III. BOOK OF FLIRTSBRING THE CUSHION FORHIS HEAD, AND THEFOOTSTOOL FOR HISFEET, AND FEED HIMFROM THE CHAFING-DISHWITH THE FRUITS OFTHINE OWN COOKINGBOOK OF FLIRTSCHAPTER ONELo! wondrous are the workings of a man’s heart, my Daughter.His love is a thing which riseth and falleth as the stock market; yea, like a football that goeth up, it descendeth swiftly.Behold, when a man first meeteth a damsel, she pleaseth his eyes. Moreover, she is different from the girlbeforeand affordeth a pleasant change. He adoreth her from afar and indulgeth in foolish pipe-dreams. He investeth in new cravats and is particular concerning his collars.He calleth at first, timidly; he getteth on the good side of the family. He bringeth burnt offerings of expensive flowers and sweets from Huyler’s. He readeth the Rubáiyát unto her and inviteth her to meet hissister.And, behold, there cometh a day when he kisseth her suddenly and without warning.And another when he kisseth her again—easily.And another when he kisseth her much and often.And another when he kisseth her more casually.And another when he departeth early, and kisseth her but once—“Good night”.And another when hefailethto call.Then, peradventure, she writeth him a letter—which he putteth in his pocket and forgetteth to answer. She summoneth him over the telephone and he goeth into the booth wearily. She reproacheth and revileth him. He picketh a quarrel.She sobbeth “All is over between us!” He answereth “Oh, very well! Even as thou sayest!”And, in time, he meeteth another damsel and doeth itall over again. Yea, the selfsame programme he repeateth unto the letter; yet, henevertireth.For lo! though a man hath eaten his fill at one meal, why shall he lack appetite for the next?Then, I charge thee, my Daughter, when love beginneth, question not any man how it will end; for it is only in thebeginningof things that a man is interested; even in the cream from off the jug, thebubble of the champagne, the meat on the peach, and—thefirst kissof a woman.Yet, what mattereth the end? Is not the end of the cream, skimmed milk; and the end of a cigar, a stub; and the end of a peach, a stone; and the end of champagne, dregs; and the end of love, a quarrel? And which of these would ye choose?Verily, the flirtations of a man’s bachelor days are, in passing, as the courses of the love-feast; but awifeis the black coffee whichsettlethhim.CHAPTER TWOMarvellous, oh, my Daughter, is the way of a man with women; for every man hath amethodand each his favoritestunt. And the stunt that he hath found to work successfully with one damsel shall be practised upon each in turn, even unto the finest details thereof.Behold, one man shall come unto thee saying:“How foolish are the sentimentalists! But, as forme, my motives are altruistic and disinterested; and a woman’sfriendshipis what I most desire.” Yet, I charge thee, seek among his women “friends” and thou shalt not find anhomelydamsel in all their number.For this is theplatonicstunt.Now, another shall try thee by a simpler method.Lo, suddenly and without warning, he shall arise and catch thee in his arms. And when thou smitest him upon the cheek, he shall be overcome with humiliation, crying:“I could nothelpit!”Yet be not persuaded, but put himdownwithout mercy, lest peradventure, he kiss thee again.For this is theimpetuousstunt.Yet observe how still another seeketh to be more subtile.Mark how he sitteth afar off and talketh of love in theabstract; how he calleth three times a week, yet remaineth alwaysimpersonal; how he praiseth the shape of thine hand and admireth thy rings, yet toucheth not so much as thetipsof thy fingers.