Chapter II: Part 2

Hence it often results that an innocent young person will go with others to a restaurant with a shady reputation, either in the spirit of bravado or to discover what the secret is. Often enough the place, on the outside of the life shown there, seems innocent enough and the visitors wonder at the secrecy, innuendo and charm draped about the place.

The real “man of the world” knows the taste of the “dead sea fruit” well enough.

* * * * *

=The Footpath of Peace=

To be glad of life, because it gives you a chance to love and to work and to play and to look up at the stars, to be satisfied with your possessions, but not contented with yourself until you have made the best of them; to despise nothing in the world except falsehood and meanness, and to fear nothing except cowardice; to be governed by your admirations rather than by your disgust. To covet nothing that is your neighbor’s except his kindness of heart and gentleness of manners; to think seldom of your enemies, often of your friends, and every day of Christ; and to spend as much time as you can, with body and with spirit, in God’s out-of-doors; these are little guide-posts on the footpath to peace.—Henry Van Dyke.

* * * * *

=Why the Editor Left Town=
(From the Rochester, Minn., Bulletin.)

Miss Isabel Jones returned yesterday from Chicago, where she visited
her son, Dick, and attended the Republican convention. Miss Jones
also visited at the National Kindergarten College, which she
formerly attended.

* * * * *

=Free Verse=

When a girl walks
Down the street
With hardly enough
Clothes on to make
A tail for a kite
You can’t expect a fellow
To have prayer meeting
Thoughts.

* * * * *

Little Johnnie rushed home from school, through the house and into the yard where he had a pen of pet rabbits. Picking one up he began to shake it violently, repeating with each shake and in a rather rough tone: “Two and two; two and two.”

Johnnie’s mother heard the noise. She ran to the window and yelled at him to stop abusing the rabbit. “Stop that, Johnnie,” she admonished. “You’ll kill poor bunny.”

“I don’t care if I do,” Johnnie replied. “Teacher told me a lie today. She said rabbits multiplied faster than anything and this one can’t even add.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

=_Smokehouse Poetry_=

_HAVE you ever sighed for the good old days before the Great Drought? I have—many, many times. Oh! Gentle Readers, how my mouth has filled with juicy cotton at the thought of a nice, large, cooling glass of lager. You know, the kind we got before the war—the amber fluid that would almost make you side-slip into a tail spin and flop on your fusilage. In the September issue, I want you to read “Sherry,” and then eat an egg so as to complete the illusion._

_Oh, ’tis so. Don’t I know?
You’re in for it, once you begin it.
As with wine, so with love, you’d better go slow,
For the devil himself is in it!_
_She’s a “darby” poem for the old-fashioned Bohemian._—THE EDITOR.

=The Worldly Way=
By Monroe H. Rosenfeld.

“Come back, my child,” said the father fond
To his boy who had gone astray
Out in the bitter world of sin—
Out in the sorrowed way;
“Thou hast erred, my child, yet what of that?
And Frailty’s name is mine,
Thy path of sin is naught to me,
For repentance is divine!”

And so it chanced that the lad returned
One night, when the low’ring day
Of Life had cast its dark’ning gloom
And lured him from his way;
And wine and song and kindly hands,
Like the dream of the prodigal son,
Were lent in humble, sweet embrace
To welcome the erring one!

––––––––

A maiden fair in tattered gown,
Aweary and sad at heart,
Passed out in the rabble of the street
With penance for a part.
Hers was the fate of Passion’s love,
And she a thing of scorn;
“Thou hast erred and sinned,” cried the bitter world,
“’Twere better to be unborn!”

“Thou art not my child!” the father said,
As he closed the mansion door—
“Passion and sin go hand in hand,
Seek thou another shore!”
And the girl went forth forever, aye,
A penitent child of shame—
One of the millions wandering on
For woe and Death to claim.

––––––––

Ah! this was many years ago,
When life was a youthful dream;
And yester eve I saw two graves
In a churchyard near a stream;
The glittering waters rippled soft
Their cadence for a song
Of the sinner and sinned who buried lay
Apart from the madding throng.

