HER BROTHER'S LETTERS
 
 Kittens.
 
 HER BROTHER'S 
 LETTERS 
 
 WHEREIN MISS CHRISTINE CARSON. OF 
 CINCINNATI, IS SHOWN HOW THE AFFAIRS 
 OF GIRLS AND WOMEN ARE REGARDED 
 BY MEN IN GENERAL AND, IN PARTICU- 
 LAR, BY HER BROTHER, LENT CARSON, 
 LAWYER, OF NEW YORK CITY. 
 
 ANONYMOUS 
 
 DRAWINGS BY 
 
 F. VAUX WILSON 
 
 AND 
 
 C. M. RELYEA 
 
 1906 
 
 MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 
 NEW YORK
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY 
 
 MOFFAT. YARD & COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Published September. loot)
 
 THE LETTERS 
 
 LETTER NUMBER ONE 3 
 
 In Which the Brother Talks to His 
 Sister, Who Wants to Wear De- 
 colletee. 
 
 LETTER NUMBER TWO 19 
 
 In Which the Brother Touches on 
 the Hysterical Adulation of Public 
 Idols by Women. 
 
 LETTER NUMBER THREE. . . 37 
 
 In Which the Brother Talks to His 
 Sister about Never Marrying a Man 
 until She's Got Another Man's Hon- 
 est Opinion of Him. 
 
 LETTER NUMBER FOUR 55 
 
 In Which the Brother Talks to His 
 Sister about Her Wish to Read a Pa- 
 per before a Woman's Club. 
 
 2228392
 
 LETTER NUMBER FIVE 73 
 
 In Which the Brother Has a Few 
 Things to Say about Dancing. 
 
 LETTER NUMBER SIX 89 
 
 In Which the Sister is told the Kind 
 of Girls that Men Like Best in the 
 Long Run. 
 
 LETTER NUMBER SEVEN. . . 105 
 
 In Which the Brother Tells of a 
 Happening that Disturbed a Fash- 
 ionable Dinner Party. 
 
 LETTER NUMBER EIGHT. ... 123 
 
 In Which the Brother Replies to 
 Some of His Sister's Strictures on 
 Men. 
 
 LETTER NUMBER NINE 145 
 
 In Which the Brother Tells of the 
 High Opinion He Has of the Man His 
 Sister is Engaged to Marry.
 
 THE SISTER'S ANSWERS TO 
 HER BROTHER'S LETTERS. 163 
 
 In Which "Kittens," now Mrs. Ed- 
 ward King, tells how She Liked what 
 Her Brother Wrote Her. 
 
 ONE OF KITTENS'S LETTERS 
 TO HER BROTHER 187 
 
 In Which She Tells Her Brother 
 How Ned Proposed to Her. 
 
 A MAN'S ANSWER TO A 
 MAN 205 
 
 By the Author of "Her Brother's 
 Letters."
 
 THE DRAWINGS 
 
 Kittens Frontispiece 
 
 "She Had More Attention Than Any 
 Other Girl in That Whole Horseshoe". 10 
 
 "Such Pushing and Shoving I Have 
 Never Experienced. Your Idol, Poor 
 Chap, Had His Hat Smashed" 28 
 
 "You've Got to Be Frank with Me, Lent" 40 
 
 "There Wasn't a Woman in the Bunch 
 Who Had More Than a Superficial 
 Knowledge of the Real and Vital Order 
 of Things" 58 
 
 "What Possible Grace There Is in That 
 Rowdy Shuffle I Fail to See" 74 
 
 "The Grip Originated at Bowery Dances" 82 
 
 "She's a Great Girl. She Knew I Couldn't 
 Afford a Hack, and so She Tactfully 
 Proposed Walking to the Play" 98 
 
 "She Dropped the Five Dollar Bill on My 
 Sister's Washboard". . .116
 
 The Drawings 
 
 "Claire Loved Those Children for 
 Gladys's Sake" 128 
 
 "You Will Have the Time of Your Life 
 in Your Little Home" 152 
 
 "I Came Upon the Packet When Sorting 
 Over an Old Catch-all Trunk" 164
 
 LETTER NUMBER ONE
 
 Letter Number One 
 
 LETTER NUMBER ONE, 
 
 IN WHICH THE BROTHER TALKS TO 
 
 His SISTER, WHO WANTS TO 
 
 WEAR DECOLLETEE. 
 
 My Dear Kittens: 
 
 TRY hard to forgive me, Sis, when 
 I tell you that of late your let- 
 ters remind me of the old lady 
 who said that everything she liked was 
 either indigestible or immoral. 
 
 For instance, take your last letter; I 
 thought long about it, for you wrote the 
 governor had said: "Put it up to Len, 
 and as he says so shall it be," and then 
 you urged,"Now,c?0, you dear, good fel- 
 low, decide for me, and I shall love you 
 eternally." And all this "eternal" love 
 was to be given me if I said, "Why, yes ; 
 go ahead, Kittens, tell the governor he's
 
 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 old-fashioned : point out to him he's be- 
 hind the times: show him all the girls 
 of your age wear low-necked gowns at 
 swell affairs and why shouldn't you?" 
 But, dear girl, I'm not going to do any- 
 thing of the sort, and I'll tell you why. 
 
 This low-necked dress business on the 
 part of women is getting to be more of 
 a horror to decent men all the time, and 
 I am not going to say any word that will 
 bring my young sister into the ranks of 
 the "undressed." You will say, of 
 course, that I, too, am "old-fogyish," 
 and that I want you to look like a 
 "frump" among the other girls. If ex- 
 posing your body (don't gasp: I'm 
 "speakin' out in meetin' " all right and 
 calling things by their right names, and 
 I intend to do so) means your going to 
 be "like the rest of the girls," then I'd 
 rather you'd be a "frump."
 
 Letter Number One 
 
 You are twenty-three now, Kittens 
 old enough to have some very plain 
 words said to you, and I am going to 
 take a brother's privilege and say them 
 whether you like them or not. You say, 
 "All the nice girls I know wear de- 
 colletee," but is that so? Alice Dunton 
 doesn't; neither does Ella King, nor Fan- 
 nie Scott. "Yes," you will say, "but they 
 are the exceptions. Look at the vast 
 majority." Not "the vast majority," 
 Sis; what you mean is the majority in 
 the "smart set." But even in the "smart 
 set" there are exceptions to the "un- 
 dressed." I was at the opera one night, 
 and as I looked around the "gold horse- 
 shoe" of boxes, as it is called, I couldn't 
 help singling out one girl. Dick was 
 with me, and he said, "Len, who is that 
 girl in white in the third box from the 
 centre? Isn't it Miss Foote?" And it
 
 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 was Miss Foote, one of the richest girls 
 in New York, who could buy and sell the 
 women in the boxes on either side of her 
 several times over and not feel it. And 
 there she was : in a white dress ( I can't, 
 of course, describe the goods or the cut) 
 as stunning as you please. But her 
 dress from her bust up to her neck had 
 a lacy sort of stuff that was as modest 
 and sweet as could be. There was not 
 a suggestive line about her. 
 
 During the entr'actes I went into her 
 box, and when I could get a chance I 
 paid my respects to her and had a talk 
 with her. I say when I could get a 
 chance, because the men were three 
 deep about her and she had more atten- 
 tion in a minute than any other girl in 
 that whole horseshoe. "For her money," 
 you say. No, Kittens, because every 
 man knows she has given her heart to a
 
 Letter Number One 
 
 certain chap, and so, matrimonially 
 speaking, she is out of the market. It 
 was simply because, as a man about 
 town whom I wouldn't exactly care to 
 have you know, and yet who, blase as he 
 is and almost insensible to the finer 
 things as I thought him to be, said to me 
 in the foyer : "By Jove, Len, it is a nice 
 thing to see a girl like that, dressed as 
 she is and as decent as she is, sitting in 
 that sea of indecent expose, isn't it?" 
 