“Lo,” he thinketh in his heart, “I shall keep her guessing. Yea, I shall wrack her soul with thoughts of how I may be brought to subjection. And when she can no longer contain her curiosity, then will she seek tolureme, and I shall gather her in mine arms.”And this is theelusivestunt.But, I say unto thee, my Daughter, each of these is but as a chainstitch unto a rose pattern, beside him that playeth thefrankly devoted.For all women are unto him as one woman—and that oneputty.Lo, the look of “adoration” in his eyes is like unto the curl in his hair,alwaysthere; and he weareth his “protecting manner” as naturally and as constantly as his linen collar.He issoattentive and thethoughtful thingcometh unto him as second nature.Yea, though there be twenty damsels in the room, yet shall each be made to think in her heart:“Lo, I amit!”Verily, verily, all the days of his life he shall be waited on and cooed over and coddled by women; and his way shall be as one continuous path of conquests and thornless roses.For this is the Stunt ofStunts!CHAPTER THREEI chargethee, my Daughter, seek not to break a man’s heart; for it is like unto family pride, or a pin, which may bebent, butcannotbe broken! Yea, it is as a ball of India rubber which reboundeth easily after the worst shocks.Lo, the heart of a woman is full of soft spots in which every man she hathonceloved occupieth a “cozy corner”. She lingereth tenderly over the grave of a dead love; but a man flingeth a spadeful of earth thereon and proceedeth to dig anewone. And his heart is as a great cemetery!A woman keepeth a bundle of love-letters tied in faded ribbons; but a man cleaneth his pipe bowl cheerfully with the stem of the rose which thegirl-before-the-lasthath worn in her hair.A woman remembereth the dress she hath worn and the song she hath sung for each particular man; but a man remembereth not the scent of violet sachet when the odor of heliotrope is in his nostrils.And, aftersixmonths, when he cometh by chance upon an old glove or a lock of hair at the bottom ofhis trunk, he casteth it into the fire, muttering, “Now, who the devil putthatthing there?”A woman recollecteth each pet name by which she hath been called; she alloweth notwomen to label her alike. But unto a man,everywoman becometh in turn “Little Girl” or “Baby” or “Honey”.Lo, he is as one that playeth with skulls and sporteth with the bones of his ancestors; for he holdeth nothing sacred.He eraseth one face from the tablet of memory, and draweth another across it.He changeth his object of thought as readily as he changeth his clothes and his political opinions.For a woman’s love is a slow flame which smouldereth always, but a man’s love is like unto a skyrocket, which sputtereth out and cannot be rekindled.Verily, his “past” is alwaysquitepast, and his dead loves are quite dead. And there isnothingwhich is more wearisome unto him than the memory of yesterday’s wine, or yesterday’s flirtation.CHAPTER FOURMyDaughter, there are many styles of kisses, and they come in endless patterns, even as Oriental rugs.There is the kiss that sootheth and the kiss that thrilleth, the kiss that flattereth and the kiss that is a pastime. But the best of all kisses is thefirstkiss; for it is the most difficult.Yet, in all the days of thy life, no two men shall kiss theealike. For one man shall regard thy kisses as a boon, and another shall regard them as an amusement; but an husband shall consider them, as the shaving of his chin, a morning duty.Hast thou scorned a man’s kisses?Then will he exalt thee, saying “Lo! she isveryproper.” For he can think of nootherreason why thou shouldst not desire to kiss him.Yet if thou hast consented to kiss onlyoneman, he will say unto himself, “Verily, it is her habit. So doeth she withallmankind.” For every man judgeth thee by the way in which thou treatesthim.If a man kisseth thy hand gracefully, beware of him; for this is the habit of an accomplished flirt, which hath been acquired by much practice.But if he kisseth thee first upon the forehead, and then upon the eyelids, and then upon the lips, thou mayest choose thy wedding gown and decide upon thy bridesmaids.Lo, kissing is a fine art, and there are many artists; and one shall take a kiss from thee as though he doeth thee a favor, and another shall take a kiss as though he had taken thy pocketbook.Yet, no man shall ever understand why thou seemest pleased, or why thou waxest wroth, when he kisseth thee; for it is all in thewayof his wooing.Verily, verily, a man who kisseth a woman with hishaton shall be annihilated.But he, that kisseth her