The same sweet carol of the birds
Overhead, that sang their strain;
The same sweet zephyrs lingering by
Made dirges for the twain.
One forgiven! The other spurned!
Both in the depths of clay.
Yet each again to rise, despite
The cross of the worldly way!

––––––––

“Here’s where I prove an artist
Without a brush,” he cried,
As he drew a lovely maiden
Up closer to his side.

* * * * *

=Hell=

Sometimes we say—
It’s colde’r’n Hell;
Sometimes we say—
It’s hotter’n Hell,
And when it rains,
’Tis Hell we cry;
It’s also Hell
When it is dry.

Married life’s Hell—
So they say;
You get home late—
There’s Hell to pay;
I suppose it is Hell
If babe cries all night,
And doctor bills—
They’re Hell all right.

But still there’s “Hell, yes”; “Hell, no,”
And “Oh, Hell,” too;
“The Hell you don’t”
And “The Hell you do.”
Now, how in the Hell
Can anyone tell,
What in the Hell
We mean by Hell.
—By Numatic, Akron, O.

* * * * *

=Learning.=

I used to be old-fashioned,
I never came to town,
But now, by gosh, I’m lickity-split,
I love the girls around.

I hug ’em, I kiss ’em,
I’m a regular up to date.
By gollys I’m getting wild,
But you city ginks just wait.
—Bill Bancroft.

* * * * *

=Maud Muller=

Maud Muller, on nice summer day,
Raked in meadows sveet vith hay.

Her eyes ban sharp lak gude sharp knife;
She ban nice girl, ay bet yure life.

Before she ban dar wery long,
She start to senging little song.

The Yudge come riding down big hill
In nice red yumping ottomobill.

Maude say, “Hello, Yudge,—how ban yu?”
The Yudge say, “Maudie, how y’ du?”

He say: “Skol yu tak little ride?
Ef yu skol lak to, yump inside.”

So Maude and Yudge ride ’bout sax miles,
And Yudge skol bask in Maude’s sveet smiles.

The Yudge say, “Skol yu be my pal?”
Den ottomobill bust all to hal.

Den Maude ban valking ’bout half vay
Back to meadows sveet vith hay.

“Ay luv yu still, dear,” said the Yudge;
But Maude she only say, “O fudge!”

Of all sad vords dat men skol talk,
The saddest ban, “Valk, yu sucker, valk!”

* * * * *

=Girls! Read This One=

A girl may laugh, a girl may sing;
A girl may knit and crochet,
But she can’t scratch a match
On the seat of her pants,
Because she’s not built that way.

* * * * *

=Girls=

With girls you should not get too free,
You’ll find my words are true;
Tell her she is a bird, and she
Will want to fly with you.
—Cincinnati Enquirer.

With girls you should not get too free,
You’ll find my words are right;
Tell her she is a bear, and she
Will want to hug you tight.
—Hastings (Neb.) Tribune.

With girls you should not get too free,
And this thought don’t forget;
Tell her she is a deer, and see
Her run you dear in debt.
—New York World.

With girls you should not get too free,
Just that in mind please bear;
Tell her she is a peach, and she
Will grab you for a pair.
—St. Paul Pioneer Press.

With girls you should not get too free,
Be careful, don’t get rash;
Tell her she is a lamb and she
Will fleece you of your cash.

* * * * *

=In a Friendly Sort o’ Way=

When a man ain’t got a cent, and he’s feeling kind o’ blue,
An’ the clouds hang dark an’ heavy, an’ won’t let the sunshine
through,
It’s a great thing, O, my brethren, for a feller just to lay
His hand upon your shoulder in a friendly sort o’ way!
It makes a man feel curious; it makes the teardrops start,
An’ you sort o’ feel a flutter in the region of the heart:
You can look up and meet his eyes: you don’t know what to say
When his hand is on your shoulder in a friendly sort o’ way.
Oh, the world’s a curious compound, with its honey and its gall,
With its care and bitter crosses, but a good worl’ after all;
An’ a good God must have made it—leastways, that is what I say,
When a hand is on my shoulder in a friendly sort o’ way.
—James Whitcomb Riley.