 There you have it, Kittens, from a 
 thorough man of the world, a man who 
 isn't particularly careful or fine in his 
 point of view so far as women are con- 
 cerned: "indecent expose!" And that 
 is what it is : nothing short of it. There 
 were young girls there in those boxes, 
 Sis, with a cut to their bodices that, by 
 thunder, made even a man's eyes turn 
 away from what he could see; what
 
 8 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 should be sacred to themselves laid ab- 
 solutely bare to a public! 
 
 "Extreme," you say. Yes, extreme, 
 but that is what that sort of thing 
 leads to all the same. It is not a 
 far cry, I notice, from what you wom- 
 en call a V-cut gown, I think, to 
 shoulder-straps that make decent men 
 wonder if they will hold on, and other 
 kinds of men hope they won't. "But 
 those men !" you say. True, but a wom- 
 an in a public place cannot always con- 
 trol the kind of men who come and 
 speak to her, or are brought to her. 
 Here is a picture I saw in a paper yes- 
 terday. Of course, you flare up and say 
 it is disgusting ! But, frankly now, is it 
 so much more disgusting than some of 
 the displays that women make ? Not so 
 much worse than some I have seen, at 
 any rate. We are in a very fair way of
 
 Letter Number One 9 
 
 coming to this limit. Only last week, at 
 the theatre, I sat behind a fat woman 
 old enough to know better who had on 
 a low-cut dress, and the view from be- 
 hind was, I assure you, Sis, such as no 
 woman of even the faintest decency 
 would be guilty of. Nell was with me, 
 and she didn't say anything, of course, 
 but her look spoke volumes ! 
 
 And do you for a moment believe, 
 Kittens, that this low-necked dressing 
 arouses the highest thoughts in even the 
 best and most decent men? Not for a 
 minute. And yet these thoughts, the 
 mere mention of which makes a self- 
 respecting girl shrink, thoughts which 
 are full of danger to the girl and not less 
 to the man who, pray, arouses such 
 thoughts, who touches the match to the 
 awakening of those senses in a man? 
 And who does it deliberately, too? I
 
 io Her Brother's Letters 
 
 say "deliberately," for certainly you 
 women do not dress for other women 
 you dress for men, to be admired by 
 them, to be courted by them, to have 
 them follow in your train. Deny it as 
 you may and do, in your heart you 
 know this is true. Therefore, if you 
 dress for men, you must deliberately 
 uncover your necks and shoulders for 
 them. Frank talk? Yes: and I mean 
 to be franker yet. You do this, and then 
 when you receive a vulgar stare from a 
 man: when a man's eyes roam below 
 your chin you shrink from him he's 
 "awful!" you say. In other words, 
 women uncover their bodies to the very 
 verge of decency and beyond it they 
 furnish themselves with every allure- 
 ment to the senses conceivable, of 
 fragrance, of texture, of everything; 
 they stand revealed before men in this

 
 Letter Number One n 
 
 way, nay, they go further, they throw 
 themselves into their arms this way, 
 dance with them motion, contact, the 
 surroundings of a heated room, the mu- 
 sic all adding to only one effect and 
 result! And then well, then what? 
 When the sense nature is aroused in a 
 man, and by some action or look he 
 shows it, then the girl retreats shudder- 
 ingly with disgust. And women call this 
 virtue ! They tamper with a man : play 
 with him, and turn from him. Nice 
 consistency of action, forsooth! 
 
 For a while women confined these 
 bodily allurements to the ballroom, and 
 to affairs after lights were up. But ap- 
 parently this did not suffice, and latterly 
 the same idea has been introduced into 
 the street and into the daylight hours, 
 so far as it can be with that nice sense 
 of feminine propriety that men find so
 
 12 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 difficult to understand. The thinnest, 
 flimsiest textures are resorted to by 
 young girls and women for bodices un- 
 til the texture that can show most plain- 
 ly the billows of lace and of pink and 
 blue ribbons underneath seems to be the 
 most sought after. But even that did 
 not seem to suffice. There must be in- 
 troduced the "fishnet" bodice, showing 
 "things underneath" even more plainly, 
 more strongly: until the very limit of 
 daring openwork design for a waist 
 seems to have been reached. And all 
 for what? For women? I would like 
 to think so. And when a man's eyes 
 wander into and through the mazes of 
 these openwork bodices you girls shrink 
 again. You exclaim with beautiful 
 modesty about the immodesty of man! 
 And yet, as I heard an actor say on the 
 vaudeville stage the other day, "If
 
 Letter Number One 13 
 
 women don't want us to rubber why do 
 they wear those fishnets?" Why, in- 
 deed? 
 
 But even this has not sufficed for 
 some girls and women. Apparently it 
 wasn't enough for the sex to wear these 
 "inflammatory waists," as a chap I 
 know calls them, and suggest the upper 
 portions of the body and their under- 
 clothes. They must go further yet, and 
 in comes the skirt that fits so tight 
 around the hips as to show every line 
 and curve of the lower anatomy about 
 as indecently suggestive an effect as a 
 woman can reach. With this generally 
 goes the most expensive of silk openwork 
 stockings, with the sitting posture al- 
 ways so arranged as to show a goodly 
 part of the expensive things! Every 
 art is employed, apparently, to go just 
 as far as a woman can go in the direc-
 
 14 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 tion of suggestive dressing. Where is 
 going to be the end of this sort of thing, 
 Sis? Where is the limit? Are men all 
 wrong in attributing the virtue of mod- 
 esty to women? Hang me if it doesn't 
 make a chap sometimes think so! 
 
 Keep away from it all, Kittens. 
 Dress prettily, yes, as a girl should. But 
 also dress modestly. Don't for Heav- 
 en's sake, dress either before or after 
 six o'clock in a way that will set men 
 thinking of other than "charms visibly 
 seen." Anything beyond that is bad 
 bad for the girl and bad for the man. 
 Believe me when I say that the decolle- 
 tee, and what goes with it and from it, 
 has no place in the wardrobe of the self- 
 respecting, modest girl, and every man 
 that is a man will agree with me. There 
 is not a husband who is a husband that 
 wants to see his wife or his daughter
 
 Letter Number One 15 
 
 uncover herself for the gaze and vulgar 
 comment of other men. You may hear 
 it excused: you may hear all sorts of 
 reasons given by girls, but in the final 
 analysis it isn't decent : it isn't nice, and 
 every man respects the girl who shuns 
 it, who keeps everything save her face 
 and hands sacred. 
 
 Henry Ward Beecher summed up 
 the whole thing in a nutshell when he 
 said, "A proper dress for any girl or 
 woman is one that reveals the lady but 
 not the person." 
 
 The governor is right, Sis, and he is 
 a man of the world: big and broad- 
 minded, too. He has seen a few things, 
 just a few more than either you or I, 
 and he's a pretty good sort to tie to. 
 Ask him if the mater ever showed her 
 neck and shoulders to a collection of 
 motley men, and I'll wager a five-pound
 
 1 6 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 box of the best that Maillard makes that 
 she didn't; and you and I know, Kit- 
 tens, that the mater is about as good 
 and fine as there is going. Take my 
 word for it, the mater is pretty good for 
 you to get next, and so is the governor : 
 they're pretty well matched, those two, 
 in good old common sense, and you'll 
 find it out as I have. Only just now: 
 take my word for it. Give my love to 
 both of them and, if you haven't got it 
 in for me too hard for all this, kiss your- 
 self a good sound whacking kiss on 
 those pretty lips of yours for 
 
 YOUR OLD LENT, 
 
 who loves you too hard for other chaps 
 to see what they have no business to see, 
 and what in after years you'll be deuced 
 glad they didn't see!
 