as though he hadneverkissedbeforeand never should kissagain, shall wear an halo in her sight. For he knoweth the Art ofArts.CHAPTER FIVELo, my Daughter, a man came unto me saying:“Let me be thy slave. For, behold, I amall devotion. And it is my delight to serve a fair woman.”And I looked at him and smiled sadly.For I knew that he wasinvulnerable; and all my weapons were broken against me.But another came unto me saying:“Behold! I am awoman-hater. Not one of them do I trust. Nay, not one can deceive and allure me. For I havetheir numbers, all of them.”And my heart was gladdened. For, by that sign, I knew that he waseasy. And my way was clear before me.Verily, verily, men are of three varieties: the kind that must be driven with whip and spur; the kind that must be coaxed with apples and sugar; and the kind that must be blindfolded andbackedinto the shafts of matrimony.And the woman-hater is like unto the last.Therefore, I charge thee, when thou meetest one of these seek not to argue with him, neither to convince him; butagreewith him sweetly, that all thy sex is weak and untrustworthy.Discourse sorrowfully upon thepitfallsof flirtation, and thehollownessof love, and thehorrorsof matrimony.Declare boldly thy scorn for the New Woman, and for the Old Woman, and for the Frivolous Woman, and for the Highbrow, and for the Lowbrow, and all the women that are on the earth and in the heavens above the earth.And when thou hast disarmed him, taking all his arguments from out his mouth, speak sweetly concerning the beauties ofplatonic friendshipand wax rapturous in its praises.Bring the cushion for his head, and the footstool for his feet, and feed him from the chafing dish with the fruits of thine own cooking, saying:“I prithee,dosmoke, for it is sochummy! Yea, I beg of thee, treat me as thou wouldst amanfriend.”Let him hold thy hand.And he shall say in his heart:“Would to heaven I were not a Woman Hater, and that all women were like unto her; for she issensibleandsincere—and a bachelor flat was never likethis!”And upon the seventh evening he shall fall down before thee and retract all his words, eating them one by one.And when thou remindest him of thy warnings and of thy fear of marriage, he will seek to persuade thee and will comfort thee with kisses and a solitaire.Then shalt thou slip the bridle over his head and the reins shall be inthinehands. And there shall beone lessWoman Hater in the world.For aWoman Hater, my Beloved, is like unto the simple ostrich, which hideth its head in the sand and thinketh itself safe.But he that professeth open adoration is like unto the park squirrel, which will eat out of thine hand but cannever be caught!CHAPTER SIXMyDaughter, a woman is a study in moods and tenses, but man is a simple proposition which worketh according to a “system”.Behold, how the two regard a letter. For when a woman writeth she spelleth her soul out on paper; but a man putteth all histendermeanings between the lines. Yea, a woman’s letter is a confession, but a man’s letter is a veiled allusion whichconcealethhis thoughts. Verily, it is a work ofart.Yet, when a woman receiveth it, she readeth it over many times, and placeth it within her shirtwaist by day, and under her pillow by night. For she knoweth that, with temptations like unto telephones and post-cards within reach, ahand-written letteris a sign of devotion.But, when a man receiveth a woman’s letter, he droppeth it in his pocket. Nay, not in the pocket above his heart, but in that pocket which containeth the fewest bills and receipts and lead pencils and othervaluablethings.He carryeth it there faithfully—until he changeth his coat.He layeth it away in an unused drawer amongst other trash.He forgetteth it.And, when years shall have passed, he findeth it and taketh it out curiously.He regardeth it with astonishment.He wrinkleth his brows with his great effort at recollection, saying: “Now who the dickens wrote this thing? Yea,whois ‘Mabel’?”He giveth it up.And lo! he proceedeth to make pipe-lighters of thine heart-to-heart effusion.Behold thy letter, like unto his love, goeth up in smoke!SELAH!
