Pittsburg, Pa., May 1, 1899.
Dear Jim:
So you want to know how a fellow is going to tell positively when
he is stuck on a girl, do you? Well, I'll tell you, and I'll tell
you mighty quick. If some guy cuts in on your steady, you are
going out to her home, and you are going to call her fine and
plenty, aren't you? And unless she promises to bump the other
fellow, you are going to leave her in a rage, aren't you? _Now,
if you go back without being sent for, you're it._
Jim, if you can you had better wait for her to break the ice.
If you don't, from that time on she will make you look like a
white chip. A woman is like one of the big trusts. The instant
she acquires a controlling interest in you she becomes a regular
ring-master. She will make you jump through, lie down and roll
over, walk lame, and play dead; and don't think for a moment you
won't do it, either. All the rest of them have. You show me a man
who hasn't been up against such a game, and I'll show you a man
who lacks experience. A lot of these handsome gazabes go around
looking wise, winning girls out, and thinking they are the happy
thought. That's because they have had a run of luck and landed
in among a bunch of marks. Let them keep it up. It is only a matter
of time until they will stumble over a live wire, and then it will
be pay-day on the Wabash. It's grand to see a great big slob
running along behind some little bit of a girl, a faithful Fido,
taking his orders like a politician. I know what I'm talking about,
Jim, because I have certainly been the original human dog. I used
to think I was the Village Rubber--but not any more. They have
made me look like thirty cents not once, but a dozen times. I can
gaze into the dim, hazy distance and see where every one of these
coy, clever fellows is going to get it, and get it good, and I am
glad of it. My hat's off.
Say, Jim, I'm not much for these love stories in the books. They
are liable to mislead a fellow. You read how Benton Brockway,
the hero, looks into pretty Bessie Bell's blue eyes, places his
hand on her shapely shoulder, and tells her how he loves her.
Even her downcast eye doesn't hide the pearly tear as she answers
"Yes." Now, I can look into their eyes for four hours, and I can
tell them how I love them till I am black in the face, and they
seem to like it; but whenever I come to the laying of the hand on
the shapely shoulder part, it's all off. I am told that I am no
gentleman, and to roll my hoop out of that house forever. What's
a fellow going to do? You can never tell whether a girl is really
sore or whether she is stalling. A girl might be for a fellow
strong, and yet she wouldn't admit it for a thousand dollars.
There may be some things I wouldn't admit for a thousand, but I
don't just recall them at the present time. It only goes to show
that things are not always what they seem. Many a girl wears a
sailor hat who doesn't own a yacht.
Just to show you what a chance a man has nowadays: The other
night I went out to see a certain girl. Won't mention any names.
Never do, sober. She made what she called a Robert E. Lee punch
out of apple brandy and stuff. Well, sir, after I had hit three
Robert E. Lees, I could see waving green fields and fruit-laden
orchards, and kind-faced old cows standing in silvery streams of
water. I couldn't remember of owing a cent, and the drawing-room
lamp looked like a flood of golden sunshine. Jim, I have never
been against the pipe, because I'm too young, but if it beats the
Robert E. Lee punch, I'll have to go after it. I took one more
dipper of Robert E. Lee, and then I decided that any girl who
could make that kind of a mix could have me for better or for
worse; and if I didn't propose right there I'll eat your hat.
I told her that I had loved her madly for months, but had never
found the courage to say so till that night. I also mentioned
the fact that even if she was very small and I was large, and
even if the people in the church would say we looked like Rhode
Island and Texas marching out together, that it made no difference
where true love was concerned. I finished it all up with a look
that would have melted the heart of a bank dealer. My work must
have been a little to the sandpaper, or I may have backed up
kind of foolish like, or something. Whatever it was, she answered,
"Billy, your brother's hair is a good deal darker than yours,
isn't it?" Now, what do you think of that frosty-hearted fairy?
