one I was speakin' of, I won't have t' walk away from meself t' find him this minute!"

The trained flea is one of nature's marvels. Everyone says so. A Bobby Burns might well write a poem on this "wee, timorous, cowerin' beastie," except that the flea is not, strictly speaking, timorous or cowering. A flea, when it is in good health and spirits, will not cower worth a cent. It has ten times the bravery of a lion--in fact, one single little flea, alone and unaided, will step right up and attack the noisiest lion, and never brag about it. A lion is a rank coward in comparison with a flea, for a lion will not attack anything that it has not a good chance of killing, while the humble but daring flea will boldly attack animals it cannot kill, and that it knows it cannot kill. David had at least a chance to kill Goliath, but what chance has a flea to kill a camel? None at all unless the camel commits suicide. And dogs! A flea will attack the most ferocious dog and think nothing of it at all. I have seen it myself. That is true bravery. And not only that--not only will one flea attack a dog--but hundreds of fleas will attack the same dog at the same time. I have seen that myself, too. And that multiplies the bravery of the flea just that much. One flea attacking a dog is brave; one hundred fleas attacking the same dog are therefore one hundred times as brave. We really had to give the dog away, he was carrying so much bravery around with him all the time.

Think of educating an animal with a brain about the size of the point of a fine needle! And that was what Professor Jocolino had done. The flea is really one of nature's wonders, like Niagara Falls, and Jojo the dog-faced man, and the Caņon of the Colorado. Pull? For its size the educated flea can pull ten times as much as the strongest horse. Jump? For its size the flea can jump forty times as far as the most agile jack-rabbit. Its hide is tougher than the hide of a rhinoceros, too. Imagine a rhinoceros standing in Madison Square, in the City of New York, and suppose you have crept up to it, and are going to pat it, and your hand is within one foot of the rhinoceros. And before you can bring your hand to touch the beast suppose it makes a leap, and goes darting through the air so rapidly that you can't see it go, and that before your hand has fallen to where the rhinoceros was, the rhinoceros has alighted gently on top of the City Hall at Philadelphia. That will give you some idea of the magnificent qualities of the flea. If we only knew more of these ordinary facts about things we would love things more.

At the breakfast table the next morning Professor Jocolino sat silent and moody in his place, his head, bent over his breakfast, but the nine other men at the table eyed him suspiciously. So did Mrs. Muldoon. There was no question now that Professor Jocolino had lost his educated flea. There was, in fact, ground for the belief that the professor had had more than one educated flea, and that he had lost all of them. There was also a belief that, however well trained the lost might be in some ways, their manners had not been carefully attended to, and that they had not been trained to be well behaved when making visits to utter strangers. A beast or bird that will force itself upon the hospitality of an utter stranger unasked, and then bite its host, may be well educated, but it is not polite. The boarders looked at Professor Jocolino and frowned. The professor looked stolidly at his plate, and ate hurriedly, and left the table before the others had finished.

"'T is in me mind," said Flannery, when the professor had left, "that th' professor has a whole college of thim educated insects, an' that he do be lettin' thim have a vacation. Or mebby th' class of 1907 is graduated an' turned loose from th' university. I had th' base-ball team an' th' football gang spendin' th' night with me."

"Ho!" said Hogan, gruffly, "'t was th' fellys that does th' high jump an' th' long jump an' th' wide jump was havin' a meet on Hogan. An' I will be one of anny ten of us t' tell th' professor t' call th' scholards back t' school agin. I be but a plain uneducated man, Missus Muldoon, an' I have no wish t' speak disrespect of thim as is educated, but th' conversation of a gang of Frinch educated fleas is annoyin' t' a man that wants t' sleep."

"I will speak t' th' professor, gintlemin," said Mrs. Muldoon, "an' remonstrate with him. Mary, me girrl," she added, to the maid, who was passing her chair, "would ye mind givin' me th' least bit of a rub between me shoulders like? I will speak t' th' professor, for I have no doubt he has but t' say th' worrd t' his scholards, an' they will all run back where they belong."