CHAPTER ONE

The Song of a Wife, which is Mrs. Solomon’s.

Let him praise me with the words of his mouth; for his flattery is sweeter than wine and his kisses are rarer than orchids.

Lo, my Beloved, thy hair is as stubble, and in the morning it standeth aloft, as a shorn wheat field.

Thy cheek is as a Turkish towel, which caresseth mine.

Thy temples are a shining light, which resembleth a silver polish advertisement.

Thou wearest a derby hat. Thy breath is sweet with cloves.

How fascinating art thou in pajamas, when thy face is covered with shaving lather!

How beautiful are thy feet.

Behold, thou art a collection of habits. Yea, unto these thou art more constant than the family cat.

110 Whatsoever thou hast done before, that shalt thou do forever and in the same way.

Thou kissest me once in the morning, once in the evening, and twice upon Christmas Day.

Thou clingest unto thine old pipe as unto thy reputation. Thou callest every woman by the same pet name.

Lo, what would my Beloved be without his habits? Even as a doggie’s tail which hath lost its “wag”! But thy heart, oh, my Beloved, is full of lightning changes. Its capacity is inexhaustible.

The memory of yesterday’s kiss is unto thee as the memory of yesterday’s dinner—sweet, but not satisfying.

Yet, though thy heart changeth many times, I, thy wife, am become one of thy habits!

Behold thou hast placed “Mrs.” upon my name; thou hast glorified me with a wedding ring!

Therefore, I am become thy doormat. Yea, I am as thy footstool.

111 I shall mend thy socks with rejoicing, and the replacing of thy buttons shall be my delight.

All the days of thy life, shall I clean thy safety razor and put the studs in thy shirts.

Then, cast thine ashes over my dressing table and strew my carpets with cigar stumps.

Let the awnings of mine house be burned and my lace curtains consumed with fire. I shall not murmur.

For I am my Beloved’s and there is naught else like unto him.

112
CHAPTER TWO

The Song of Songs, which is the widow’s.

When I was a rib, I spoke as a rib, and all my ways were the ways of a rib.

Lo, I took man seriously, even as he took himself. For him did I rush the breakfast—and keep it waiting.

Unto him did I offer up the palm—and the morning paper. All his opinions were right in mine eyes; and because he said a thing, it was so.

He was the Lord of my Heart, and the Source of mine Income. And in him I saw nothing funny; for my sense of humor had not yet been awakened.

He looked at my hats and mocked them. Yet that inverted salad bowl which he called a “derby” did not arouse my mirth. He waxed satirical at the number of my puffs, and my coiffure was a daily target for his wit. Yet, though he cut all the hair from off his head, and left it to grow upon his face, I felt no merriment.

In his conceit he made of me a human joke.

113 But now that I am become a widow, I see him as he is. Therefore shall I arise and smite him in his vanity.

Lo, what woman shall take men seriously, once she hath been married unto one of these? For he, that seemeth a thing of beauty and wisdom unto many virgins, is but a child in the eyes of his wife.

She knoweth the source of his opinions; and the padding of his shoulders is not hidden from her. His grouches are always with her and his digestion is her burden.

Go to! I have seen him at his mirror when he worked upon the parting of his hair. He hath borrowed my powder for his chin, and with my perfume hath he anointed himself. My nail-polish and my eau de cologne, they were not safe from him.

I have flattered him and beheld his fall. I have said unto him, “My love, thy judgment is above question and thy common sense above praise!”

And he hath smiled, as one that sippeth a wine of a rare vintage.

114 I have cooed unto him saying:

“Lo, thy reasoning powers and thine acumen are greater than those of Sherlock Holmes!”

And I have observed his secret joy.

I have cried out:

“Oh, why didst thou not go upon the stage? For thy shoulders are better than Faversham’s and thy profile than E. H. Sothern’s!”

And he hath straightway proposed!

The youths of the land have I called “Mr. Smith”, and the octogenarians addressed as “Silly Boy”. The fat man have I called “graceful”, and the ourang-outang, “distinguished”.

And all of these were overcome.

Their fairy tales have I outstripped with better fairy tales, and their devices with more subtile devices.

Verily, verily, men are as toys in mine hand; and, even as a child, do I delight to play with them.

Lo, she that fisheth for an husband, laboreth against many odds, but she that fisheth for amusement casteth her nets in pleasant waters, and they shall return unto her heavy laden.

115
CHAPTER THREE

The Litany of the Summer Girl, which she chanteth continuously, morning and night.

Oh, Lord, deliver me from the deadliness of the Summer Resort, and from all the deadly things therein.

From the emptiness of moonlight evenings without a Man, and the hollowness of life without a flirtation, now preserve me.

From the sentimental grafter and the platonic friend oh spare me!

For, the one seeketh after cheap flirtations, and collecteth kisses, as a woman doth trading stamps. And the other is as a wet powder-rag which sticketh, but availeth nothing. Verily, verily, a breakfast-food without sugar and cream is not more insipid than one of these.

From college youths, which are fresher than spring asparagus and more tender than spring lamb, oh, deliver me!

116 From old bachelors, which are staler than last year’s canned goods, and tougher than cold rarebits, oh, preserve me!

From the hotel “phonograph,” ............