Bachelor—“Do you suffer from cold feet?”
Newlywed—“Yes, but they aren’t mine.”
_Arthur Neale’s Page_
Boarding our Interborough subway car at Columbus Circle the other day en
route for our office—or, to be more exact, the office in which we have
desk room—we espied one of the loveliest young feminine creatures it
had ever yet been our good fortune to gaze on. She would have inspired
artists to undreamed of masterpieces—she would have thrilled even a
sign-painter. Bathed in her beauty we rode on, oblivious of all else—even
our getting off stop. How we wished that we knew her! At Times Square she
arose to alight. Poor girl—she was lame.
Still reflecting on this, we reached the office and started to put the
final—not finishing—touches to the musical composition we were then at
work on, a snappy little one-step entitled “When My Baby Smiles at Me, I
Wish She’d See a Dentist.” We had no sooner put pen to paper when one of
these wandering salesmen entered the office and planked down his bag of
wares on the desk. “Would you be interested in anything in ladies’ silk
stockings?” he said. “We used to be,” we replied. “But now we know it’s
best to be careful.”
During that day we had to make a trip further downtown, and so used
the subway again. Seated opposite to us was a very nice girl with her
mother, and her legs were crossed—that is, the girl’s legs were. As Gus
may remember, or rather, as Gus will never forget, there is a subway
breeze wafting through these cars, and it was wafting just then. The
mother noticed it, and although she spoke sotto voice—whatever that
is—we heard her say to the girl: “Put your leg down, Rosie, der vind ist
blowin’ der dress up.” “That’s all right, ma,” said the girl, “I ain’t
deformed.” And seated directly opposite, we knew that the lady was quite
correct.
While waiting with a friend the other evening for a Times Square traffic
jam to disentangle itself, the friend drew our attention to a taxicab
stalled at the curb just where we were standing. Or, to be precise, he
drew our attention to the contents of the cab. She was a queen if there
ever was one. Said our friend: “Shouldn’t mind being in there with that
one.” “We should,” we replied. “Already the clock says $9.60.”
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