BRING THE CUSHION FORHIS HEAD, AND THEFOOTSTOOL FOR HISFEET, AND FEED HIMFROM THE CHAFING-DISHWITH THE FRUITS OFTHINE OWN COOKING
BOOK OF FLIRTS
Lo! wondrous are the workings of a man’s heart, my Daughter.
His love is a thing which riseth and falleth as the stock market; yea, like a football that goeth up, it descendeth swiftly.
Behold, when a man first meeteth a damsel, she pleaseth his eyes. Moreover, she is different from the girlbeforeand affordeth a pleasant change. He adoreth her from afar and indulgeth in foolish pipe-dreams. He investeth in new cravats and is particular concerning his collars.
He calleth at first, timidly; he getteth on the good side of the family. He bringeth burnt offerings of expensive flowers and sweets from Huyler’s. He readeth the Rubáiyát unto her and inviteth her to meet hissister.
And, behold, there cometh a day when he kisseth her suddenly and without warning.
And another when he kisseth her again—easily.
And another when he kisseth her much and often.
And another when he kisseth her more casually.
And another when he departeth early, and kisseth her but once—“Good night”.
And another when hefailethto call.
Then, peradventure, she writeth him a letter—which he putteth in his pocket and forgetteth to answer. She summoneth him over the telephone and he goeth into the booth wearily. She reproacheth and revileth him. He picketh a quarrel.
She sobbeth “All is over between us!” He answereth “Oh, very well! Even as thou sayest!”
And, in time, he meeteth another damsel and doeth itall over again. Yea, the selfsame programme he repeateth unto the letter; yet, henevertireth.
For lo! though a man hath eaten his fill at one meal, why shall he lack appetite for the next?
Then, I charge thee, my Daughter, when love beginneth, question not any man how it will end; for it is only in thebeginningof things that a man is interested; even in the cream from off the jug, thebubble of the champagne, the meat on the peach, and—thefirst kissof a woman.
Yet, what mattereth the end? Is not the end of the cream, skimmed milk; and the end of a cigar, a stub; and the end of a peach, a stone; and the end of champagne, dregs; and the end of love, a quarrel? And which of these would ye choose?
Verily, the flirtations of a man’s bachelor days are, in passing, as the courses of the love-feast; but awifeis the black coffee whichsettlethhim.
Marvellous, oh, my Daughter, is the way of a man with women; for every man hath amethodand each his favoritestunt. And the stunt that he hath found to work successfully with one damsel shall be practised upon each in turn, even unto the finest details thereof.
Behold, one man shall come unto thee saying:
“How foolish are the sentimentalists! But, as forme, my motives are altruistic and disinterested; and a woman’sfriendshipis what I most desire.” Yet, I charge thee, seek among his women “friends” and thou shalt not find anhomelydamsel in all their number.
For this is theplatonicstunt.
Now, another shall try thee by a simpler method.
Lo, suddenly and without warning, he shall arise and catch thee in his arms. And when thou smitest him upon the cheek, he shall be overcome with humiliation, crying:
“I could nothelpit!”
Yet be not persuaded, but put himdownwithout mercy, lest peradventure, he kiss thee again.
For this is theimpetuousstunt.
Yet observe how still another seeketh to be more subtile.
Mark how he sitteth afar off and talketh of love in theabstract; how he calleth three times a week, yet remaineth alwaysimpersonal; how he praiseth the shape of thine hand and admireth thy rings, yet toucheth not so much as thetipsof thy fingers.
“Lo,” he thinketh in his heart, “I shall keep her guessing. Yea, I shall wrack her soul with thoughts of how I may be brought to subjection. And when she can no longer contain her curiosity, then will she seek tolureme, and I shall gather her in mine arms.”
And this is theelusivestunt.
But, I say unto thee, my Daughter, each of these is but as a chainstitch unto a rose pattern, beside him that playeth thefrankly devoted.
For all women are unto him as one woman—and that oneputty.
