The Horror Of Christmas. Джером К. ДжеромЧитать онлайн книгу.
KERBY POSTLETHWAITE. A view of the thing struck me in the light of a riddle, this morning, quite suddenly.
The two were silent, each having stopped the other.
"I beg your pardon," said my first patron, with ferocious politeness, "you were saying that you——"
"Had made a riddle," replied my second patron. "Yes. I think that you also alluded to your having done something of the sort?"
"I did."
There was silence all round the table. Some illustrious person broke it at last by saying, "What a strange coincidence!"
"At all events," cried the master of the house, "let us hear one of them. Come, Scrooper, you spoke first."
"Mr. Postlethwaite, I insist upon having your riddle," said the lady of the house, with whom Mr. P. was the favourite.
Under these circumstances both gentlemen paused, and then, each bursting forth suddenly, there was a renewal of duet.
MR. PRICE SCROOPER. Why does the Atlantic cable, in its present condition—
MR. KERBY POSTLETHWAITE. Why does the Atlantic cable, in its present condition—
At this there was a general roar and commotion among those present. "Our riddles appear to be somewhat alike?" remarked Mr. Postlethwaite, in a bitter tone, and looking darkly at my first patron.
"It is the most extraordinary thing," replied that gentleman, "that I ever heard of!"
"Great wits jump," said the illustrious person who had previously spoken of an "extraordinary coincidence."
"At any rate, let us hear one of them," cried the host. "Perhaps they vary after the first few words. Come, Scrooper."
"Yes, let us hear one of them to the end," said the lady of the house, and she looked at Mr. Postlethwaite. This last, however, was sulky. Mr. Price Scrooper took advantage of the circumstance to come out with the conundrum in all its integrity.
"Why," asked this gentleman once more, "is the Atlantic cable, in its present condition, like a schoolmaster?"
"That is my riddle," said Mr. Postlethwaite, as soon as the other had ceased to speak. "I made it myself."
"On the contrary, it is mine, I assure you," replied Mr. Scrooper, very doggedly. "I composed it while shaving this morning."
Here again there was a pause, broken only by interjectional expressions of astonishment on the part of those who were present—led by the illustrious man.
Again the master of the house came to the rescue. "The best way of settling it," he said, "will be to ascertain which of our two friends knows the answer. Whoever knows the answer can claim the riddle. Let each of these gentlemen write down the answer on a piece of paper, fold it up, and give it to me. If the answers are identical, the coincidence will indeed be extraordinary."
"It is impossible that any one but myself can know the answer," remarked my first patron, as he wrote on his paper and folded it.
My second patron wrote also, and folded. "The answer," he said, "can only be known to me."
The papers were unfolded by the master of the house, and read one after the other.
ANSWER written by Mr. Price Scrooper: "Because it's supported by buoys (boys)."
ANSWER written by Mr. Kerby Postlethwaite: "Because it's supported by buoys (boys)."
There was a scene. There were recriminations. As I have said, on the following morning both gentlemen visited me betimes. They had not much to say after all. Were they not both in my power?
The curious thing is, that from that time dates the decline of my professional eminence. Of course, both my patrons took leave of me for ever. But I have also to relate that my powers of riddling took leave of me also. My mornings with the Dictionary became less and less productive of results, and, only a fortnight ago last Wednesday, I sent to a certain weekly publication a rebus presenting the following combination of objects: A giraffe, a haystack, a boy driving a hoop, the letter X, a crescent, a human mouth, the words "I wish," a dog standing on its hind legs, and a pair of scales. It appeared. It took. It puzzled the public. But for the life of me I cannot form the remotest idea what it meant, and I am ruined.
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