Evening Star Newspaper, April 19, 1931, Page 86

The Shocking Case of Gregory Elwood Revealing the Dire Results of Tampering With an Inferiority Complex. By Nunnally Johnson NCE or twice during the meal I had noticed this gentleman seated at the adjoining table, probably because of the purple gloom which enshrouded him. Now, the Strollers’ Club, I ad- mit, is no carnival, but certainly it did not warrant sueh dejection as this. My dinner, however, was with a friend, one who had, apparently through no fault of his own, been rudely ejected from very comfortable employment a few days before, and the occasion was potently an opportunity for him to recount the outrageous circumstances and enlist my sympathy. I gave him what he wished. I gave ’ it to him in the ‘same words I had used many times before, and with great success, in like situations. “The trouble with you, George,” I said im- pressively, “is that you have an inferiority complex!” A Now those on the surface are quite in- nocuous words. I had used them, as I say, with the most gratifying success, because () they have a profound and authoritative sound, (b) they persuade their beneficiaries that I have not only been paying close heed, but have given the problem deep thought, and (c) I have found that for some occult reason they afford solace and comfort. But as I said them I chanced to glance at the melancholy gentleman at the next table and I was shocked. He was quivering like a reed in a storm. His eyes were closed in anguish, his face was drawn in tormeént, and he maintained his balance in his chair only with a superhuman effort. When George had gone and the gentleman Jooked across-with eyes that were almost sup- plicating, I smiled an invitation that he join me for coffee or cigars. For a moment or two we discussed this and that, and then abandoning all pretense, he broached the real object of his concern. “I apologize,” he said, “but I could not help overhearing the remark you made to your friend. Possibly you noticed the agitation that it caused me. It was justified—quite justified. Are you in & hurry?” *T have all evening,” I replied. ®Then I'd like to explain the justification, because I, t00, was once addicted to the use of the i “You mean——" “Do not repeat it!” he interrupted, shudder- fng. “But with your permission—" “Go right ahead.” Ofll of the most revolting aspects (he began) 5 of our present-day civilization is Gregory K. Elwood. To look at him you would think so, any more than I thought so when 10 days ago 1 arrived at the Uptons’ down on Long Island for their house party and saw him for the first time. Most of the other guests I knew. But a few introductions were necessary, and Lucy—Lucy Upton—made them. All but one. That was the sort of chap Gregory K. Elwood . was; he was the one you'd forget to introduce. I knew when he came to me a few minutes Jater with outstretched hand and apologetic smile that all of his life he had been intro- ing himself. du‘cPof)r fellow,” 1 reflected; “ancther with— with an inferiority complex.” _ My principal concern was, of course, with Lucy—we were practically engaged at that time, and I'd counted on making it official be- fore leaving—but there was time, among =0 many people, to observe the situation. It was, 1 confess, a bit difficult to observe Gregory for any length of time, for he was always disap- pearing—gone to fetch a handkerchief, a scarf, a drink for some one. And when, presently, we went in to dinner, it was discovered that no place had been set. for him.- Mrs. Upton had forgotten he was coming. “This young man, Mr. Gregory K. Elwood,” 1 said to Lucy at dinner, “who supplicd him?” “Gregory K. who?” “glwood,” I said. “Gregory K. Elwood.” «Oh, Gregory K. Elwood!” she recollected. “why! Gregory’s just a friend. I met him some time ago.” “y-u never mentioned him,” I commented. “I never thought of it,” she said. In view of everything, I canot say that I was astonished when, at bedtime, it was found that the guest room situation was a trifle inade- quate—one person too many had been invited— and everybody turned ngle accord to Gregory and eyed him accusingly. Not. as Mrs. Upton ¢xplain-d, that it mat- tered: but s:me one would have to bunk in the nu.c.ry with Tcddy, her nzphew., It went ving that the lucky lad selected for wction turnd out to be Gregory. M witaout § 1o dis wast just natural that Gregory would bunk in with dear liitle Teddy. “That’s fine!” he said heartily. *“That's per- pectly all right!” “We’ll take turn about,” Mrs. Upton said diplomatically. “Tomorrow -night somebody else—"" “Not at all—not at all! fortable there.” He was quite sincere about it; young men like Gregoty aresalways sincere about every- thing. He really thought he'd be comfortable. He did now know that Teddy was, among other objectionable things, a late water-drinker. All day, apparently, he went without a drink; all evening, b<fore every cne was comfortably set- tled in bed, no thought of water came to him. I'll be most com- ‘Then, when the opportunity was ripe to