Morning journal and courier., 1883-06-20
The Man Who Interrupts.
Bill Rye Dfscourseth Upon One Form (
 the Society Nuisance.

Bill Rye Discourseth Upon One Form of
 the Society Nuisance.
 I do not, as a rule thirst for the blood of my fellow man, observed Bill Nye. I am will ling that the law should in all ordinary cases take it's course, but, when we begin to dis cuss the man who breaks into conversation and ruins it with his own irrelevant ideas, regardless of the feelings of humanity, am not 8 law and order man. The spirit of the "Red VigilanteE" is reused in my breast, and hunger for the blood of that man.
 Interrupters are of two classes: First, the common plug who thinks aloud and whose conversation wanders with his so-called mind. He breaks into the saddest and sweetest of sentiments, and the choicest and most fearful of pathos, with the remorseless ignorance that marks stump-tail COW in a dahlia bed. He is the bull in my china shop, the worm wood in my wine, and the kerosene in my maple syrup. I am shy in conversation, and my unfettered flights of poesy and sentiment are rare but this man is almost always near to mar it all with remark or a marginal note, or story or bit of politics, ready to burst my beautiful dream and make me wish that his name might be carved on marble slab in some quiet cemetery far away. Dear reader, did you ever meet this man, or his wife? Did you ever strike some beautiful thought and begin to reel it of to your friends only to be shut off in the middle of
 
 conversation? The second class of inter rupters is even worse; it consists of the man and, am pained to state, his wife also who see the the general drift of your remarks and finish out your story, your gem of thought or your argument It Is very seldom that they do this as you would do it yourself, but they are kind and thoughtful and their services are always at hand. No matter how busy they may be, they will leave their own work and fly to your aid. With the light of sympathy in their eyes, they rush into con versation, and, partaking of your own zeal, they take the words from your mouth, and cheerfully suck the juice out of your joke, handing back the rind and hoping for reward. That is where they get left so far as l am concerned. I am almost always ready to repay rudeness with rudeness, and cold pre- served gall with such acrid sarcasm as I may be able to secure at the moment. No one will ever know how I yearn for the blood of the interrupter. At night I camp on his trail, and all the day thirst for his warm life's current. In my dreams I am cutting his scalp loose with caseknife, while my fingers are twined in his clustering hair. I walk over him and promenade across his ab- domen as I slumber. hear his ribs crack, and see his tongue hang over his shoulder as he smiles deaths mirthful smile. do not interrupt 6 man no more than l would tell him he lied. I give him chance to win ap-
 
 according to what he has to say, and accord ing to the profundity of his profund. All I want is similar chance and room according to my strength. Common decency ought to govern conversation without it's being nec essary to hire an umpire armed with four foot club. to announce who is at the bat and who is oR deck. It is only once in week or wo that the angel troubles the waters and stirs up the depths of my conversational powers, and then the chances are that some Ieprous old nasty toad who has been hanging on the brink of decent society for two weeks, slides in with low kerplunk, and my fair blossom of thought, that has been trying for while the man with the chilled steel and copper-riyeted brow and a wad of self esteem on his intellectual balcony as big as an ink stand, walks slowly away to think of some other dazzling gem, and thus be ready to burst my beautiful phantom and tear out my high priced bulbs of fancy the next time I open my mouth.