IME: a cool November morning. Place: as usual, Central Park, New York—at the entrance nearest my house. Person present: Niblo Sims—that is, myself—on a bench. Atmosphere: distinctly one of annoyance.
I will begin by saying that I do not like queer people. Some of them are interesting in a way, and some may be comic, but I don't believe we feel really comfortable in their society. I think we all prefer people who behave in a sensible manner. I certainly should hate very much to be queer myself. Yet I—of all people—had just been asked by my wife to "do no more queer things."
She had reference to some little incident at the club, of which young Grillquist had given her a distorted account. I don't care to go into it. It's all past and gone. I will merely say concerning that incident that though it was queer, I wasn't. It makes all the difference in the world in such cases, which it is that's peculiar—the circumstances or the man. I cannot be held accountable for circumstances. I didn't make the world.
After my little vacation in the Adirondacks I might have forgotten the whole matter, if my wife hadn't chosen to bring up the disagreeable subject. I had really been feeling quite placid and fit till she spoke. I made up my mind to this, that Hattie would have to learn to be more reasonable and to understand me better. When a man instinctively dislikes all eccentric behavior, it's a little too ridiculous to beg him not to indulge in it.
Sitting there in the Park, absorbed in these restless reflections, I gradually became aware that two policemen were throwing stones at a tree. I assumed that they knew what they were about, and paid small attention to them. The loungers, however, and the idle women and children soon began gathering around and speculating on what the matter was. One of them, a forward young creature in a red hat and furs, presently stepped up and asked the policemen what they meant, throwing stones around that way. She said they might hit her baby.
"It's like this, lady," they courteously responded. "There's owls in that tree."
"Oh!" she cried, "will baby be able to see them? Why, I think that's too sweet!"
The policemen said nothing further, but began throwing stones again.
"Oh!" the girl said, "don't! Don't! You might hurt them!"
That was just what they wished to do, the policemen declared; and when she protested, they said there was nothing sweet about owls. They said she mightn't know it, but owls flew about and attacked people viciously at night. And when she asked in what way and what people, they said, crossly:
"They bite! They bite us. How would you like to go on duty here at night and get all tore up by a owl?"
They were evidently in earnest, very much so; but several of the women laughed provokingly at them, and the girl said, "Oh, nonsense!"
The policemen said, "Nonsense, is it?" and showed her their caps. "Is a hole like that nonsense?" one of them vindictively demanded. You could do very little to owls at night, he explained—it was too dark, and they swooped so. But he had spotted this tree as being one place where they came from, and he was just going to learn them to go biting policemen.
As I walked back to the house I reflected that every one has his troubles—troubles that other people couldn't imagine existed, and yet very real ones. It made me feel better about mine. And I thought how poor Hattie would have probably called this owl matter "queer," and how unjust it was of her or any one to use such a word just because a thing seemed a bit unusual or hard to understand.
When I reached home I found to my regret that my brother Talbot was present. It prevented me from speaking to Hattie as I had intended. I sat calm and silent throughout lunch, waiting till he should have gone, while he and Hattie talked, talked, talked, till my ears were tired listening. After lunch it got worse. The conversation turned upon clothes. With all the most important things in the world to discuss, is it worth while to chatter merely about what covers the body? I felt rather sorry and even a little ashamed of my family to see them sit there and dwell on that kind of a subject.
"Clothes are a nuisance," I said.
My wife gave a quick little laugh, and remarked, "Even hats?"
She had gone with me the day before to my hatter's, where I had bought a new derby, which I had needed very much. I had had some trouble getting what I required, and my wife had made fun of me.