To the Man who "Sits Out."
Dear Mr. Bore:
When I accepted your invitation for the Astor the other evening I supposed it was for a dance and not a conversazione, otherwise 1 should not have worn my best bail gown, but a less diaphanous dinner frock which could have met the cold drafts from the door with more resistance. I can imagine no worse torture than sitting chilly and miserable, watching other couples camel-walk themselves into a radiant glow, unless you add thereto hearing your escort deliver a monologue on "The Worship of His Creator, by a Self-made Man."
My Parents' Fautr.
I have never really forgiven my parents for bringing me up to be polite. It has caused me to waste so much time and suffer such acute boredom that I have never had the opportunity to cultivate any other accomplishments. If the thought of my courteous mother, my chivalrous father had not intervened, I might have responded to your first suggestion that we "sit this out to finish the subject of conversation" with such definite opposition as to make my desire for dancing unmistakable. But no, much as I hated to miss that wicked new fox trot the reflex action of my politeness complex caused me to murmur imploringly "Ub please go on!" So of course, as the Bibesco person would say, I have only myself to blame.
But later on, as you grew more thrilled over your recountal of the tremendous success you had achieved over al] but insuperable obstacles I did interpose hints less and less gentle that this was a bail room, not a lecture room, and that my teeth were chattering and lips turning blue with cold. With genuine surprise you admitted this and we proceeded to jazz to the obligato of your stirling virtues, the which conflicted sadly with the syncopations of the orchestra. Your last words on leaving me were "What a short evening this has seemed!" It's well that the closing of the door and the chugging of your motor drowned my rejoinder, for it would not have done credit to my bringing up.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.