* * * * *

=The Troop Train=

Higgledy, piggledy, we tumble in,
Rats in a cage, fish in a tin,
In evil dreams I travel again
In a clanking, clattering French troop train,
“Chevaux” eight, “Homme’s” two score
Is the legend inscribed on the box-car door.
All things considered, I cannot but feel
That the horses get the best of the deal.
We stop with a jerk and start with a wrench,
And the driver gets cursed in both English and French.
We start, we stop, we start once more
And shunt back to where we were before;
When it’s time to sleep down you flop
With two men beneath you and three on top.
Higgledy, piggledy, here we lie,
Lice in a shirt, pigs in a sty.
H. J. Smith.

* * * * *

=When I’m Among a Blaze of Lights=

When I’m among a blaze of lights,
With tawdry music and cigars
And women dawdling through delights,
And officers at cocktail bars,—
Sometimes I think of garden night
And elm trees nodding at the stars.

I dream of a small firelit room
With yellow candles burning straight,
And glowing pictures in the gloom,
And kindly books that hold me late.
Of things like these I love to think
When I can never be alone:
Then some one says, “Another drink?”
And turns my living heart to stone.
—Sassoon.

* * * * *

When the whole blamed world
Seems gone to pot
And business on the bum,
A two-cent grin and a lifted chin
Helps some, my boy, helps some.

* * * * *

=The Modern Version=

“Smile, and the world smiles with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.”
—Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

Spend, and the world spends with you;
Save, and you save alone.
Tho’ fast be the race you’ve got to keep pace,
Till you’ve spent every nickel you own.

Jazz, and the bunch jazz with you;
Dance, and you’re by yourself;
The mob thinks it’s “jake” to shimmy and shake,
For the “old-fashioned stuff’s” on the shelf.

Have a “case,” and your friends will adore you;
Have a thirst, and they all pass you by;
For men want full measure of all your treasure,
But never come ’round when you’re dry.
V. V. M.

* * * * *

=The Longing Search=

I wonder if we’ll ever meet again.

Upon a golden day thou came’st to me,
And beautyless were other maidens then,
Nor was it night nor day when near to thee,
But carefree floating through the yielding air.

Oft in the crowd, I’ve seen thee hurry on,
With wistful smile and look so sadly fair,
But when the head was turned, ’twas not the one.
And my sad heart fed on its grief again.

So runs my song. The sea, in other days,
Broke on the shores of time encircled men
And maids, whose hearts, like ours, sang such sad lays.
Are those souls happy there, who here found pain?

I wonder if we’ll ever meet again.
—Norman McLeod.

* * * * *

=Ananias Outdone=

I’d rather drink water than beer;
I’d rather drink milk than champagne,
A “gingerale high” always makes me feel queer,
A “claret cup” gives me a pain;
I’m really a buttermilk fan,
For whisky I don’t care a slam;
Soft drinks are my joy,
I’m so happy! Oh, Boy!!
What a wonderful liar I am.
—By Betty.

* * * * *

=So Touching=
By John Bowen, Jr., S. T. C.

At first she touches up her hair
To see if it’s in place,
And then with manner debonair,
She touches up her face;
A touch of curls behind her ear,
A touch of cuffs and collars
And then she’s off to hubby dear
To touch him for ten dollars.

* * * * *

When You Marry Her When You Marry Him

When you marry her, love After you marry him,
her; study him;

After you marry her, If he is secretive, trust
study her; him;

When she is blue, cheer If he is sad, cheer him;
her;

When she is talkative, by When he is talkative,
all means listen to listen to him;
her;

If she dresses well, When he is quarrelsome,
compliment her; ignore him;

When she is cross, humor If he is jealous, cure
her; him;

If she does you a favor, If he cares naught for
kiss her; pleasure, coax him;

When she is jealous, cure
her;

If dinner is cold, eat If he favors society,
it, not her; accompany him;

When she looks pretty, When he deserves it, kiss
tell her so; him;

Let her feel how well you Let him think how well
understand her— you understand him—

But never let her know But never let him know
she isn’t boss. that you manage him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

=_Pasture Pot Pourri_=

I didn’t like her apartment so I knocked her flat.

