ABSTRACT
There is always something the matter with anything at which you laugh. And there are—need I argue ?—innumerable ways in which something can be the matter with a thing. It can be dirty, dumb, daft, drunk, dilapidated, dark-faced, down-and-out—to mention a few familiar ones beginning with d. But after you have gone through the alphabet and listed all the adjectives which imply that something is the matter, and all the nouns they might apply to, you are not half through with the material of humor. For then you have to list all the ways in which a thing can be perfectly all right, except that there is too much or not enough of it. Ears, for instance, are perfectly all right, but a little too much of them is a great deal more than enough. Indeed, the merest hint of a slight excess equipment or carrying of spare parts in these regions will provoke a laugh.
One day not long ago—says Frank Sullivan—I was in my study engaged upon some research when my seven-year-old niece, Ida, came romping in, seized a bottle of ink, and poured the contents over my head. The minx knows full well her old uncle hasn’t the heart to scold her for interrupting him, and she takes advantage of it.
“What is oo doin’, nonkie?” she asked.
I gave her a good kick in the shin.
“Talk English, or get out of here,” I ordered.
“Well, hell’s bells,” she protested, rubbing the injured tibia,
“all I wanted to know was what you were doing.”
“I am doing some research on inflation.”
“What’s inflation?”
“Don’t you know?”
“No. What is it?”
150“Never mind. Do you know what fiat money is? Do you know at what figure France pegged the franc in 1927?”
“No.”
“Do you know how to peg a franc?”
“Nope.”
It was incredible. I was amazed. The world shaken by a tremendous economic upheaval, yet this girl, possible future mother of Presidents, knew nothing of inflation. I could scarcely believe my ears and told Ida so frankly.
“I can understand that,” she said, gazing at the organs in question.
