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Leacock, Stephen, 1869-1944

"Frenzied Fiction"

"
"Side of which?" I asked.
"Of the great vastness," he answered. "The other end of
the Illimitable."
"Oh, I see," I said, "that's where you are."
We were silent for some time. It is amazing how difficult
it is to find things to talk about with one's
great-grandfather. For the life of me I could think of
nothing better than:
"What sort of weather have you been having?"
"There is no weather here," said Great-grandfather. "It's
all bright and beautiful all the time."
"You mean bright sunshine?" I said.
"There is no sun here," said Great-grandfather.
"Then how do you mean--" I began.
But at this moment the head of the agency tapped me on
the shoulder to remind me that the two minutes' conversation
for which I had deposited, as a nominal fee, five dollars,
had expired. The agency was courteous enough to inform
me that for five dollars more Great-grandfather would
talk another two minutes.
But I thought it preferable to stop for the moment.
Now I do not wish to say a word against my own
great-grandfather. Yet in the conversations which followed
on successive days I found him--how shall I put it?
--unsatisfactory. He had been, when on this side--to use
the term we Spiritualists prefer--a singularly able man,
an English judge; so at least I have always been given
to understand.


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