dis- commode and annoy weary adults, Teddy went in heavily for water. It was after undressing quietly in the dark and slipping silently into bed that Gregory heard the first wail of distress; and it is to his credit, I suppose, that he leaped up willingly to fetch a glass of water. “Dwink all de lilla wa-wa it wants,” he said scothingly, with that delicate touch peculiar to bachelors who aren’t very well versed in baby talk. “What?” Teddy asked. “Dwink up all de wa-wa,” Gregory repeated. “You mean water?” “Well, yes,” he admitted, in some embarrass- ment. “All de wa-wa.” . “You mean water,” Teddy said firmly. “Have it your own way,” Gregory said. THAT night I hadn’t been able to get to sleep right away. First I read a book, and then I was hungry. I decided to slip down- stairs to the®pantry and experiment with the stuff in the ice box. Wrapped in a heavy bath- robe, I was destroying a chicken leg when the dcor from the dining room opened and Gregory appeared. “Hello!” 1 greeted him. “Pangs of hung-r get you, too?” “Not exactly,” he replied; “I'm looking for a glass.” “Isn't there one in the bath room?” “There was,” he admitted, “but Teddy Jost it.” “Lost it! Isn't he in bed?” “Yes—that's where he lost it.” This is the kind of information, that of losing a glass in bed, which would be amazing in con- nection with any one but Teddy; it is common- place in connection with him. In some vague way my heart had gone out to Gregory Elwood. With all the equalities that make for a scund and charming person, he fell short through a certain lack of force. “Old man,” I said, “would you mind if I offered a fairly general suggestion, a suggestion prompted by friendship?” “Why, no!” he replied. “You may find it a bit personal, too,” I admitted, “but I've kept my eyes open this evening, and I dare say you, yourself, have not overlooked this peculiar train of events in which you have been what I may boldly call the goat.” His shoulders suddenly sagged. “I know,” he murmured. “That’s the way it always is. It's something about me—I don’t know just what—but it's always me that bunks in with Teddy, or rides. alone in the rumble seat, or is stuck with the chil- dren at the wading lagoon to see that they don’t drown in six inches of water.” “It's scarcely that bad,” I said tactfully, “and you may think me darned presump- tuous to barge in like this, but I have this suggestion to make and I make it in a sym- pathetic spirit.” “I'll appreciate it,” he said earnestly. “My suggestion is, go see a psychoanalyst. The trouble with you, old man, is that you have an inferiority complex, and a good psychoanalyst could polish that off in no time at all.” “You mean,” he said, “that I could get a kind of mental treatment that might— well—make me—well—exude a stronger per- sonality?” -« “There’s not the slightest question of it,” I said confidently. “I've seen those chaps work wonders. I have in mind a fellow I know named Hawkins, a perfectly splendid fellow, except that he had an almost irre- si€ *ble impulse for shouldering people off the sidewalk. He'd be walking down the street and suddenly this impulse would be on him; {irst thing you knew he'd be shouldering folks Joto the gutter.” *And a psychoanalyst cured him?” *Just two or threc treatments and he was e o T e R “I lay helpléss, seething, while the girl I had hoped to make my wife laughed and crowed with pleasure over devices which even a child should be ashamed to exhibit.” right as rain, never had another desire to shoulder anybody.”" “It sounds great. How did he do it?” “That I don't know. What does it matter? Hawkins got these mental treatments and emerged a well man. That's why I say you can’t lose and you might stand to gain a great deal by popping in on one of these psychoanalysts some day and laying your whole story before him.” He was visibly affected. “You're right,” he said; “you’re perfectly right. And thanks a thousand times. You have no idea what hope you give me.” Naturally, it was some time before any one missed Gregory the n€xt day. My own guess, if I had thought of it, would have been that he was still abed, making up the sleep he must have lost in the service of Teddy; but I can’t remember that I thought of it. After luncheon one of the Chapman girls and I drove over to Sands Point, to see the polo practice game, énd what with one social call and another, it was after 6 before we got back. We were to have early dinner and I crawled upstairs to wash up. When I got back down the crowd was having eocktails on the porch, and very quietly, indeed. “Anybody sick, or dead?” I asked. “Not exactly,” Lucy said briefly. “Then what's up?” Nobody answered for a moment. Then: “Say, what's the dope_on this balmy friend of of yours?” Toby Madden demanded. “I mean this Gregory K. Elwood.” “I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about,” I replied. “In the first place, I barely know the chap. In the second, if there’s any dope missing I haven't got it. ‘Where is he?” “He’s inside, eating.” “Eating what?” “Eating dinner.” “What's