 LETTER NUMBER TWO.
 
 LETTER NUMBER TWO, 
 
 IN WHICH THE BROTHER TOUCHES ON 
 
 THE HYSTERICAL ADULATION 
 
 OF PUBLIC IDOLS BY 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 My Dear Kittens: 
 
 YOU will be interested, I think, if 
 not altogether pleased, at an 
 experience I had, apropos of 
 your last letter. 
 
 You told me in that letter about the 
 "time of your lives" that you girls had 
 at Music Hall the other afternoon at a 
 
 recital given by : how his playing 
 
 simply "carried you off your feet" : how 
 it "enthralled" you and made you all 
 feel that this pianist was "simply di- 
 vine." All the girls had "creeps down 
 their spines" : they were "hot and cold 
 
 19
 
 2O Her Brother's Letters 
 
 all over," etc. In short, you had one of 
 those hysterical flings that seem to ap- 
 peal to girls and women at these re- 
 citals. 
 
 "Well, what of it, if we did?" you ask. 
 Nothing, Kittens: if you had let it go 
 at all that, except that I don't think this 
 sort of thing is healthy for you, since 
 you say yourself that you were all "as 
 limp as wet rags after it." But never 
 mind all that. That sort of enjoyment 
 (!) is feminine, I suppose, and cannot 
 be understood by a man. But then you 
 say that you girls, at the close of the 
 recital, crowded around the stage and 
 just buried this artist with your cor- 
 sage bouquets, waylaid him as he came 
 out of the stage door, threw violets at 
 him, and "fairly surrounded him until 
 he had to fight his way through us to 
 his carriage." And you say : "He was
 
 Letter Number Two 21 
 
 tickled to pieces, and smiled and smiled 
 and waved his hand and took off his hat 
 again and again," etc. That is, you 
 thought he felt "tickled." You retort, 
 "I know he did." 
 
 But I am going to give you a side of 
 that picture that you don't expect. 
 
 Now I happen to know this idol of 
 yours. I met him two years ago, got 
 to know him pretty well, and day before 
 yesterday I spent an hour with him, and 
 yesterday the best part of the afternoon. 
 Coincidence, wasn't it? Well, not ex- 
 actly, for I put myself into the way of it 
 for a purpose; although, I confess, I 
 didn't expect to hear and experience 
 what I did. 
 
 Except for a recital in Philadelphia 
 he had come direct from the one at 
 which you heard him in Cincinnati to 
 New York. So, during our chat, I turned
 
 22 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 the talk to his work, and finally led the 
 conversation to his recital at Cincinnati. 
 
 "The women there gave you the usual 
 appreciative reception that we read 
 about, I suppose?" I asked him with a 
 smile. 
 
 But he didn't smile, Sis, for your idol 
 is a much more sensible, manly chap 
 than you girls think he is. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Carson," he replied, "my 
 experience in Cincinnati was unfortu- 
 nately too much like my experience in 
 other cities." 
 
 "How 'unfortunate'?" I asked. 
 
 "Well, sir," replied he, looking at me 
 in a serious way, "I cannot help wishing 
 that your American girls and their 
 mothers, too, I may say had a little 
 more what do you call it ?" 
 
 "Restraint?" I filled in. 
 
 "Yes, decidedly," he said ; "restraint :
 
 Letter Number Two 23 
 
 self-poise I should call it, perhaps. I 
 can't believe," continued this man who, 
 you say, was so "tickled" with you girls, 
 "that this hysteria with which they fa- 
 vor" (here there was a sickly smile) 
 "me and other performers is good for 
 these girls physically. In fact, I know 
 it is not. Not only that, but, if you will 
 excuse me for saying so, it does not 
 seem to be womanly. It is certainly not 
 in good taste." 
 
 Very much "tickled," wasn't he ? But 
 wait: 
 
 "Of course," he said, "I must appear 
 pleased and appreciative: it is part of 
 my business : my bread and butter, yes ! 
 And since these women mean well I 
 must accept their tribute in spirit. But 
 I do not like it: it makes me sad in a 
 way. I was always taught to believe in 
 a woman as something modest and hav-
 
 24 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 ing a certain dignity : one who has her- 
 self well in hand appreciative of an 
 honest effort, yes, but not foolish ! And 
 it is foolish: this throwing of flowers 
 and such things. It does not 'go' with a 
 man, you know. It makes a fool of him, 
 too. And I never know what to do with 
 these flowers" (there came that sickly 
 smile again) "that they tear from their 
 dresses and throw at me. Of course, I 
 must pick them up, but I do not like their 
 odor in a room." 
 
 "What do you do with them?" 
 "Ah," he said, "I tell my manager to 
 send them to the sick, and I hope he 
 does it. But I must say that I have 
 caught him more than once throwing 
 them out of the window or giving them 
 to the chambermaids." 
 
 A little different from what you 
 thought, Sis. But there is more.
 
 Letter Number Two 25 
 
 "Mr. Carson," he exclaimed, "tell me: 
 why do your American girls do these 
 unheard-of things unheard of, be- 
 cause the girls of other countries do 
 not do them? They come to my con- 
 certs: they seem to enjoy them: they 
 applaud me when I do well, and then 
 they go home as well-ordered people 
 should. That is what I like : that's what 
 makes a man's opinion of women 
 higher. 
 
 "But this other sort of thing," he 
 went on, "it is not gracious in a girl : it 
 does not belong to her. I want to think 
 well of American girls and women, for 
 they have been very generous to me, and 
 made many things possible for me and 
 mine at home. But, just stop and think, 
 Mr. Carson, what I see as I go from city 
 to city in your country : think how hard . 
 it is for me, as a foreigner, to believe
 
 26 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 that your American girls are nice : that 
 they are all they should be. 
 
 "They mean well, I do not doubt," he 
 added, "but is that the most I should be 
 able to say of the American girl: that 
 she means well ? 
 
 "Mr. Carson," he said suddenly be- 
 fore I could answer, "I should like very 
 much to have you come to my recital to- 
 morrow afternoon and see for your- 
 self." 
 
 I hesitated a moment, Sis, for you 
 know I'm not given to these afternoon 
 "hen affairs." Still, it was Saturday, 
 with no court, and I agreed. 
 
 So yesterday I went to the recital 
 with your idol, and for two hours I sat 
 there and nothing happened. When he 
 had played his last number, however, 
 there was a movement toward the stage, 
 and when he came out again the women
 
 Letter Number Two 27 
 
 were packed around that stage fifty 
 deep. I never saw such jostling and 
 pushing. Twice, thrice, he came out 
 and bowed, and then he played again. 
 This went on for three encores, and then 
 began the throwing of corsage bouquets 
 the like of which I never saw before. 
 A fourth encore, and as he finished he 
 beckoned to me in the box and I went 
 "behind." 
 
 "I am going home," he said briefly. 
 "Will you come with me and walk ahead 
 to the carriage ?" 
 
 "Walk ahead?" I asked. But just 
 then I opened the stage door leading to 
 the street and I saw what he meant. 
 There stood a surging mass of at least 
 a thousand girls and women, and a 
 crazier and more tense set of faces I 
 never saw before and hope never to see 
 again.
 
