Just Enough Liebling by A. J. Liebling

Author:A. J. Liebling [Liebling, A. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781429930673
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Published: 2011-05-17T10:00:00+00:00

(1938)

from The Honest Rainmaker

The Life and Times of Colonel John R. Stingo

THE LEGEND

There was once a sheik, the richest and most puissant in all Arabia, and he owned thousands of swift dromedaries, the best in all Arabia, and thousands of thoroughbred Arabian steeds, the fastest in all Arabia, and his years were four score and nineteen, and his sons long since had reconciled themselves to his demise. So when, one eve, as the sun sank sad on the west side of the Euphrates, the old sheik summoned his eldest son to the side of his couch, the son sensed that it was the finish, although the word official had not yet flashed on the odds board.

“Draw near, my son,” the old man croaked, “for my voice is feeble with years, and I would have you hear me.”

The son, who was himself a green three score and ten, inclined obediently above his sire, and placed his right ear near the old sheik’s mouth.

“You know, my son, that I own thousands of swift dromedaries,” the old man said, “the best in all Arabia.”

“Yes, Father,” the eldest son said, “I know.”

“And you know I own thousands of fat-tailed sheep, the fattest in all Arabia.”

“Yes, Father,” the eldest son said, “I know.”

“And you know I own thousands of thoroughbred Arabian horses, the fastest in all Arabia.”

“Yes, Father,” said the eldest son, “I know.”

“Well, Son,” the old sheik said, “I bet on those horses.

“And now the First National Bank of Mecca holds a mortgage on the thousands of swift dromedaries, the best in all Arabia.

“And the First National Bank of Medina holds a mortgage on the thousands of fat-tailed sheep, the fattest in all Arabia.

“And the First National Bank of Trans-Jordan has foreclosed on the horses, and they are to be sold at auction in the paddock at Babylon tomorrow.

“So I have no material goods to leave to you.”

The eldest son’s heart was heavy within his breast, but he was a dead-game sport.

“It is well, Father,” he said.

Then the old man, with a last mighty effort, sat up straight on his couch of gazelle skins and said:

“But I have something more precious to bequeath to you, my counsel.”

“Yes, Father,” the eldest son said, “I hear.”

“My son,” the old man said. “Never work a day. And NEVER, NEVER, take an honest dollar.”

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