[p 63]
]I’ll sit by the fire
And feed him raw meat,
And Harvey will roar me
Clear off’n my feet.
The Nobel prize for the best split infinitive has been awarded to the framer of the new administrative code of the state of Washington, which contains this:
“To, in case of an emergency requiring expenditures in excess of the amount appropriated by the legislature for any institution of the state, state officer, or department of the state government, and upon the written request of the governing authorities of the institution, the state officer, or the head of the department, and in case the board by a majority vote of all its members determines that the public interest requires it, issue a permit in writing,” etc.
“‘When this art reaches so high a standard the Post deems it a duty to publicly commend it.’—Edward A. Grozier, Editor and Publisher the Boston Post.”
But ought a Bostonian to split his infinitives in public? It doesn’t seem decent.
Every now and then a suburban train falls to pieces, and the trainmen wonder why. “What do you know about that?” they say. “It was as [p 64] />]good as new this morning.” It never occurs to them that the slow but sure weakening of the rolling stock is due to Rule 7 in the “Instructions to Trainmen,” which requires conductors and brakemen to close coach doors as violently as possible. Although not required to, many passengers imitate the trainmen. With them it is a desire to make a noise in the world. If a man cannot attract attention in the arts and the professions, a sure way is to bang doors behind him.