Lo, the look of “adoration” in his eyes is like unto the curl in his hair,alwaysthere; and he weareth his “protecting manner” as naturally and as constantly as his linen collar.
He issoattentive and thethoughtful thingcometh unto him as second nature.
Yea, though there be twenty damsels in the room, yet shall each be made to think in her heart:
“Lo, I amit!”
Verily, verily, all the days of his life he shall be waited on and cooed over and coddled by women; and his way shall be as one continuous path of conquests and thornless roses.
For this is the Stunt ofStunts!
I chargethee, my Daughter, seek not to break a man’s heart; for it is like unto family pride, or a pin, which may bebent, butcannotbe broken! Yea, it is as a ball of India rubber which reboundeth easily after the worst shocks.
Lo, the heart of a woman is full of soft spots in which every man she hathonceloved occupieth a “cozy corner”. She lingereth tenderly over the grave of a dead love; but a man flingeth a spadeful of earth thereon and proceedeth to dig anewone. And his heart is as a great cemetery!
A woman keepeth a bundle of love-letters tied in faded ribbons; but a man cleaneth his pipe bowl cheerfully with the stem of the rose which thegirl-before-the-lasthath worn in her hair.
A woman remembereth the dress she hath worn and the song she hath sung for each particular man; but a man remembereth not the scent of violet sachet when the odor of heliotrope is in his nostrils.
And, aftersixmonths, when he cometh by chance upon an old glove or a lock of hair at the bottom ofhis trunk, he casteth it into the fire, muttering, “Now, who the devil putthatthing there?”
A woman recollecteth each pet name by which she hath been called; she alloweth notwomen to label her alike. But unto a man,everywoman becometh in turn “Little Girl” or “Baby” or “Honey”.
Lo, he is as one that playeth with skulls and sporteth with the bones of his ancestors; for he holdeth nothing sacred.
He eraseth one face from the tablet of memory, and draweth another across it.
He changeth his object of thought as readily as he changeth his clothes and his political opinions.
For a woman’s love is a slow flame which smouldereth always, but a man’s love is like unto a skyrocket, which sputtereth out and cannot be rekindled.
Verily, his “past” is alwaysquitepast, and his dead loves are quite dead. And there isnothingwhich is more wearisome unto him than the memory of yesterday’s wine, or yesterday’s flirtation.
MyDaughter, there are many styles of kisses, and they come in endless patterns, even as Oriental rugs.
There is the kiss that sootheth and the kiss that thrilleth, the kiss that flattereth and the kiss that is a pastime. But the best of all kisses is thefirstkiss; for it is the most difficult.
Yet, in all the days of thy life, no two men shall kiss theealike. For one man shall regard thy kisses as a boon, and another shall regard them as an amusement; but an husband shall consider them, as the shaving of his chin, a morning duty.
Hast thou scorned a man’s kisses?
Then will he exalt thee, saying “Lo! she isveryproper.” For he can think of nootherreason why thou shouldst not desire to kiss him.
Yet if thou hast consented to kiss onlyoneman, he will say unto himself, “Verily, it is her habit. So doeth she withallmankind.” For every man judgeth thee by the way in which thou treatesthim.
If a man kisseth thy hand gracefully, beware of him; for this is the habit of an accomplished flirt, which hath been acquired by much practice.
But if he kisseth thee first upon the forehead, and then upon the eyelids, and then upon the lips, thou mayest choose thy wedding gown and decide upon thy bridesmaids.
Lo, kissing is a fine art, and there are many artists; and one shall take a kiss from thee as though he doeth thee a favor, and another shall take a kiss as though he had taken thy pocketbook.
Yet, no man shall ever understand why thou seemest pleased, or why thou waxest wroth, when he kisseth thee; for it is all in thewayof his wooing.
Verily, verily, a man who kisseth a woman with hishaton shall be annihilated.
