"There ought to be some tribunal to which criticism could be referred upon appeal as lawsuits are," said I. "But," I went on, hastening a bit to my climax as the god seemed to doze, "the most terrible of all criticism is the modern humorous kind—"
"I have heard an odious term used to characterize those who make it," whispered the deity.
"The man who can do nothing else—and usually he can do nothing else—can poke fun. It is a peculiarly tasteful form of iconoclasm."
Said the god:—
"If I should sleep, do not forget to stop the clock."
He pretended to do so.
That is his way when I have tired him.