Poker Jim, Gentleman, and Other Tales and Sketches

by G. Frank Lydston

I have become quite convinced that the most entertaining man in the world is the undertaker. Now, I do not pretend to say that there is anything original about my observations. Others have in all probability frequently commented on his peculiarities—but I nevertheless feel that it is my duty to give him a little attention in order to repay him, at least in part, for the many favors received at his hands.

Let it be understood that I am no more indebted to the “post-medical profession” than are many other physicians, but I am peculiar in that I always like to express my gratitude to those who have befriended me—and if there is any office that friendship can perform for us, equal to concealing one’s mistakes and hiding one’s failures from the gaze of a carping and cruel world, I don’t know what it is.

“CUSTOM-MADE SORROW”

Another reason for my determination to devote a little personal attention to the undertaker is that he is a much maligned and misunderstood person. He is supposed to be heartless and unfeeling, and is usually considered austere and unapproachable; some say he has no generosity.

It shall be my pleasure, as well as my duty, to correct these erroneous impressions regarding a noble craft that has always taken a lively interest in its patrons—an interest that has never been reciprocated by those most benefited by the undertaker’s labors.

There may be captious critics who will differ with my belief that the undertaker is the most entertaining man in the world, on the ground that those whom he entertains never give him any encores. This is very easily explained. There are no gallery gods at his entertainments, and the people in the boxes are never demonstrative. They are people of taste and discretion, and rather reserved and sedate than otherwise;—knowing when they have had enough of a good thing, they do not attempt to recall the artist. Unquestionably, the chief patrons of the undertaker are people of refined susceptibilities and not given to demonstration. Even when a clod is rung in upon the boards, they give no sign of anything but courteous and silent attention—although the nerves of others in the audience may be fairly set on edge. It is hardly necessary to expatiate further on my first proposition.

The austerity of the undertaker is more apparent than real, and is the result of association rather than innate acerbity of feeling. Even when he is iciest and most frigid in his ways it is for the benefit of others. By such a demeanor he enables his patrons to maintain their composure even under circumstances the most trying and in all kinds of weather. What though he does shroud his real feelings in an atmosphere of chilling reserve, so long as his heart is warm and true! Were he less calm and philosophic, he might err on the side of sympathy and ere long some of his friends would find that they had unconsciously been placed in a very bad box.

As to his being unapproachable, I believe that the undertaker is misunderstood. It is true that he does not thrust himself forward in a pretentious manner—as do some people of inferior breeding—nor has he ever been known to meet a patron half way, but just let one of your friends hint that you need his services and see how quickly he will put in an appearance. And he will not pay you unnecessarily prolonged visits either, and should you be compelled to entertain him for a time, he is a quite inexpensive guest—he always furnishes his own board. He is even likely to be offended if you force your hospitality upon him. One of my friends once made this mistake, and the undertaker gave him a great laying out, I assure you.

We mustn’t be too hard upon the undertaker, then, even though he is a trifle stiff and conventional in his ways. His work furnishes him with subjects for contemplation which are so serious, and of such monumental importance, that it is small wonder he should acquire a somewhat funereal and solemn demeanor.