But he, that kisseth her as though he hadneverkissedbeforeand never should kissagain, shall wear an halo in her sight. For he knoweth the Art ofArts.
Lo, my Daughter, a man came unto me saying:
“Let me be thy slave. For, behold, I amall devotion. And it is my delight to serve a fair woman.”
And I looked at him and smiled sadly.
For I knew that he wasinvulnerable; and all my weapons were broken against me.
But another came unto me saying:
“Behold! I am awoman-hater. Not one of them do I trust. Nay, not one can deceive and allure me. For I havetheir numbers, all of them.”
And my heart was gladdened. For, by that sign, I knew that he waseasy. And my way was clear before me.
Verily, verily, men are of three varieties: the kind that must be driven with whip and spur; the kind that must be coaxed with apples and sugar; and the kind that must be blindfolded andbackedinto the shafts of matrimony.
And the woman-hater is like unto the last.
Therefore, I charge thee, when thou meetest one of these seek not to argue with him, neither to convince him; butagreewith him sweetly, that all thy sex is weak and untrustworthy.
Discourse sorrowfully upon thepitfallsof flirtation, and thehollownessof love, and thehorrorsof matrimony.
Declare boldly thy scorn for the New Woman, and for the Old Woman, and for the Frivolous Woman, and for the Highbrow, and for the Lowbrow, and all the women that are on the earth and in the heavens above the earth.
And when thou hast disarmed him, taking all his arguments from out his mouth, speak sweetly concerning the beauties ofplatonic friendshipand wax rapturous in its praises.
Bring the cushion for his head, and the footstool for his feet, and feed him from the chafing dish with the fruits of thine own cooking, saying:
“I prithee,dosmoke, for it is sochummy! Yea, I beg of thee, treat me as thou wouldst amanfriend.”
Let him hold thy hand.
And he shall say in his heart:
“Would to heaven I were not a Woman Hater, and that all women were like unto her; for she issensibleandsincere—and a bachelor flat was never likethis!”
And upon the seventh evening he shall fall down before thee and retract all his words, eating them one by one.
And when thou remindest him of thy warnings and of thy fear of marriage, he will seek to persuade thee and will comfort thee with kisses and a solitaire.
Then shalt thou slip the bridle over his head and the reins shall be inthinehands. And there shall beone lessWoman Hater in the world.
For aWoman Hater, my Beloved, is like unto the simple ostrich, which hideth its head in the sand and thinketh itself safe.
But he that professeth open adoration is like unto the park squirrel, which will eat out of thine hand but cannever be caught!
MyDaughter, a woman is a study in moods and tenses, but man is a simple proposition which worketh according to a “system”.
Behold, how the two regard a letter. For when a woman writeth she spelleth her soul out on paper; but a man putteth all histendermeanings between the lines. Yea, a woman’s letter is a confession, but a man’s letter is a veiled allusion whichconcealethhis thoughts. Verily, it is a work ofart.
Yet, when a woman receiveth it, she readeth it over many times, and placeth it within her shirtwaist by day, and under her pillow by night. For she knoweth that, with temptations like unto telephones and post-cards within reach, ahand-written letteris a sign of devotion.
But, when a man receiveth a woman’s letter, he droppeth it in his pocket. Nay, not in the pocket above his heart, but in that pocket which containeth the fewest bills and receipts and lead pencils and othervaluablethings.
He carryeth it there faithfully—until he changeth his coat.
He layeth it away in an unused drawer amongst other trash.
He forgetteth it.
And, when years shall have passed, he findeth it and taketh it out curiously.
He regardeth it with astonishment.
He wrinkleth his brows with his great effort at recollection, saying: “Now who the dickens wrote this thing? Yea,whois ‘Mabel’?”
He giveth it up.
And lo! he proceedeth to make pipe-lighters of thine heart-to-heart effusion.
Behold thy letter, like unto his love, goeth up in smoke!
SELAH!