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American Arts & Graphics
Holmes and Watson are on a camping trip. In the middle of the night Holmes wakes up and gives Dr. Watson a nudge. ‘Watson’ he says, ‘look up in the sky and tell me what you see.’ ‘I see millions of stars, Holmes,’ says Watson. ‘And what do you conclude from that, Watson?’ Watson thinks for a moment. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘astronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo. Horologically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Meterologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Theologically, I see that God is all-powerful, and we are small and insignificant. Uh, what does it tell you, Holmes?’ ‘Watson, you idiot! Someone has stolen our tent!’ Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius. My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people don’t know. I must apologize for calling so late, and I must further beg you to be so unconventional as to allow me to leave your house presently by scrambling over your back garden wall. Come, Watson, come! The game is afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come! You see, but you do not observe. The distinction is clear. Education never ends, Watson. It is a series of lessons, with the greatest for the last. Man, or at least criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality. As to my own little practice, it seems to be degenerating into an agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to young ladies from boarding-schools. You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles. You will not apply my precept. How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth? We know that he did not come through the door, the window, or the chimney. We also know that he could not have been concealed in the room, as there is no concealment possible. When, then, did he come?
Now, when you do this without getting punched in the chest, you’ll have more fun. We just call it a sausage. Steve Holt! Well, what do you expect, mother?
I’ve been under fire before. Well … I’ve been in a fire. Actually, I was fired. I can handle myself. Also? I can kill you with my brain. I swear by my pretty floral bonnet, I will end you. Next time you want to stab me in the back, have the guts to do it to my face. Well, my time of not taking you seriously is coming to a middle.