 28 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 "Here he comes!" came from a hun- 
 dred of these women at once, and in a 
 moment I found myself in a whirl of 
 women actually fighting my way to the 
 curb, with your idol keeping close be- 
 hind me. 
 
 I never was so disgusted with woman- 
 hood in my life. They closed in on us: 
 the feminine proximity was absolutely 
 offensive: women's faces were thrust 
 into our own, hands were laid on us, and 
 such pushing and shoving I never ex- 
 perienced. At last I reached the car- 
 riage, pulled open the door and jumped 
 in. Your poor idol was still some 
 twenty-five feet from me in the midst of 
 a frenzied femininity that was about as 
 disgusting as anything I had ever seen. 
 Once or twice I saw him duck his head 
 'way down into the front of his coat in 
 a way I couldn't understand. Finally
 
 Letter Number Two 29 
 
 he reached the carriage, and we went off 
 pulling ourselves together. Your idol, 
 poor chap, had his hat smashed: his 
 necktie was askew: his coat-pockets 
 were torn, and when he reached for his 
 handkerchief he. found it gone! Souve- 
 nir, I suppose! Some woman had de- 
 liberately taken that handkerchief out 
 of his pocket ! 
 
 I was mad clean through. Your idol 
 looked at me, smiled and said nothing 
 until we reached his hotel and had light- 
 ed our cigars ; then he turned to me and 
 said: 
 
 "Well, Mr. Carson?" 
 
 "There's only one word that describes 
 it," I said, "and that is, 'indecent.' " 
 
 "It strikes you that way, then?" 
 
 "It certainly does," I answered. "Do 
 you mean to say that this is what you go 
 through all the time?" I asked.
 
 30 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 "In a greater or less degree," he re- 
 plied calmly, and then, with a sickly 
 smile, he added, "At least, only three 
 women this afternoon tried to kiss me." 
 
 "What?" I cried in astonishment, al- 
 most jumping out of my chair. Then a 
 light dawned on me, and I asked: "Is 
 that why you ducked your head ?" 
 
 "That's why I ducked my head, as 
 you call it," he said. 
 
 "My God!" I said. It was the only 
 thing I could think of. "Our American 
 women carry it as far as that !" 
 
 "They do," he said, and then he 
 looked at me seriously and said: "Mr. 
 Carson, this is what I mean. I do not 
 mind these ravings so much that you 
 saw at the close of my concert. At least, 
 the stage separates us. But it is this 
 stage-door frenzy : when these girls and 
 women come so close to me : when they
 
 Letter Number Two 31 
 
 lay hold of me; when they try to put 
 their hands on my shoulders and try to 
 kiss me : then well, then, Mr. Carson, I 
 will not say more, but as a man I think 
 you will understand what I mean. It is 
 to me disgusting: it goes over the line 
 of woman's modesty and passes over the 
 line of a man's self-respect. 
 
 "Forgive me," he added, "if I am too 
 severe on your women. But you have 
 seen now for yourself, and then that is 
 not all. Here," he added, "what must a 
 man think when he receives such a let- 
 ter as this?" 
 
 He picked up a scented note from the 
 table and handed it to me. Eight pages 
 of rhapsody were there silly, foolish 
 rhapsody, and at the close this sentence : 
 
 "Will you let me come to you, see you, 
 and try and tell you all that your divine 
 gift has done for me: lifted me out of
 
 32 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 myself: made me anew as it were? I 
 owe my new state to you : to your divine 
 art, and I feel as if I could lay my life, 
 my whole being, my soul, my all at your 
 feet!" 
 
 "What do you do with such a note?" 
 
 "Do with it?" he repeated. "What 
 can a man do with it except to destroy 
 it?" 
 
 "Nothing," I said, "except you might 
 do as William Dean Howells did once 
 when he received a note from a rhapsod- 
 ical young woman telling him how 
 poetry seemed to be surging within her 
 and yet she could not express herself, 
 and asked what she should do. And he 
 sat down and wrote her this answer : 
 " 'My Dear Young Lady: 
 
 ' 'I would strongly urge you to ask 
 your mother to give you a good dose of 
 sulphur and molasses/
 
 Letter Number Two 33 
 
 "But, seriously," I continued, "this 
 sort of a note is exceptional, is it 
 not?" 
 
 "Exceptional!" he repeated. "I wish 
 it were." 
 
 Surely, Kittens, you girls are carry- 
 ing this hysteria business pretty far. It 
 makes a man ask himself : "Is this what 
 music is doing for the American girl?" 
 For, as this artist well said to me as I 
 left him : 
 
 "I tell you, Mr. Carson, this is de- 
 grading to my art. It is not a tribute, 
 but an offense, for whatever we may 
 think of music it is not a language of 
 hysterics." 
 
 Nice thing, isn't it, Sis, when an art- 
 ist, such as this man unquestionably is, 
 can only say of the American girl's 
 actions that they are degrading to his 
 art!
 
 34 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 I leave you to think of all this when 
 next you go to a recital. 
 
 As ever, with love all around. 
 
 LENT.
 
 LETTER NUMBER THREE.
 
 LETTER NUMBER THREE, 
 
 IN WHICH THE BROTHER TALKS TO 
 His SISTER ABOUT NEVER MARRY- 
 ING A MAN UNTIL SHE'S GOT AN- 
 OTHER MAN'S HONEST OPINION OF 
 HIM. 
 
 My Dear Vicious Kittens: 
 
 CHRISTMAS, but you scratch 
 hard, Sis ! I feel as if I haven't 
 a hair left on my head, and all 
 because I didn't tell you what happened 
 between Nell and me while she was here 
 in New York. But how could I? A 
 man can't very well, even to his sister, 
 say anything about the private affairs 
 of a girl, unless the girl lifts the bars 
 herself, can he? Now that Nell says I 
 can tell you all about it I'm willing, al- 
 though at first I couldn't for the life of 
 
 37
 
 38 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 me see why she didn't tell you herself. 
 To-day she writes me that she feels too 
 badly about the whole thing to tell even 
 you, her closest friend, and she says to 
 me : "You tell her, Lent : you're a man 
 and her brother." 
 
 After all, it wasn't so tremendous, al- 
 though, of course, to Nell it meant a lot. 
 You knew, naturally, that Nell was en- 
 gaged to Bert Cox, and came on here 
 with Aunt Lena to buy her wedding 
 things. The evening she arrived T 
 called on her, as she wired me, to give 
 her some points about the city and the 
 shops. The next day she started out, 
 and it was agreed that I was to dine 
 with them that evening. 
 
 Well, after dinner the talk, of course, 
 led to her engagement and approaching 
 marriage. She was naturally full of it 
 and Bert's name came up frequently.
 
 Letter Number Three 39 
 
 At one point she said something about 
 Bert I forget now exactly what it was 
 and I must have been fool enough to 
 let a look get into my face which Nell 
 saw. Instantly she said to me : 
 
 "Lent, why do you look that way?" 
 
 "What way?" I asked, innocently 
 enough. 
 
 "I don't know," she said, "but I've 
 had the notion two or three times that 
 you do not altogether approve of Bert. 
 Why is it? Tell me." 
 
 Well, Sis, I fenced and dodged and 
 ducked until all of a sudden Nell got up, 
 picked up a hassock, threw it before me, 
 squatted down on it, and putting her 
 two elbows on my knees and her pretty 
 face between her hands, said: 
 
 "Look here, Lent. You know me bet- 
 ter than any man in the world does, bet- 
 ter even than Bert. Kittens and I are
 
 4O Her Brother's Letters 
 
 like sisters. You are more like my 
 brother than any fellow in the world. 
 Now, I'm alone in the world : I haven't 
 a father or a mother to go to, and you've 
 got to be frank with me, Lent real 
 frank, understand?" 
 
