A party went to the opera and occupied a box. One of the men saw a
raveling on the shoulder of one of the ladies. He picked it, and it kept
on coming. He pulled and pulled till he had a tremendous mass, which he
threw behind the door. Some days after the men met and talked it over.
One of them said: “My wife had a good time, but she cannot figure out how
she lost her union suit.”
_Highty-tighty Aphrodite_
At present, partly owing to what is very modestly called “barefoot”
dancing, a severe season of clothelessness prevails; and the
aforementioned exercises afford the public quite a fair idea of “the most
admirable spectacle in nature”--that is to say, bowlegs, knock-knees,
thick ankles, spray feet, shoulders scraggy or pudgy, knees bony or
lumpy, and weirdly shaped legs.
The modernist poets also have been seized by the mania for nudity--but
let us hope that with them it is rather theory than practice; for the
average literator is not usually “a dream of form in days of thought.”
One mocking rhymester thus makes game of such poetic aspirations:
All the poets have been stripping,
Quaintly into moonbeams slipping,
Running out like wild Bacchantes,
Minus lingerie and panties.
Never knew of such a frantic
Belvederean, corybantic,
Highty-tighty Aphrodite,
Stepping out without a nightie.
One of these modernist bards puts her own fancies into the brain of an
old-time lady, stiff in pink and silver brocade, as she walks in a prim
garden awaiting the coming of her suitor. She would like to leave “all
that pink and silver crumpled on the ground”; for,
Underneath my stiffened gown
Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin.
Thus divested of raiment, “I would be the pink and silver as I ran along
the paths,” and her lover, seeing her, would pursue “till he caught me
in the shade.” A writer of free verse is more candid; it is herself she
would disrobe. “Since the earliest days I have dressed myself in fanciful
clothes,” she says, trying to express herself in this manner; but now she
is weary of putting “romance and fantasy into my raiment.” She realizes
that “my clothes are not me, myself”; hence the stern resolve:
I think I shall go naked into the streets,
And wander unclothed into people’s parlors.
The incredulous eyes of the bewildered world
Might give me back my true image ...
Maybe in the glances of others
I would find out what I really am.
Doubtless she would; but perhaps not exactly as she means it. Wandering
“unclothed into people’s parlors,” if police vigilance could be eluded,
might be a way of seeing ourselves as others see us, since the owners of
the parlors would probably be startled into candid comment, instead of,
as usual, waiting until the unclad back of the visitant was turned. It
would be a happy arrangement if only the truly symmetrical would indulge
in semi-nudity. Such exhibitions are a form of female vanity; but if the
average woman will but realize it, she owes any admiration she may excite
to the saving graces of clothes. If she is wise she will foster the
illusion. As a poet of another era expressed it, “Oh, the little less,
and what worlds away!”
_In the Grip of a Dream_
The dreamer is with us. From early youth there comes anon a time when the
sense of great loneliness and mysticism leads one out to the wilderness
of the Dream God. Conceptions of dreams and of love are two difficult
tasks, but Robert W. Chambers seems to have made greater headway than
other authors. In his book, “The Danger Mark,” he thus describes the
feelings that passed over poor, troubled Geraldine:
“We’re pretty young yet, Geraldine.... I never saw a girl I cared for
as I might have cared for you. It’s true, no matter what I have done,
or may do.... But you’re quite right, a man of that sort isn’t to be
considered,” he laughed and pulled on one glove, “only--I knew as soon
as I saw you that it was to be you or--everybody. First, it was anybody;
then it was you--now it’s everybody. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” she managed to say. The dizzy waves swayed her; she rested
her cheeks between both hands and, leaning there heavily, closed her eyes
to fight against it. She had been seated on the side of a lounge; and
now, feeling blindly behind her, she moved the cushions aside, turned
and dropped among them, burying her blazing face. Over her the scorching
vertigo swept, subsided, rose, and swept again. Oh, the horror of
it!--the shame, the agonized surprise. What was this dreadful thing that,
for the second time, she had unwittingly done? And this time it was so
much more terrible. How could such an accident have happened to her? How
could she face her own soul in the disgrace of it?
Fear, loathing, frightened incredulity that this could really be herself,
stiffened her body, and clinched her hands under her parted lips. On them
her hot breath fell irregularly.
Rigid, motionless, she lay, breathing faster and more feverishly. Tears
came after a long while, and with them relaxation and lassitude. She felt
that the dreadful thing which had seized and held her was letting go its
hold, was freeing her body and mind; and as it slowly released her and
passed on its terrible silent way, she awoke and sat up with a frightened
cry, to find herself lying on her own bed in utter darkness.
* * * * *
In France, we are told, the English officers stepped about as though they
owned the whole d----d country, whereas
The Americans walked about as though they didn’t give a d----n who owned
the country.
* * * * *
New York liquor spotters have discovered liquor in baby dolls. That’s
nothing new. Lots of baldheads have been buying wine for baby dolls in
New York for generations!
