THE
AFFABLE STRANGER
BY
PETER McARTHUR
TORONTO
THOMAS ALLEN
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY PETER McARTHUR
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PREFACE
To make clear the purpose of this book and to suggest possibilities tothe reader the author offers the following article which was publishedin the Toronto Globe. Most of the chapters first appeared in the samejournal.
Ekfrid, July 28.—This morning I got up feeling singularly cheerful andcare-free. And no wonder. Yesterday I got even with the world—saideverything I wanted to say about it right down to the last word. Thismorning I feel that I am making a fresh start with all scores paid, andI don't care whether school keeps or not.
The explanation of this unusual state of mind is quite simple. YesterdayI finished writing a book, in which I said just what I wanted tosay—said what I have been aching to say for years—about the world andthings in general. No matter what happens to the book, it has alreadyserved its purpose. It has rid my mind of "the perilous stuff, etc.,"that accumulated during the war and since. And the result has been sorefreshing that I have no hesitation in recommending the book cure toevery one. Nowadays any one can write a book, and most every one does.The mistake is in regarding the book as a literary venture. What youshould do is to make a pad of paper and a lead pencil your fatherconfessor and ease your mind of its worries. When the book is done, youcan send it out into the wilderness as the Israelites sent thescapegoat—bearing your sins with it. Then you can make a fresh start.If you don't want to publish it—though publication seems necessary tocomplete absolution—you can tie a stone to it and throw it into thelake, or do it up in a parcel and leave it for some one to find, just asboys used to do with neat parcels in which they placed pebbles on whichthey had rubbed their warts—hoping in that way to rid themselves ofwarts. I know there are some old-fashioned people who will be shockedat this levity in speaking of books, but they should waken up to thefact that since the coming of the wood-pulp era no particular meritattaches to writing a book. And if books can be given a medicinal valueto take the place of their old-time literary value, why shouldn't werecognize the fact? Anyway, the writing of a book put me in the frame ofmind to parody Sir Sidney Smith and exclaim:
"Fate cannot harm me, I have had my say."
I have told all this merely to explain the joyous mood induced by thewriting of the book. Having finished my task, I felt not only up-do-datewith my work, but up-to-date with life. It is the ambition of everyman—whether he confesses it or not—to get even with the world. Theworld is forever defeating us and defrauding us of our hopes. So let ushave our say about it, turn over a new leaf, and make a fresh start.When I got up this morning
I was so light—almost
I felt that I had died in sleep
And was a blessed ghost."
There was no feeling of responsibility about anything, and I could go towork in a care-free frame of mind. That made me realize how care-freeall nature is, and how care-free life mi