When Quiet Pays Dividends.
I am a nervous sort of chap, and the various noises attendant upon our assertive civilization sometimes drive me almost to desperation. Day and night alike (for I live near a railroad yard) the clatter and clang and tooting and whizzing of this glorious twentieth century beat upon my frenzied brain till sometimes I am ready to shriek—if shrieking would do any good: "Come closer! Magnify yourselves only a little more! Focus yourselves upon my weary tympanums, O ye fiendish noises, and split them once for all into deafness and peace!"
I have heard of a Society for the Prevention of Noise—a society to which I shall be glad to will my immense fortune—when I get it.
This timely and beneficent organization is preparing lists of houses which it will distribute to people who rent houses and apartments and to real estate dealers. In these lists the houses will be classified according to their noisiness or freedom from noise. I understand that no invidious distinction is to be made formally, but the addresses of the houses that are in noisy places will be printed upon paper of one color and the addresses of the houses in quiet places will be printed upon paper of a different color, while still other colors will indicate the intermediate shades of noise and quiet.
Here, perhaps, is a way out from the hubbub of our twentieth-century din. If noise can only be made unprofitable, it is doomed. When rubber tires mean increased rent, rubber tires will be demanded. When an immediate and close connection can be traced between unnecessary noises and the pocketbook, the agitation against these ear brigands of our cities will be hot and persistent. Might to your muscle, members of the Society for the Prevention of Noise!
Eliminate the Squeak.
When I was a boy the new shoe (it was a boot then) was a mortification wherever I went. It announced my coming like a brass band. It was inescapable. To a modest man it was an agony. Even an assertive man found it inconvenient at times.
But now the shoes, even the newest of shoes, shoes worn for the first time, do not squeak one little squeak. They would not disturb the typical but mythical pin-fall silence.
Where has the squeak gone? It has been taken up by a layer of some sort of cloth or soft fiber between the two layers of leather. It is a very simple device, and the wonder, as with so many other simple devices, is that it was not thought of before.
What I want to do is to apply the non-squeak method to my life. I want to put something between the rubbing surfaces of my thoughts and words and actions that will make them noiseless. I want the operations of my brain and the energy of my life to be silent. I shall be glad when the world sees results, but I do not care to have it see processes.
I want my shoes to "get there," but I don't want them to squeak on the way.