 "What about?" I asked her, although 
 I knew mighty well what was coming, 
 and I saw that Aunt Lena did, too. 
 
 "About Bert," she said, and I saw it 
 cost her a wrench to say it. "I heard 
 you tell Kittens once that a girl should 
 never marry a man, or even engage her- 
 self to him, until she got another man's 
 opinion of him. Now," taking both my 
 hands, "will you answer me one ques- 
 tion square and fair ?" 
 
 "Fire away," I replied. 
 
 "All right," she said. "Now, talk to 
 me as if I were Kittens and she were 
 going to marry Bert Cox. Do you
 
 'You've Got to Be Frank With Me, Lent.
 
 Letter Number Three 41 
 
 know, as a man, any reason why I 
 shouldn't marry him?" 
 
 "I do, Nell," I answered. 
 
 It was tough, Kittens, and I knew it 
 would be, but I made up my mind I 
 wouldn't mince matters. I never heard 
 a girl cry so in my life ; she threw her- 
 self on her arms and wept and wept 
 until I thought I'd have to start in my- 
 self. Aunt Lena threw her arms around 
 her and tried her best to comfort her, 
 but it was no use. Nell grew positively 
 hysterical. I lifted her on the couch, 
 and dear, good Aunt Lena, brick that 
 she is, worked over her for an hour or 
 more. I wanted to send for a doctor 
 friend of mine, but Aunt Lena said no ; 
 she'd be all right soon. It was nearly 
 eleven before she quieted down, and then 
 she suddenly pulled herself together, got 
 up, threw her arms around my neck
 
 42 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 until she nearly rammed my back collar- 
 button into my flesh, and cried some 
 more. I guess she kept it up for another 
 half hour; then she quieted down, 
 looked into my eyes and said : 
 
 "Forgive me, Lent. I've given you a 
 miserable evening of it, but I couldn't 
 help it," and off she went again. 
 
 I left her, and promised I'd run 
 around in the morning. I did, and 
 found she'd had a night of it, and looked 
 it, and so did poor Aunt Lena. But Nell 
 was game, and asked if I could come to 
 her the next day for a good long talk. 
 I told her I would, but I felt that Bert 
 should be there. So I telegraphed him 
 to come on at once. 
 
 The next afternoon Bert appeared, 
 and in the evening Aunt Lena, Nell, Bert 
 and I had a pow-wow, and I don't want 
 another one like it for a long time.
 
 Letter Number Three 43 
 
 I started off by asking Nell to tell 
 Bert what had happened two evenings 
 before, how the question had come up, 
 and where we had left it, with simply 
 my answer to the question and no de- 
 tails given ; that I had preferred to have 
 Bert present when I went into details. 
 
 Then my turn came, and I started 
 right in by looking Bert square in the 
 eye and saying that I didn't think he was 
 a decent enough fellow to marry Nell. 
 Of course, Bert jumped, in fact he 
 jumped several times during the even- 
 ing, but his jumping doesn't go for 
 much. 
 
 I gave my reasons for saying what 
 I did. Nell asked me to be frank, and 
 I was frank brutally frank, perhaps. 
 But after each reason I "rested my 
 case," as we lawyers say, for Bert to 
 get in his defense. He made a show of
 
 44 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 it, of course, but, thunder, he knew 
 mighty well he couldn't make good, and 
 he didn't. There was a lot of bluster 
 and all that, but he didn't meet the facts, 
 and Nell knew it. He wasn't even as 
 "sporty" as I thought he'd be. Kittens, 
 for when a man is up against a thing of 
 that sort there's only one thing to do, to 
 my way of thinking: to acknowledge 
 the corn and be open about it. But Bert 
 didn't do that: he denied this and de- 
 nied that, and yet he couldn't back up his 
 denials. 
 
 After a while, seeing that merely tell- 
 ing me I was a liar, and letting it go at 
 that, didn't work with Nell, he took the 
 usual tack that fellows of his stripe take : 
 that all men sow their wild oats, that he 
 had sown his and was over with them: 
 that I had myself ( I made him take that 
 back, all right, before he got through),
 
 Letter Number Three 45 
 
 and that he didn't know a young fellow 
 who hadn't, etc. I expected this argu- 
 ment, and I saw Nell was questioning 
 in her mind whether this wasn't so, for, 
 I suppose, she, like all girls, had heard 
 that this wild-oats business is common 
 to all men; that a girl must accept a 
 man upon that condition, and all that. 
 
 I told Nell that this was all tommy- 
 rot, and Aunt Lena with her experience 
 as a mother-confessor with men and her 
 own five sons came in here like a load of 
 bricks, and Bert soon saw that this 
 plausible argument, for once, wouldn't 
 work with Nell, although it does so often 
 go with girls, worse luck! 
 
 "However, Bert," I said, "I'll grant 
 that your cowardly arguments are all 
 so : I'll grant you this wild-oats business 
 is common to you, to myself even, and 
 to every man before he meets the girl he
 
 46 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 wants to make his wife. All that is 
 granted. But how about your wild oats 
 since you met Nell, courted her, and 
 even since you've been engaged?" 
 
 Of course, Sis, I had purposely kept 
 this back as my last shot, and it hit all 
 right: ye gods, how it hit! Nell fairly 
 shot out of her chair, and I never saw 
 a girl's eyes blaze as did hers as she 
 fairly flew over to Bert. 
 
 "Deny that, Bert ; deny it, I say !" she 
 fairly screamed, "and prove it, prove it 
 on your word as a man, if you are one, 
 or leave this room instantly. Which is 
 it?" 
 
 Talk about a melodrama ! There was 
 one, and not in a theatre, either. I never 
 saw a girl so good an actress without 
 trying to be one: Mrs. Leslie Carter 
 wasn't in it with Nell, Sis. 
 
 Bert grew as white as his shirt. He
 
 Letter Number Three 47 
 
 saw that he was dealing with a woman 
 full-grown in an instant. Nell fairly 
 towered over him while he slunk in his 
 chair. For the first time I felt a pity for 
 the wretch. But that feeling was all 
 over in a minute when, like the coward 
 that he is, he got up, pulled himself to- 
 gether, and trying his best to be manly, 
 struck a most ridiculous attitude, and 
 revealed himself beautifully in his own 
 words : 
 
 "Oh, you're a lot of damned idiots! 
 I don't intend to be insulted any longer. 
 Go to the devil, all of you !" 
 
 Well, Sis, it was lucky I didn't get 
 where I made for, and I shall always 
 thank Aunt Lena for it. She was too 
 quick for me, yet I thought I was a bit 
 quick. But it was better so. He's too 
 dirty for a chap to lay his hands on. 
 He got out all right. Couldn't find time
 
 48 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 to close the door even or to grab his 
 coat, which I had to send after him. But 
 it was over: that was the main point. 
 I saw that much, thank the Lord, and 
 let it go at that. Then I stayed with 
 Nell and Aunt Lena until 3 A. M., took 
 a room in the hotel, slept until n and 
 missed court. Still, I don't know but 
 I'd miss court again for the same rea- 
 son! 
 
 There you have it, Kittens, practically 
 the whole thing as it happened, and 
 what isn't written is between the lines, 
 where you can find and read it, I guess. 
 