* * * * *

A parson in London, England, has been unfrocked for kissing a servant girl. This smacks of intolerance.

* * * * *

=Give It Up=

If big feet, knock-knees and bow legs won’t make a girl wear long skirts, what chance has modesty?

* * * * *

=An Ambition=

_I’ve mortgaged the house and mortgaged the cow,
And mortgaged the things that are,
And all the things I expect to have,
To purchase a motor car.
And when I first roll out in it
My joy will be sublime
If I can run over my brother-in-law
And get away in time._

* * * * *

A man in Brandon, the other day, was fined one thousand dollars for selling a bottle of whiskey, and a man in Humboldt, found guilty of seduction, was let off on suspended sentence. Uplift is making great advances.

* * * * *

Clothing dealers think that it’s all over with the overall.

* * * * *

The man who does not possess a private cellar is in a fair way to possess a private cell.

* * * * *

Bohemia! Bohemia! The world of hopes and fears, Of themes and dreams and cigarettes, free lunches, beers and tears.

* * * * *

=A recruiting officer says soldiers make good husbands because all they want is plenty to eat and beans once a week. Hm! And we imagined beans were something to eat.=

* * * * *

=A Good Excuse=

Flooterpush gazed sadly upon Jane Emily the handmaiden.

“Jane Emily,” said he, severely pointing to a half-empty bottle of the fluid which cheers and occasionally inebriates, “somebody’s been at this whiskey.”

“Well, I’ve never touched your whiskey,” retorted the girl.

“Are you sure, Jane Emily?”

“Sure! O’ course I’m sure! Why, the blessed cork wouldn’t come out!”

* * * * *

=My Hosiery, My Hosiery=

Silk stockings coming down, is the joyful scream that hits up from the headlines.

’Smatter, garters going up?

* * * * *

See where the girls are putting wings on their slippers. That ought to speed up the high flyers.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“=_Friendly Insults_”=

By CAPTAIN BILLY

THERE is something almost amusing about the violent agitation in Canada and England against the publications of a well-known American. The Britishers are working up a boycott against these periodicals, declaring their pages contain many bitter insults to old John Bull.

Those acquainted with the tribe of England soon recognize their proud and haughty demeanor. Blood and lineage cut deep into their flesh and cranium. I often wonder if the English realize a possibility for pride in the American people. From my observation through a wide exchange of British publications, I have noted 10 insulting stories regarding the Americans to every one story contained in our newspapers and magazines of a nature detrimental or slurring to British cousins.

Permit me for a moment to regale you with a few old stories gleaned from the English:

=Story No. 1.=—A teacher asked one of the class to tell her what the
British flag stood for. “Truth, honor and justice,” replied the
child. “Right,” said the teacher. “Now Willie, can you tell me what
the French flag stands for?” “Liberty, fraternity and equality,”
piped Willie. “Good,” commented the teacher. “Reggie, you tell me
what the American flag stands for.” “I don’t know what it stands for
now,” replied the knowing youth, “but it stood for a devil of a lot
during the first two years of the war.”

=Story No. 2.=—One of the first American soldiers arriving in
England went into a public house and ordered a glass of beer. He was
not used to the non-sparkling English beer and casually remarked to
the barmaid: “Isn’t this beer a little stale.” “No wonder it’s
stale,” rejoined the lady, “it has been waiting for you three
years.”

=Story No. 3.=—“Why are American Tommies called ‘Doughboys’,” asked
a kind lady of an English soldier. “Well,” theorized the English
soldier, “I suppose it is because they were kneaded in 1914 and did
not rise until 1917.”

=Story No. 4.=—A prize was offered at a children’s entertainment for
the lad who could tell the biggest lie. “I went up in an aeroplane
so high that I could hear the angels sing,” said the first child. “I
went down in a submarine so far that the water was boiling,” said
the second. “The Americans won the war,” said the third, and carried
off the prize.