the idea?” “He's eating,” Toby explained, “because he was hungry. He said that whenever he was hungry he ate, whether anybody else ate or not. He said that was the way he was.” I FINISHED my cocktail. Then, everybody else ready, we straggled into the dining room, and there was Gregory, alone, sur- rounded by food. He looked up at our entrance and smiled a cheery welcome. K “Come right in,” he said, hospitably, “and find yourselves seats—anywhere.” I was puzzled. This was not the feckless young man I had talked to in the pantry last night. This was a man of forthright ad- dress and presence, a chap of vigor and confidence, and extremely objectionable, if I may say so. A faint suspicion began to dawn on me that in some vague way there was a connection somewhere with our little chat, and I dropped into the chair beside him. Instantly he scrambled to his feet, collected as many of the dishes as he could handle, together with his knife and fork and napkin, and ran around the table, where he slyly edged the taller Chapman girl out of the chair she had selected and sat down again. “I just don't want to sit by Ward,” he explained amiably. “When I don’'t want to sit by some one I don’t sit by him. That's the way I am.” My first impulse was, of course, to ask®the idiot out into the yard and murder him with quietness and dispatch; it is of unquestionable 4 credit to my control that I did not. But I shan't describe the dinper. I@heed only say that it was the unhappiest and most awkward meal I have ever eaten. At length the source of our embarrassment finished. Shoving back his chair, he*Yose and sauntered to the door, where he paused to explain himself once more. “I always like to get up and out as soon as I've finished my dinner,” he said. *“If there’s anything that bores me, it's sitting back in a ¢hair and waiting for some slow duffer to masticate his food for a half hour after I'm done.” e I am glad to say I was one of the loudest and most outspoken among those who depre- cated his existence as soon as he was out of the room. Furthermore, it was I_who ad- vised Lucy that the laws of hospitaffy called for mo further tolerance of such a guest—& suggestion that, oddly enough, she rejected. “I can't actually ask him to leave,” she said. “Let’s wait. Maybe he’ll be himself again.” - When we returned to the Gregory was nowhere around. Under the influence of a bridge game we succeeded in cooling off somewhat, and when presently I strolled out on the porch, while dummy, to smoke a cigarette, I had for the moment fore gotten the matter. _ Then, from the dark, my name was called. “Ward!” * He was in the swing, drawn up in one corner, and subconsciotsly I noted a differ ence in his voice. “Well,” I said shortly, “what is it?” “Oh, don’t be cross,” he begged suddenly. “It’s hard enough as it is, without your being cross.” “If I had my way,” I told him, “you'd be at this minute walking to the station—and the reason you're not,” I said, “is Lucy’s incredible and preposterous decency.” “She’s very sweet,” he said softly. *“It's darned generous of you to say so,” 1 remarked, “in view of your most extraordinary behavior!” 4 “I know,” he admitted simply, “but I have to be that way. It's orders.” “Orders! Whose orders?” .. “The doctor's. I ran into town today, as you suggested. And I went to see a psycho- analyst.” ‘This was interesting. “What did you tell him?” I asked. “I told him you said I had an inferiority complex. He said everybody said that about everybody else. But when we'd talked for about a half-hour he said you were quite right, that I had a very admirable case of inferiority—ocne of the finest he’d ever seen. “He told me,” Gregory continued, “that we'd have to get after it immediately. He said that I was not assertive enough; I did not express my true self; I was constrained, or inhibited. He told me that at bottom I had a very strong personality, once it came through the shell. It was romantic, he said, and full of force.” “Was that it tonight?” “His orders wefe,” he said stubbornly, “that I shouldn’t be afraid to do anything, no matter what. He said I should just let myself go.” “Does it ever happen,” I asked, “that you have lethal impulses?” “Never,” he replied firmly. trols me.” I should have noted that singular statee ment, but I didn’t. We sat in silence a moe ment, and when he spoke again his tone had taken on the same shade that I ree membered at dinner. “I'm tired of talking to you, Ward,” he began. “As a matter of fact, I dislike you very much.” living room “Love cone HE got up and walked out into the yard, and I started Qack to the living room. The rest of the party was in something of a huddle when I got there; the bridge game had broken up and everybody wanted to drive over to Joe Smallwood’s and dance—provided, that is, they could frame a fair excuse for shaking Gregory. “Ditch him,” Toby kept saying. “Don't say anything; just ditch him.” “Oh Toby!” Lucy wailed. It went on that way for several minutes. It was unanimously agreed, with Lucy not voting,