 The women stayed here a week at my 
 earnest request, and I gave them a 
 round of the theatres with the liveliest 
 plays that the town held, spent Satur- 
 day and Sunday with them all day, and 
 Nell was a little more like her own self 
 when I left them in their compartment
 
 Letter Number Three 49 
 
 on the train. She took me a bit back, 
 though, that last minute when she fairly 
 grabbed my face between her hands, and 
 I don't think there was a part of my 
 handsome ( !) physiognomy she didn't 
 fairly rain with kisses, dear old girl ! I 
 only wish I loved her and she loved me, 
 so that we could end up as the books 
 would ! But she'll strike the right chap 
 yet. She's only twenty-three, isn't she, 
 and with that face and those eyes, there 
 is many a good chap that would climb 
 up the side of the Flatiron Building for 
 her and she'd be worth it, too. Of 
 course, she broke down when she got 
 home, and the mater was, as usual, all 
 wool and a yard wide for taking her in. 
 Tell her so for me, and tell her to keep 
 Nell with you all for a few weeks at 
 least. It will do her good to see all she 
 can of the mater and the governor, for
 
 50 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 she might get it into her bully little head 
 now that "all men are gay deceivers," 
 and that would be as great a pity as it 
 is a wrong. There are a lot of chaps in 
 this world who believe with Kipling 
 when he says, "There are some things 
 that a fellow won't do" chaps who live 
 by the rule of cleanliness and along de- 
 cent lines. There's the other kind, of 
 course, and there may be many of them, 
 but they don't represent the whole sex. 
 , This whole experience simply makes 
 me feel the more strongly what you 
 know I have always held and what led 
 to all this about Nell : that a girl should 
 never marry a fellow until she's got an- 
 other man's honest opinion of him. 
 She can always get such an opinion, Kit- 
 tens, even where she has no father or 
 brother. There's always a straight 
 chap somewhere around whom a girl
 
 Letter Number Three 51 
 
 can go to, and that sort of man will 
 never refuse to be honest with such a 
 girl if she will be honest with him and 
 if she will heed what he says when he 
 puts the facts before her and not go off 
 on that silly tangent of reforming a man 
 after marriage! If a girl likes to play 
 the role of a martyr and that sort of 
 thing seems to appeal to a lot of girls 
 it's about the surest way to a perfect hell 
 on earth ( forgive me, Sis, but that's the 
 only word) that she can find! 
 
 And now for a calm pipeful to settle 
 my nerves. It's stirred me all up just to 
 write about it, but I knew you wouldn't 
 be satisfied with anything except the 
 whole story. And here it is, for a fact. 
 A whole oceanful of love for the folks 
 and you, and a shake for Nell from 
 Your old meddler of a brother, 
 
 LENT.
 
 52 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 Just a word I nearly forgot: Don't, 
 for a minute, believe that because Ned 
 has come to the house several times since 
 Nell has been there that "it looks like 
 something." Like nothing in that di- 
 rection, at any rate. Now, for Heaven's 
 sake, don't you put that notion into 
 Nell's head, for I happen to know better 
 there's some one else so far as Ned is 
 concerned, and I'll tell you about it when 
 the right time comes. Meanwhile, you 
 keep mum, Kittens, be as mum as a 
 clam but don't be one !
 
 LETTER NUMBER FOUR.
 
 LETTER NUMBER FOUR, 
 
 IN WHICH THE BROTHER TALKS TO 
 His SISTER ABOUT HER WISH TO 
 READ A PAPER BEFORE A WOMAN'S 
 CLUB. 
 
 Dear Old Kittens: 
 
 IT WAS very decent of you, Sis, to 
 send me your "paper" on "The 
 Golden Age of Woman" which you 
 are asked to read before the Woman's 
 Club next week. I took it right up last 
 evening when it came. 
 
 You say you were provoked at the 
 governor because, after he read it, he 
 merely said, "Send it to Len," and that 
 the mater, after she had looked it over, 
 remarked : "I think your father is right, 
 dear. Let us see what Len has to say 
 about it. He's more in the world than 
 
 55
 
 56 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 your father and I are, and he can tell 
 you much better." Dear old sneaky 
 souls ! They knew, all right, Sis. They 
 didn't want to hurt your feelings, old 
 girl, and politely left it for me to do ! 
 
 For, Kittens, dear, take my advice 
 and don't read that paper to the Wom- 
 an's Club or any other club and I'll tell 
 you why. 
 
 First of all, you're all wrong, Sis. 
 You couldn't be right because you're too 
 young to grapple with such a subject as 
 that. You can't and don't know a thing 
 about it. How could you, Kittens you 
 who have been sheltered from every 
 breath that blows from the very outside 
 world which you think you are portray- 
 ing so successfully? It takes a full life, 
 Sis, a life filled with joy and sorrow, 
 pleasure and pain, birth and death, sue-' 
 cess and failure, for a woman to write
 
 Letter Number Four 57 
 
 about a subject on which the only note 
 that can ring true must come from ex- 
 perience. And bless your dear heart, 
 what experience have you had ? I know 
 you won't like it when I say that the 
 article smacks of immaturity and inex- 
 perience in nearly every line. But that's 
 a fact all the same, and, dear girl, before 
 such experienced women as Mrs. Cox, 
 Mrs. Noyes, Mrs. Farwell, to say noth- 
 ing of Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Dela- 
 meter, you would cut a sorry figure, for 
 they have lived through and found to be 
 hollow the very things which you hold 
 forth about as the ruling elements in a 
 woman's life. The vital trouble with 
 the article is that a young woman's view 
 of the future should be toward the home 
 and the things worth while, while your 
 view is directly away from it and toward 
 a world where women chase rainbows.
 
 58 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 Then, too, Kittens, you don't want to 
 stand for that sort of thing: I mean 
 both this talking before clubs and the 
 views you have expressed in your paper. 
 There is a certain type of the idle and 
 restless woman, with nothing to do and 
 nothing in her arms, who considers this 
 talking before women's clubs business 
 as the greatest "stunt" she can do. I 
 should leave that sort of thing to that 
 class. They are not pleasing to look at 
 in their roles, and all retiring and mod- 
 est women regard them that way. 
 
 I am not talking "through my hat," 
 as Jack says, in this thing. I know this 
 type of woman pretty well. A year ago 
 our firm took a case for one of the prin- 
 cipal women's organizations of this sort 
 here in New York, and it was my bad 
 luck to have the case handed over to me. 
 I say "bad luck," because in preparing
 
 . 
 
 s 
 to 
 
 1 *> 
 
 - 
 
 04
 
 Letter Number Four 59 
 
 the papers and evidence in the case I 
 ran up quite a little against the women 
 who are the leaders in this club, and 
 what I saw of them rubbed off a bit of 
 the bloom from the peach. They were 
 "peaches" in fact, Sis. 
 
 Of all unhealthy views about woman 
 and her part in running of things, social 
 and domestic, the opinions I heard from 
 these women were the most unsanitary. 
 Not only were the ideas unhealthy, but 
 they were undigested, as well. There 
 wasn't a woman in that bunch and I 
 met, off and on, a dozen or fifteen of 
 them at close range who had more 
 than the most superficial knowledge of 
 the real and vital order of things. They 
 simply talked; they rarely said any- 
 thing. Their views were a mass of the- 
 ories, badly twisted and fearfully dis- 
 torted. I had to be present at one of
 
 6o Her Brother's Letters 
 
 their meetings, and one of the women 
 a leader in this whole movement of 
 woman's clubs and woman's voting, and 
 all that let out the statement, ex- 
 pressed with a tremendous dramatic 
 show, that "it was a much finer, a much 
 bigger thing to be a woman than to be 
 a mother"! There's wholesome philos- 
 ophy for you! And the poor epigram, 
 for that was all it was, with not a spark 
 of sincerity behind it, was met with 
 great approval by the hundred or more 
 women present. Several of them looked 
 back at me, poor mere man, with a de- 
 fiance that plainly said: 'There, how 
 do you like that, young man?" And, 
 ye gods and little fishes! I would have 
 liked to tell them, only I wasn't asked. 
 