=Story No. 5.=—An American soldier met a British soldier in New
York. “What mob did you go over with?” asked the Britisher. “The
Rainbow Division,” responded the American. “Never heard of it,”
laconically remarked the Britisher. “What,” ejaculated the American;
“never heard of the Rainbow Division, the famous Rainbow Division.”
“Ah, let me think,” pondered the other; “let me think; ah, yes, bah
jove, that’s the one that came out after the storm was all over.”

The Englishmen admit their insulting stories about the Americans, but defend the practice by declaring the stories to be of a friendly character. On the other hand they declare the American insults to be bitter. Our “friendly insults” appear to be “a horse of another color.” What chance is there for permanent peace?

* * * * *

=The Soapy Wiggle Shimmy=

There are ways and other ways, but——

“How do you wash your back when you bathe?” queried one fair maiden of her companion on a streetcar, as they rode to work one morning last week. “I just can’t seem to get a satisfactory job on that part of me.”

“Why—wash my back?” came the instant and ready reply. “Why, that’s easy. I just soap my back all over and then lie down in the tub and shimmy.”

* * * * *

He: “Are you free tonight, dearie?”

She: “No, I was last Friday but not tonight.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

=_Limericks_=

There was a young lady of Tottenham,
Her manners—well, she had forgotten ’em.
At tea at the Vicar’s
She took off her knickers,
And said she was too jolly hot in ’em.

––––––––––

There was a young man in Drumheller;
An ornery sort of a feller.
He had cracks in his dome,
But folks flocked to his home,
On account of the crocks in his cellar.

––––––––––

There was a young man from Bordeaux
Who loved a young lady I kneaux;
She was charming and fair,
But she died in despair
For the chap from Bordeaux was too sleaux.

––––––––––

A maiden with stockings of lisle
Passed a man and she gave him a smile.
The lisle he could see
All the way to her knee,
And he followed her almost a misle.

––––––––––

A Cannibal King saw his Mrs.
Kissing a guard called Ulrs.
The wicked old king
Fricasseed the poor thing,
And Ulrs. now Mrs. her Krs.

––––––––––

A young man named Christopher Gunn
Once married a girl “just for fun,”
But soon a boy came
Now dad’s not the same
For the kid’s a young son of a Gunn!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

=_Classified Ads_=

=Some Lady=
(From South Side Star.)

Wanted—To buy buggy by lady that is double seated and has patent leather top.

* * * * *

=Ballad of the Brand=
(From St. Peter News.)

Strayed or Stolen—Young heifer from farmer living east of town with XXXX branded on hind leg.

* * * * *

=Where Do They Get It?=
(From the Lake County Times.)

For Sale or Trade—A big paying hotel and boarding house; 45 roomers, always full.

* * * * *

=Competing With St. Peter=
(From the Clinton, Ia., Advertiser.)

Do you know W. L. Boyce? If not, you should, as he is the man that marks the mistakes of the doctors. The Monument Man.

* * * * *

=Wealthy but Thrifty=
(From the Muskogee Phoenix.)

Beautiful farmer’s daughter with 425 acres of land, very wealthy, would marry. Send stamp for a reply. Box ——, Tallahassee, Fla.

* * * * *

=Nature Faker=
(From the Leal Leader.)

For Sale—A cow will have calf soon, also some hogs.

* * * * *

=A Bully Job=
(From Minneapolis Journal.)

Girl for general housework; no laundry work; pleasant room, private bath; $10 a week. Mrs. B. S. Bull, Ken. 1898, 1627 W. 26th street.

* * * * *

=Forecast: Continued Cool=
(From the Gary Tribune.)

Wanted—Lady to sleep nights for company. Would allow use of kitchen if necessary. B-232

* * * * *

=Regular Leap Year Ad=
(From Vancouver Province.)

Middle-aged widow lady (girl six) wishes light duties, $10 monthly, country preferred, with respectable, good living man having nice, healthy home, piano.

