Not QUITE the Classics Read Free

such a feeling. Every nerve ending seemed on fire, and I was flushed with some emotion that I still can’t put a name to. It was as if some euphoric drug had just entered my bloodstream. It was …”
    It was the first time I could recall Holmes ever being speechless. It was most disturbing.
    â€œHolmes, you said it was amazing and infuriating. Why infuriating?”
    Holmes looked at me with almost haunted eyes. “I can’t remember what I said. Not one part of it.” He paused. “But this experience has spurred me on to a new endeavor. One that might actually bring me happiness. I call it…stand-up comedy!”
    â€œStand-up comedy?”
    â€œYes. On the first Saturday of every month, the Lambkin and Puffin stages a talent show made up of the locals performing whatever party tricks they can devise. I will write ten to twenty minutes of highly humorous material and I will perform three weeks hence. I will write comedy and I will stand up as I interpret it. Stand-up comedy!”
    A look of skepticism must have traveled my countenance, for Holmes fixed his gaze upon me.
    â€œYes, Watson? You have something to say?”
    â€œWell, Holmes, I think that—What I mean to say is that—And this is coming from a place of friendship and nothing else. I certainly don’t want to—”
    â€œSpit it out, man!”
    â€œYou’re not funny.”
    Holmes looked as though he had found a centipede in his cock-a-leekie. “Not. Funny?”
    â€œWell, not in a humorous way, certainly. Your sarcasm can be amusing sometimes, if one is not the target of its venomous bite. But I certainly don’t think of you as one of the great wits in my social sphere.”
    â€œYou laughed at something I said only a few days ago at the grocers,” Holmes said indignantly.
    â€œUm. No. No, it was not what you said. It was when you banged your knee against the coconuts. It made a funny sound.”
    â€œCoconuts?”
    â€œYes, coconuts.”
    Holmes inspected his shoes for a few moments. “I must confess, Watson, you have hurt me in a manner I did not think possible.”
    â€œI do apologize …”
    â€œNo. No need. It just spurs me on to prove you wrong. I believe I am up to the challenge.” He ran to the calendar on the wall and circled a date. “On this day, a mere three weeks from now, I shall prove to you that I am, in fact, quite humorous. I shall expect you to be in the audience when I take to the stage.”
    â€œCertainly, Holmes, certainly.”
    â€œThen as the cannibal toymaker said to his friend, ‘The game’s a foot!’” Holmes stood there awaiting a reaction.
    I could not give him the one he desired. “Perhaps you should stay away from puns.” I smiled weakly.
    Holmes glared and then made his way to his study, leaving me with a burgeoning sense of foreboding.
    In the following days, Holmes kept to his study, writing furiously, collecting or discarding premises, joke structures, and other mysterious fancies. After one three-hour period hunkered down in his room, he bounded out with such vigor that I expected him to shout “Eureka!” and explain Archimedes’ principle to me.
    â€œIt’s mathematical, Watson! All mathematical !”
    â€œI’m sure I would agree, Holmes, if in fact I knew what you were talking about.”
    â€œComedy! It follows the same mathematical principles as music. It’s all about rhythm and emphasis. Dah dah dah dah dah…dah dah dah dah.” He laughed.
    â€œIt might be funnier with actual words.”
    Before Holmes could dispatch a withering riposte, Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door.
    â€œMr. Holmes, a package has just come for—”
    Before the poor woman could finish, Holmes had leapt towards her, grabbed the package, and begun ripping it open.
    â€œWell, I never,” she gasped.
    â€œNow, Mrs. Hudson, I’m almost positive that