 For weeks I had run up against these 
 women in their homes, and what I saw 
 there would make about the best argu-
 
 Letter Number Four 61 
 
 ments I can imagine against this whole 
 women's club movement. I never saw 
 such evidences of shirking of womanly, 
 wifely and motherly duties. It was 
 enough to nauseate a man. Such neglect 
 of everything that makes for a home I 
 never want to see again: such a wild 
 running of children, such table manners, 
 such meals badly planned and "worse- 
 ly" served, and such viewpoints of hus- 
 bands as I got! As one mighty fine 
 chap, the husband of one of these club 
 women, whose house and children and 
 servants were running at sixes and 
 sevens, said to me in a moment of con- 
 fidence: "This whole club business, on 
 the part of women who are wives and 
 mothers, is the most damnable thing 
 that has ever happened," and his tone 
 and looks spoke volumes. Poor chap! 
 He looked as if he spoke from a bitter
 
 62 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 experience, and I guess he did. There 
 wasn't anything even approaching 
 order in any one of the homes of 
 these club women. How could there 
 be? These women were forever galli- 
 vanting from one end of the country to 
 another gadding here and there or at- 
 tending this or that convention, and if 
 they were not off in some other city they 
 were at meetings of their own home 
 club. They were hard, Sis : I mean hard 
 of views, hard of heart it seemed to me. 
 It looked as if they had ice-water in 
 their veins instead of good red blood. 
 They struck me as a lot of disappointed 
 women who were reaching out hither 
 and thither, knowing not what they 
 wanted, and getting it! 
 
 Of course you will say, "Yes, but I'm 
 not going to be an active club woman. 
 I'm going only to my own club," etc.
 
 Letter Number Four 63 
 
 I know, Kittens. That's the way the 
 thing begins. One step leads to an- 
 other, and one club leads to a second. 
 I know you will argue and say "not for 
 me," and all that; but that's what lots 
 of other women have said, and the first 
 thing they knew they were in the whirl. 
 And what does it all lead to? To just 
 such neglect as I saw, not in one home, 
 but in all those homes, with not a single 
 exception. Besides all that, you want 
 to decide whether you want to be one of 
 these women who talk in public and 
 forever about things which they don't 
 and can't understand. You know very 
 well I'm not one of those men who think 
 all a woman is good for is to stay at 
 home, cook a steak, and bear and rear 
 children. Not by a jugful, I'm not, and 
 you know it, for we've had talks enough 
 about that.
 
 64 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 But neither am I one of those chaps 
 who can be persuaded to see good where 
 mightly little good exists or can exist, 
 and the eight or nine months' active ex- 
 perience I had with the members of this 
 New York woman's club convinced me 
 of one thing: that the very conditions 
 which surround a woman's club of this 
 sort and this happens to be one of 
 those after which so many others 
 throughout the country are patterned 
 are against a healthy influence, either 
 on the women themselves or on their 
 domestic interests. I grant you that if 
 a woman is craving for publicity, if she 
 wants to get under the limelight, get her 
 name and her picture in the newspapers 
 then this sort of thing is just right 
 for her. But what is there in that for 
 a woman except an empty life, and re- 
 grets without number at the end of it all ?
 
 Letter Number Four 65 
 
 I am thinking now of three of these 
 club women whose names every club 
 woman in the country knows. Their 
 names are constantly in the papers: 
 they have all sorts of things to say on 
 all sorts of questions that come up be- 
 fore the country not a third of which 
 they intelligently understand, as I very 
 soon found out from talking with them 
 and what are their real lives? One 
 of them has no home at all : she told me 
 at the very outset that she had yet to 
 meet a man, in her forty-odd years, who 
 was true of heart and clean of mind. 
 There's a healthy mental state for you ! 
 The second is married, but has no chil- 
 dren, for, 'as she told me, they were a 
 "hindrance to a woman's fullest devel- 
 opment." I'm quoting her own words. 
 That's womanly for you ! The husband 
 sat by, dropped his paper at this remark,
 
 66 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 and looked at me in a way that men 
 understand and then wish they didn't. 
 I felt for this fellow! The third wom- 
 an has a home and three children, and 
 such a home! It is about as near 
 well, you can supply the word as I 
 can very well imagine a place to be. The 
 children were unkempt, unmannered, 
 unruly, and about as motherless a lot 
 of poor youngsters as a man wants to 
 see. I never saw this woman's husband, 
 for he lived in another part of the house ! 
 Fancy ! 
 
 Now, there is a true picture of the 
 real life that lies behind three well- 
 known club women of this country, each 
 of whom you doubtless envy for her 
 "gift" to get up and talk before clubs, 
 etc. 
 
 Don't you let that sensible little head 
 of yours go too far in the notion which
 
 Letter Number Four 67 
 
 you express in your article that "this is 
 the golden age of women for women 
 to be and to do." For women to be 
 women and to do as a wise God intended 
 women to do yes ! But not what your 
 words mean without your knowing it. 
 You have said a trite thing that has been 
 said a hundred times before, but it 
 doesn't mean anything, and it strikes a 
 very undesirable chord in the hearts of 
 the best American women when they 
 hear it. This isn't any more of a golden 
 age for women than any other age in 
 the history of the world except that it 
 seems to be an age when more women 
 are quarreling with their Creator be- 
 cause they are women. And that's a 
 pretty unworthy thing for any woman 
 to do especially for you, Kittens, when 
 you thing of what the mater is and what 
 she has done for us.
 
 68 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 That's why, Kittens, the mater made 
 no comment when she read your article. 
 If you want to have comment from her, 
 and one of those smiles that we know 
 so well, and a good kiss and a hug in 
 the bargain, just tell her that you've 
 decided not to read the paper ! 
 
 And watch the governor's eye kindle, 
 too, when you say it ! After you've told 
 them, ask them what they think of this 
 women's club fad, and there's a pair of 
 the best shell sidecombs to a scarfpin 
 in it for you that you'll get a good, 
 wholesome point of view against the 
 whole business. 
 
 Try it, Kittens, and, as I said be- 
 fore, you can't go far wrong if you 
 get and stay next to the mater and 
 the governor in such things. They 
 won't ask you that's a way parents 
 have but I'll throw in a tortoise-shell
 
 Letter Number Four 69 
 
 backcomb, the best I can find, if they're 
 not fairly bubbling over with curiosity 
 as to what I'll write you about this club 
 article of yours. 
 
 There are plenty of things worth 
 while for a girl like you to take up any 
 one of them, if they concern the home, 
 calculated to do you more good in a 
 week, mentally, physically and morally, 
 than all the women's clubs in the coun- 
 try can do for you in a year. 
 
 Tell you what you do, Kittens: put 
 your paper away in your desk and take 
 it out two or three years hence, and 
 you'll thank your stars you never read 
 it before the club, and you'll wonder 
 how in the world you ever thought of 
 such views ! 
 
 And the best part of it will be, then, 
 you'll have no after regrets, and they're 
 mighty uncomfortable things: the best
 
 7O Her Brother's Letters 
 
 things in the world to avoid if you can. 
 Don't, metaphorically, pull at my hair 
 too much for all this. It is getting thin. 
 Your handsome ( ! ) brother isn't as 
 young as he used to be, you know. Still, 
 he's always 
 
 Your devoted 
 
 LENT.
 