Literally forced me to drink that punch, gets me ripened up, and
then throws the hooks into me. As a love-maker I guess I am a
shine. Jim, have you ever gone home late at night and told yourself
in front of the mirror how you loved some girl? and have you ever
seen that same girl walking along the street the next day with
another fellow, and the instant you discovered them, did a great
big lump come into your breast? And did you immediately think of
a lot of things about the fellow you didn't like, although
previously you had rather admired him? Well, that thing you get
in your breast is what we experts call the love lump, and you were
placing yourself in a position to later on become a kind of Patsy
to that girl.
Isn't that love lump all the money, though? It makes a well-developed
case of indigestion look like a sunny summer day. When you come to
figure it all over, there's nothing to that jealousy thing. I used
to be Billy Brighteyes, and sneak out to my regular's home, thinking
that perhaps I would catch some one else there. What do I do now?
Why, I telephone that I will be out in thirty minutes. What you
don't know won't hurt you.
Jim, what has ever become of that girl you were so crazy about
a couple of years ago? I guess maybe she didn't put a dent into
your heart that a person could drive a four-in-hand into and never
touch the sides, a regular Hoosac Tunnel. Then when she had you
all ribbed up and done to a turn, she said, "I love Mr. Hawkins
and Mr. Hawkins loves me. Good by, Jim; take care of yourself."
You couldn't have gotten a better jolt on the B. & 0. You will
pardon my suppressed merriment, but that girl certainly made you
look like a trailer. Never mind, Jim, old pal, we have all had a
crimp put into us at one time or another, and if you work hard and
observe good hours you'll get over it in four or five years. It's
nothing at all.
I have often thought I would land a girl with coin, blow business,
and sit around for a while. It would be great to have your own
hearthstone with a couple of registered St. Bernard's lying around,
and here and there a golden-haired darling romping and playing
with a bottle of paregoric. But somehow or other I always fall
down. Now, take that Katherine Clark, who has been visiting the
Hemingways for the past month. When she first came I said to
myself, "Billy, my boy, here's your chance; break in and cop out
an heiress." So I sicked myself on to her. Well, you know I'm
not a piker. I went after her right. Eats, drinks, shows, and
all the expensive things. I touched Johnny Black's brother-in-law
for fifty, and gave an informal luncheon that was a pippin. I
wore my New York Central shirt with the four stripes, and we had
wine with cobwebs. There wasn't a thing served that any one could
pronounce, and Johnny Black got loaded and told us on the quiet
why his sister had left her husband. I insulted Johnny by making
some remark about his joining the Tell Club, and altogether
everything was a big success. The check came to $44.60, and I
flashed Johnny's brother-in-law's fifty. When the waiter brought
the five-forty change I waved him away as though the Standard Oil
Company was the smallest thing I owned. The tip was out that old
man Clark was black with money, and if it's so I know why. He is
tight-ribbed and popcorn. Down in George's Place the other day
I asked the old man what he was going to drink, and he said he
would rather have the money. And say, he gave me a cigar that
looked as though it had some skin trouble, and smelled like some
one was shoeing a horse. However, a fellow doesn't always have
to live with the bride's parents. Jim, this girl was a dream.
Tailor-made, cloak-model form, city-broke, kind, and sound. She
could just naturally beat the works out of a piano; and talk about
your swell valves. Why, the other night she sang "A Sailor's Life's
the Life for Me" so realistically that Johnny Black got seasick.
Well, to make a long story short, this morning I got an invitation
to Katherine Clark's wedding. Jim, did you ever have a fellow
come up behind you and smear you back of the ear when you weren't
looking? Well, that's exactly how that invitation felt. She is
going to marry some lobster out in St. Louis, and I'll bet he is
a pup, and is marrying her for her money. I figured it up on the
back of the invitation, and that lady sent me along for just two
hundred and ten dollars, not counting what I owe Johnny Black's
brother-in-law; and the best I get is a "come to the church." Of
course you will say I'm stung again, and that some one should
lead me out to the end of the Chicago Crib and push me into the
lake, and all that sort of rot; but hang it all, Jim, if I could
get that girl I would take her if she didn't have a cent. I guess
I'll light my p1pe.
Yours as ever,
Billy.