That is what a Christmas card should say. It
is absurd to say this to a man or woman whom one is
perpetually ringing up on the telephone; to somebody
whom one met last week or with whom one is dining the
week after; to a man whom one may run across at the
club on almost any day, or a woman whom one knows
to shop daily at the same stores as oneself.
It is absurd to say it to a correspondent to whom one
often writes. Let us reserve our cards for the
old friends who have dropped out of our lives, and
let them reserve their cards for us.
But, of course, we must have kept their addresses;
otherwise we have to print our cards publicly—as
I am doing now. “Old friends will please
accept this, the only intimation.”
The recent decision that, if a fortune-teller honestly
believes what she is saying, she is not defrauding
her client, may be good law, but it does not sound
like good sense. To a layman like myself it would
seem more sensible to say that, if the client honestly
believes what the fortune-teller is saying, then the
client is not being defrauded.
For instance, a fortune-teller may inform you, having
pocketed your two guineas, that a rich uncle in Australia
is going to leave you a million pounds next year.
She doesn’t promise you the million pounds herself;
obviously that is coming to you anyhow, fortune-teller
or no fortune-teller. There is no suggestion
on her part that she is arranging your future for
you. All that she promises to do for two guineas
is to give you a little advance information. She
tells you that you are coming into a million pounds
next year, and if you believe it, I should say that
it was well worth the money. You have a year’s
happiness (if that sort of thing makes you happy),
a year in which to tell yourself in every trouble,
“Never mind, there’s a good time coming”;
a year in which to make glorious plans for the future,
to build castles in the air, or (if your taste is not
for castles) country cottages and Mayfair flats.
And all this for two guineas; it is amazingly cheap.
And now consider what happens when the year is over.
The fortune-teller has done her part; she has given
you a year’s happiness for two guineas.
It is now your uncle’s turn to step forward.
He is going to give you twenty years’ happiness
by leaving you a million pounds. Probably he
doesn’t; he hasn’t got a million pounds
to leave; he has, in fact, just written to you to
ask you to lend him a fiver. Well, surely it
is the uncle who has let you down, not the fortune-teller.
Curse him by all means, cut him out of your will, but
don’t blame the fortune-teller, who fulfilled
her part of the contract. The only reason why
you went to her was to get your happiness in advance.
Well, you got it in advance; and seeing that it was
the only happiness you got, her claim on your gratitude
shines out the more clearly. You might decently
send her another guinea.
