A young fellow about nineteen, who is going with his first girl, and who
lives on the West Side, has got the symptoms awfully. He just thinks
of nothing else but his girl, and when he can be with her,--which is
seldom, on account of the old folks,--he is there, and when he cannot be
there, he is there or thereabouts, in his mind. He had been trying for
three months to think of something to give his girl for a Christmas
present, but he couldn't make up his mind what article would cause
her to think of him the most, so the day before Christmas he unbosomed
himself to his employer, and asked his advice as to the proper article
to give. The old man is baldheaded and mean. “You want to give her
something that will be a constant reminder of you?” “Yes,” he said,
“that was what was the matter.” “Does she have any corns?” asked the
old wretch. The boy said he had never inquired into the condition of her
feet, and wanted to know what corns had to do with it. The old man said
that if she had corns, a pair of shoes about two sizes too small would
cause her mind to dwell on him a good deal. The boy said shoes wouldn't
do. The old man hesitated a moment, scratched his head, and finally
said:
“I have it! I suppose, sir, when you are alone with her, in the parlor,
you put your arm around her waist; do you not, sir?”
The young man blushed, and said that was about the size of it.
“I presume she enjoys that part of the discourse, eh?”
The boy said that, as near as he could tell, by the way she acted, she
was not opposed to being held up.
“Then, sir, I can tell you of an article that will make her think of
you in that position all the time, from the moment she gets up in the
morning till she retires.”
“Is there any attachment to it that will make her dream of me all
night?” asked the boy.
“No, sir! Don't be a hog,” said the bad man.
“Then what is it?”
The old man said one word, “Corset!”
The young man was delighted, and he went to a store to buy a nice
corset.
“What size do you want?” asked the girl who waited on him.
That was a puzzler. He didn't know they came in sizes. He was about to
tell her to pick out the smallest size, when he happened to think of
something.
“Take a tape measure and measure my arm; that will just fit.”
The girl looked wise, as though she had been there herself, found that
it was a twenty-two inch corset the boy wanted, and he went home and
wrote a note and sent it with the corset to the girl. He didn't hear
anything about it till the following Sunday, when he called on her. She
received him coldly, and handed him the corset, saying, with a tear in
her eye, that she had never expected to be insulted by him. He told her
he had no intention of insulting her; that he could think of nothing
that would cause her to think of the gentle pressure of his arm around
her waist as a corset, but if she felt insulted he would take his leave,
give the corset to some poor family, and go drown himself.
He was about to go away, when she burst out crying, and sobbed out the
following words, wet with salt brine:
“It was v-v-v-very thoughtful of y-y-you, but I _couldn't feel it!_ It
is f-f-four sizes too b-b-big! Why didn't you get number eighteen? You
are silent, you cannot answer, enough!”
They instinctively found their way to the sofa; mutual explanations
followed; he measured her waist again; saw where he had made a mistake
by his fingers lapping over on the first turn, and he vowed, by the
beard of the prophet, he would change it for another, if she had not
worn it and got it soiled. They are better now.