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Leacock, Stephen, 1869-1944

"Frenzied Fiction"

"
"Not exactly," said the Professor with a sad smile.
"What do you mean?" we asked.
"Unfortunately our analysis, perfect though it is, stops
short. We have no synthesis."
The Professor spoke as in deep sorrow.
"No synthesis," we moaned. We felt it was a cruel blow.
But in any case our notes were now elaborate enough. We
felt that our readers could do without a synthesis. We
rose to go.
"Synthetic dynamics," said the Professor, taking us by
the coat, "is only beginning--"
"In that case--" we murmured, disengaging his hand.
"But, wait, wait," he pleaded "wait for another fifty
years--"
"We will," we said very earnestly. "But meantime as our
paper goes to press this afternoon we must go now. In
fifty years we will come back."
"Oh, I see, I see," said the Professor, "you are writing
all this for a newspaper. I see."
"Yes," we said, "we mentioned that at the beginning."
"Ah," said the Professor, "did you? Very possibly. Yes."
"We propose," we said, "to feature the article for next
Saturday."
"Will it be long?" he asked.
"About two columns," we answered.
"And how much," said the Professor in a hesitating way,
"do I have to pay you to put it in?"
"How much which?" we asked.


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