* * * * *

=How About a Middle-Aged Widow?=
(From the Marion, Ind., Republican.)

To whom it may concern—Some men advertise for fine stock, but not the case with me; I am looking for a wife. I am a lone man keeping house. I work every day and do not have a chance to find a wife. Any lady wishing to marry will please address me at Johnston City, Ill. Very respectfully, W. C. South.

* * * * *

=The Gentle Osteopath=
(From the Osteopathic Physician.)

Wanted—An assistant. Must be good mixer. Lady of good appearance and one with the goods would do. Address ——, care The O. P.

* * * * *

A concern advertises in The Chicago Tribune for an “office boy, 16 years old, with large corporation.” Isn’t that asking a good deal of one so young?

------------------------------------------------------------------------

=_Jest Jokes and Jingles_=

=Father Said So=

Tommy: “Do you go to bed very early, Mrs. Peck?”

Mrs. Peck: “Yes, Tommy, sometimes—when I feel tired.”

“You wouldn’t go so early if you were married to my father, would you?”

“Oh, Tommy, you funny boy! Why not?”

“’Cause my father told mother that if he were your husband he’d make you sit up and take notice.”

* * * * *

=Cause for Joy=

Old King Cole
Was a merry old soul,
Don’t doubt it for a minute,
He called for his pipe
And he called for his bowl,
And that bowl had “something” in it.

* * * * *

=A Stag Party=
(From the Highland Park Press.)

Mr. and Mrs. George D. Stagg, of San Bernardino, Calif., are the proud parents of a baby boy. Mr. Stagg is still in the military hospital.

* * * * *

=Listen To ’Em Rave=

A recent robbery disclosed the fact that large quantities of whiskey have been sent to insane asylums for “medicinal” purposes.

Men wishing to take the examination for insanity will please leave their names at the front office. The line forms to the right—don’t crowd.

* * * * *

“I’d like to get some soap,” she told the clerk.

“Would you care for toilet soap?” the salesman asked.

“No,” she replied. “I want it for my face.”

* * * * *

Adam was a wise guy,
So they say;
He shoved his rib against the fence
And Eve came to next day.

* * * * *

One of our Robbinsdale farmer boys who was active in the big blowout in France was explaining the mysteries of a barb wire entanglement to a sweet country miss. Using the pasture fence and county road ditch to simulate trench conditions, our farmer-doughboy “went over the top” at the zero hour, much to her delectation. She joined in the second attack, but our friend said the entire battle effect was spoiled when her skirt caught in the barbs, and she exclaimed in a very unmilitary manner: “Move over, kiddo, until I blow my nose.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

=_Lights Out, and Then_=

By JANE GAITES

ELEVEN o’clock p.m.—a dainty little ankle adorned by the lace ruffle of a silken pair of pajamas is drawn under the warm, crisp covers. A little brunette head is nestled more comfortably on the soft pillows—two sleepy gray-blue eyes glance demurely but searchingly around the room. A tired yawn is suppressed by tiny rosy finger-tips—a small round arm reaches upward, and, presto—the lights go out.

A moment of struggling is encountered in the gloom,—follows a turning over, and suddenly the shapely little head is jerked breathlessly under the covers. Part of a minute elapses, then—“Ow, help, murder, police, oh—oh, oh, my God!—a man!”

A frantic struggle to turn on the lights commences, but the poor frightened little slip of a girl can’t find the switch.

An anxious pater rushes in amidst the hysterical screams of his exceedingly excited wifie who just knows that she will collapse!

Two minutes later, with the lights well on, daughter is snuggled securely in pater’s protecting arms,—but where is the man?

A faint sound arises from under the blankets, at which daughter Fanchon screams, and mother, true to her prediction, faints.

Oh! how terrible is the suspense of that fateful night! Presently, the “sound” is converted into an unmistakeable mew—Tabby innocently emerges from the covers, and demure little Fanchon very conventionally cries, “Oh, Hell—it’s only the cat!”