_Questions and Answers_
=Dear Captain Billy=--I am 15 years old and have a sweetheart who is
just 18. He owns a flivver and wants me to go riding with him. Should
I?--=Lizzie.=
Walking is healthier.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--I have a girl friend who insists on writing to me
and demanding an answer. What shall I do?--=Charlie.=
Tell her to enclose a stamp.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--My husband is going out with another woman all the
time. What can I do to keep him home nights.--=Mrs. Brown.=
Take the other woman in as a boarder.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--I am a young lady attending a church college. Do
you think it would be all right for me to wear skirts 15 inches from the
ground.--=Marie.=
That depends on your height. If you are six feet tall it would be all
right, but if you are only 29 inches “tall,” Not Yet Marie.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--What would you call the unoccupied side of an old
maid’s bed?--=Simple Susan.=
No Man’s Land.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--My daughter has a sweetheart who just got back
from France. He talks to her in French and says: “Villa vouz promenade,”
or something like that, and then they go to some park. What does that
mean?--=Anxious Father.=
That’s all right, old man. Your daughter’s sweetheart was only asking her
to take a walk.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--What’s good for cooties?--=Returned Soldier.=
Bread crumbs.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--Please explain the uses of salpeter.--=Tommy.=
You are hereby referred to any soldier who will tell you its principal
usage is in the manufacture of high explosives.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--What’s worse than a cow with the cooties?--=Hi Ball.=
A horse with a buggy behind.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--We are organizing a new lodge in ’Frisco to be known
as the “Ancient Order of Modern Cavemen.” Will you kindly suggest a motto
for our lodge? Yours truly--=Rough on Cats.=
My suggestion is: “Catch ’em young; treat ’em rough, and tell ’em
nothin’.”
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--Why do they use castor oil in racing automobiles
and aeroplanes?--=Eunice.=
To make them run, of course, Eunice.
* * * * *
=Dear Bilious Billy=--What would you write about if the country went
wet again and you didn’t have the dry reformers to poke fun at and kid
about?--=Reginald Pewter.=
We cannot tell a lie--we wouldn’t be able to write during the first few
weeks.
* * * * *
=Dear Whiz Bang=--My husband, a returned soldier, did not get home until
3 o’clock this morning. He said he was at the Fort all night playing
golf. Do soldiers play golf in the middle of the night?--=Worried War
Bride.=
Yes, Worried Wifie, they do. One of the favorite sports of the naughty
doughboy is the game known as African golf. Two galloping dominoes are
used in place of a small ball. Instead of the greens, the latrine floor
is usually garnished with greenbacks and set off in silver. “Big Dick”
and “Little Joe” act as caddies and there is more cussing at a “flock
of box cars” than a minister foozling a putt. I indulged in a friendly
game of dancing dominoes last night with my old buddy, Mr. “Eighter from
Decatur.” “Jimmy Hicks” and “Long Legged Liz” were there, but before I
got through I had “fever in the South” and “crapped” out several points
under par.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--Please tell me what is golf?--=Ignoramus.=
Well, Ig., golf is a game where old men chase little balls around when
they are too old to chase anything else.
* * * * *
=Dearest Billy=--What’s the difference between a bachelor and a
worm?--=Andy Gump.=
Somebody told me there was no difference--the chickens get them both.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--I have been married a year and am the mother of
triplets who are now three months old. My husband has asked me to take
dancing lessons this winter because he says he cannot afford to have any
more children and that dancing will keep one’s mind off maternal cares.
What do you think about it?--=Triple Trixy.=
Dancing’s all right, Trixy, providing you tango in the morning, fox trot
in the afternoon and hesitate at night. Fine exercise, I say.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--I am struggling with myself to keep from falling
in love with a handsome football player because I heard that football
players were so terribly rough.--=Troubled Tillie.=
Move to the South Sea islands where it’s too hot to play football, or
else to Norway where the summer sport is fishing and in winter it’s too
cold to fish.
* * * * *
=Dear William=--I recently met a cute little second lieutenant on the
train and am very anxious to get in touch with him. He said his name
was Joe Latrino and that he was in the Sanitary Corps. How may I find
him?--=Winsome Winnifred.=
Write to him in care of the Captain of the Head, U. S. Navy.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--What is the difference between Spanish Flu and
Spanish Fly?--=Swede Harriet.=
Spanish Flu is a disease. Spanish Fly is a drug, technically known as
cantharides and is used as a plaster to cure rheumatism.
* * * * *
=Dear Billy=--I am infatuated with a handsome young man from Akron,
Ohio, but when he comes to visit me in a neighboring village he acts so
embarrassed and appears always to be in a mood of deep thought. Do you
suppose he wants to pop the question but hasn’t the nerve?--=Hellenic
Helen.=
Now, Hellenic Helen, how in Hell’s Gate or Helena do I know? Overlook
his seeming taciturnity and remember that “deep rivers move with silent
majesty; small brooks are noisy as hell, and actions speak louder than
words.”
* * * * *
=Dear Doctor Billy=--Please give me the definition of the spinal
column.--=Slippery Lizz.=
It’s a long disjointed bone, covered with knots--your head sits on one
end and you sit on the other.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--What is meant by “bigamy?” =Dandy Dillon.=
Bigamy is a form of insanity which causes a man to pay three board bills
instead of two.
* * * * *
=Dear Billy=--What’s the definition of a “humdinger?”--=Iva Hangover.=
A man who can make a deaf and dumb girl say: “O, daddy.”
* * * * *
=Dear Bilious Billy=--I was married last June and my wife wants me to
obtain some polish in my manners so suggests that I take music lessons.
What do you think about it?--=Silas Hopkins.=
It’s a very good idea, Si. You’ll soon gain a musical education by
playing second fiddle. But beware of the jazz.
* * * * *
=Dear Skipper=--Why is a certain specie of beans called Navy
Beans?--=Battle-Axe Liz.=
I dunno, Liz. You might as well ask me why I labelled The Whiz Bang an
“Explosion of Pedigreed Bull.” No reason at all.
* * * * *
=Dear Bill=--They say there are germs on money. Do you think, then,
it is safe for a poor working girl to carry her salary home in her
stocking?--=Sadie Woolworth.=
Perfectly safe, I’d say. A germ couldn’t live on a working girl’s salary.
* * * * *