§ 355 The Limit of Helplessness
Only too often does the average after-dinner speaker reach a point where he has nothing to say and yet feels that he must say it. Usually he does, too,—at great length. I know, because in my time, before I reformed, I was addicted to the vice of after-dinner speaking myself.
To those offenders who still persist in their wicked ways of trying to be humorous to order across the dinner table, without having the proper materials in stock, I respectfully would recommend the following highly illustrative little anecdote:
A New England husbandman was driving up a steep hill with a load of provender and gardening implements in his motor truck. In a rough place on the grade the tail-gate slipped from its catches and, item by item, the cargo spilled out. The farmer steered along oblivious of his losses. He reached the crest of the hill, coasted down into the valley, and there, in a miry place, he stuck fast. He climbed down from his seat, and then, for the first time realizing the full depth of his misfortune he exclaimed to himself:
“Stuck, gol darn it! Stuck in the mud—and nothin’ to unload!”