“By the way, Doc! do you think old man Blank is going to pull through? Old friend of mine, you know—I’ll probably be in on the case when the thing’s over.”
* * * * *
I went to the opera the other night hoping—aye, determined to enjoy myself, and feeling that I was entitled to a little enjoyment, for I had had very little opera in my daily routine for some months. My wife was looking very well, and my mirror gave positive proof that my new dress suit was an unexceptionable fit. All things considered I had every reason to feel well satisfied with myself and the world at large.
But how vain are human hopes. We were hardly comfortably seated, before I saw in the box directly opposite mine—the fat undertaker who haunted my dreams!
I endeavored to avoid recognition, but it was no use. He saw me, and gesticulated so wildly to attract my attention that I was perforce obliged to respond in self-defense. The house being crowded, this little episode attracted much attention—especially on the part of numerous friends of the undertaker and myself, who, as luck would have it, happened to be present. These people smiled broadly; some even went so far as to wink significantly at each other.
The fat undertaker is one of those men who succeed in attracting attention at all times and under all circumstances. On this occasion he shone with effulgent brilliancy. He enjoyed the play—there was no doubt about that—and proposed to make me enjoy it also. Whenever the performance especially pleased him, he applauded vociferously, quivering all over like a lump of calf’s-foot jelly and gesticulating furiously in my direction. Having succeeded in attracting my attention, he would jerk his fat thumb in the direction of the artist who was favored with his approbation and nod emphatically at me.
The audience enjoyed my friend’s enthusiasm and seemed quite anxious to know how I was enjoying it. I couldn’t enlighten it as intelligently as could have been wished, so I did the next best thing—I went out between acts to see a man—and found him so highly interesting that I forgot to go back. Suddenly remembering that my wife was still in the box, I sent an usher to inform her that I wasn’t feeling well and was waiting for her at the door. Being a wise woman, she divined the cause of my indisposition and soon joined me. She didn’t feel quite comfortable herself, and was glad to escape from—the opera.
I have forsworn society. I have bought an automobile, and if ever I go to the theater again—may the fat undertaker seize me!