* * * * *

=Billy Noonan’s Sunshine=

The sad part about fishing trips this year is that the fisherman will have to fish.

It is next to impossible to get a drink in St. Paul—unless you have the price.

John Smith, Cass Lake, Minn., Indian, says he fished on the Rainy river 115 years ago. There’s a mark for some of you fish liars to aim at.

Thrift advocates are advising wives to discard all useless things around the house. It looks bad for a lot of husbands.

Villa supported the rebels until they got into power, but now he is “agin” them. There must be a strain of Irish in him.

They are still selling beer in England at three cents a glass. The fare to England is only $179.75.

The daily papers are running articles about the great slashing in wearing apparel. They must refer to the laundries.

Price slashing continues. Snow shovels, ear muffs and overcoats are coming down in price.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

=_Our Mail Bag_=

=John=—I think you must be speaking of pickles; olives are never warped.

* * * * *

=C. P.=—Use one end of the fork, only.

* * * * *

=Agnes=—The male should buy the tickets—at least his own. Would suggest that you send me your picture. After all I may be wrong.

* * * * *

=L. M. & C. D.=—“You are both wrong.” Question 1—It was Richard B. Sheridan the lady was speaking of. Phil Sheridan took the ride and it was Martin Sheridan “who threw things,” as you so aptly put it. Question 2—She must have thought you a couple of mutts.

* * * * *

=Mr. B.=—I am sorry but I know of no way to keep the ears from flapping. Is Jessie your wife or your horse?

* * * * *

=T. U.=—You cannot lay the blame to your hostess. One should not expect the chicken to be nailed to the plate.

* * * * *

=Maggie=—No, tea is not tackled nor is it lapped. Sip perhaps is the word you seek.

* * * * *

=Henery=—If you must speak of them, use the word “Suspenders.” “Braces” are doubtful, while gallowses, well, you strike me with horror. Gallowses are obsolete in good society. Yes, an old-fashioned man is one who wears suspenders.

* * * * *

=Percy=—No, you are not expected to kiss the girl in the vestibule. It is not being done these days.

* * * * *

=Bill Grabb=—If you think you have a good chance with the lady and are sure about her income, hire a taxi. Life is a gamble, anyway. Take a chance; Steve Brodie did.

* * * * *

=H. G. P.=—We thank you for the two following items. They’re “birds”: A young man and girl eloped and when they reached Pensacola he wired the girl’s mother as follows: “Married Gladys in Pensacola today. Am going to Tampa with her tomorrow.”

You can lead a mule to water, but it takes Bull Durham Tobacer.

* * * * *

=Mae=—The skins of potatoes become jackets upon leaving the kitchen.

* * * * *

=Ed.=—Yes, it would be best to use your handkerchief.

* * * * *

=Miss Sylvia=—If you are unfamiliar with the artichoke turn it down. No book can help you. It is one of the most treacherous traps that a newly-rich-society-climber can fall into. I dare not advise you.

* * * * *

=Frank D.=—No, Frank, trap is not the correct expression to use in speaking of a lady’s mouth, unless—unless she is your wife.

* * * * *

=Harry P.=—I am no lawyer. However, I believe that you have no grounds for a law-suit. You didn’t have to hold the baby.

* * * * *

=Miss Dorris M.=—Please mention the kind of a breath your dancing partner had. Also give his name and address.

* * * * *

=James P.=—Grapefruit is always uncertain. Write a letter to “the lady on your left.”

* * * * *

=Louise=—Charles Dickens’ “Curiosity Shop” is a book, not a store. Give up hunting downtown and try a library.

* * * * *

=E. O.=—A is right. Trousers; not pants.

* * * * *

=Cleo=—Yes, your touching poem, “Why Should I Suffer and Die,” is very good, but you should practice what you preach.

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● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.
○ Unbalanced quotation marks were left as the author intended.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ “derflop” was changed to “kerflop” on page 11. A dictionary search
showed no instances of “derflop”
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were only made consistent
when a predominant form was found in this book.
○ Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text in
bold by “equal” signs (=bold=).