 LETTER NUMBER FIVE.
 
 LETTER NUMBER FIVE, 
 
 IN WHICH THE BROTHER HAS A FEW 
 THINGS TO SAY ABOUT DANCING. 
 
 Dear Kittens: 
 
 THAT is very decent of you to 
 want to give "a dance" for me 
 when I come home, and I'd say 
 "Yes" in a minute if I had any idea it 
 would be "a dance." But two or three 
 little points in your letter have com- 
 pletely knocked that idea out of mind. 
 
 First: the dancing card you send 
 me to "fill out" with the names of the 
 girls I'd like to dance with. It says : 
 
 1. Walts . . . 
 
 2. Two-step 
 
 3. Waltz . . . 
 
 4. Two-step 
 5- Walts . . . 
 <5. Two-step 
 
 73
 
 74 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 and so on through six more dances. 
 But the same monotony all down the 
 card; not a change from the two 
 dances and one of them not a dance at 
 all: the two-step. I say not a dance 
 because it isn't. What possible grace 
 there is in this hideous and rowdy 
 shuffle I fail to see. 
 
 The next time you go to a dance just 
 sit out a two-step (if the chaps will let 
 you) and watch this jerky and jumpy 
 thing. Why, Sis, it's an insult to call 
 a thing like that a dance. There's no 
 dancing in it : it is just a case of grab 
 and slide and shuffle: not a spark of 
 poetic feeling about it : not the slightest 
 talent is required to dance it. It is all 
 right for "kids" of eighteen and young- 
 er who know no better. But for young 
 women and men to shuffle through such 
 a fool thing is lowering to one of the
 
 ft.
 
 Letter Number Five 75 
 
 most graceful of the social arts, to say 
 nothing of lowering to one's self espe- 
 cially to a girl, who should stand for 
 grace if for anything. 
 
 I like dancing, as you know, as well 
 as the next man, but I do ask that my 
 dancing shall be reputable and graceful, 
 and the two-step is neither one nor the 
 other. I don't wonder that Allen Dod- 
 worth, the father of American dancing, 
 condemned it, and that at the last annu- 
 al convention of the dancing-masters it 
 was likewise condemned, and that teach- 
 ers were asked not to give instruction 
 in it any longer. A dance, if it has any- 
 thing to commend it in the wide world 
 and to my mind it has much, for it 
 can teach a girl or a chap more grace 
 in an evening than all the Delsarte les- 
 sons she or he can get in a month a 
 dance, I say, should be the poetry of
 
 76 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 motion, and what poetry or anything 
 else except vulgarity is there in the two- 
 step? Men won't go in for it, and I 
 don't blame them. I won't, I know. 
 
 Pray, what has got into the heads of 
 you girls that the lanciers, the quadrille, 
 the minuet, and all the dances that are 
 really dances and not shuffles, have been 
 dropped off the cards of the modern 
 dance? The waltz is, of course, at once 
 the most beautiful, the most graceful 
 and most satisfactory form of dancing 
 there is, provided, of course, that it is 
 danced well. That dance you girls seem 
 to have kept, although I noticed at 
 dances last summer that ten couples 
 would be on the floor while a waltz was 
 being played, while twenty couples 
 would be up and dancing the two-step. 
 The only consolation to me in the sight 
 was that the two-steppers were mostly
 
 Letter Number Five 77 
 
 "kids" of twenty and under. But where 
 are the square dances ? What ails them 
 that you girls have relegated them to 
 Art's ash-heap ? Aren't they strenuous 
 enough ? Are they too graceful ? Must 
 everything we have in our American 
 social life be vulgarized, even dancing? 
 I use the word "vulgarized," and in a 
 rightful sense, too. In no country in the 
 world, save in America, is there a feel- 
 ing against dancing. Why is there 
 here? "Oh," you exclaim, and then you 
 put the reason on "a few narrow old 
 people who never had any fun while 
 they were young." Well perhaps. 
 But granting such premises, are these 
 persons the only ones ? I think not. I 
 hear a growing objection to dancing 
 among intelligent people. "Why ?" you 
 ask. Simply because you girls are al- 
 lowing the dance to be vulgarized. No,
 
 78 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 perhaps you don't know it ; I don't think 
 you do; still you are doing it all the 
 same. 
 
 "How?" Well, in the first place, by 
 allowing the silly two-step such a domi- 
 nating place in your dances although 
 that will probably now be remedied by 
 the dancing-masters themselves, as it 
 should be. 
 
 Then, by the thoroughly vulgar meth- 
 od, which has recently come in, of divid- 
 ing one dance between two or three 
 partners. You say in your own letter: 
 "If there are not dances enough, divide 
 each among two or three of the girls, as 
 you like." Not for me, Kittens, thank 
 you ! If a girl can't give me one dance 
 to myself she can have it, and that's 
 what other men are saying about this 
 silly innovation. There is no possible 
 excuse for this fashion, except that it
 
 Letter Number Five 79 
 
 gives certain girls a chance to show off 
 and pride themselves on the number of 
 men they have danced with during the 
 evening. But I don't care to be used 
 by a girl to show off that kind of popu- 
 larity, and if she's after the largest num- 
 ber of men's names on her card she is 
 welcome to all she can get. But not 
 mine. I have a little too much self- 
 respect to have my name used for a dis- 
 play of vanity. 
 
 You say in your letter: "We'll not 
 have the first dance until ten." That 
 means ten-thirty, anyhow: perhaps 
 later. There are twelve dances on the 
 card you sent me: which also means 
 twelve encores twenty-four dances in 
 all and a Virginia Reel! All this to 
 begin at ten-thirty. And wind up, 
 when? One, two or three A. M.? No, 
 thank you, Kittens: I'm not going to
 
 8o Her Brother's Letters 
 
 stand for that sort of thing, nor am I 
 going to allow you to stand for it, either. 
 And I don't intend to get a lot of fellows 
 out that evening and keep them up until 
 such unhealthf ul hours ! They don't want 
 to do it : they might come out of polite- 
 ness to you or to me, but I don't intend 
 to put them in any such position. And 
 let me say right here that is why you 
 girls can't get any men I don't mean 
 sop-heads now: I mean real men to 
 your dances. You girls can sleep the 
 thing off the next morning. But the 
 men have to be at their offices at eight- 
 thirty or nine, and things are a bit too 
 keen and on the jump in business now- 
 adays for a chap to get himself into a 
 boiled-owl condition just for a dance. 
 If you girls would start your dances at 
 eight or nine, and dance until eleven, 
 and gave a simple supper a sensible
 
 Letter Number Five 81 
 
 one, I mean, not your usual indigestible 
 mass of rich sweets and cold sours so 
 as to let a fellow get home by eleven- 
 thirty or twelve at the latest, you might 
 find it easier to get a few men at your 
 dances. But just so long as you keep 
 on with these late or early hours they're 
 going to keep away, and what's more, 
 the few you get now will keep away, too. 
 Men in business can't stand that sort of 
 thing, Sis. Take my word for it, dear 
 girl. 
 
 It is for you girls, too, to correct an- 
 other thing at your dances, and that is 
 the way you allow men to hold you 
 while dancing. All sorts of liberties 
 have been taken with the right way until 
 now it is one of the most ungraceful 
 sights imaginable to see a man's hand 
 pasted on the middle of a girl's back. 
 There is no excuse for this sort of a
 
 82 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 "grip." To say nothing of the lack of 
 nicety of it, or the possibilities it holds 
 out to the wrong kind of a fellow, or 
 the perspiration marks from the hand, 
 which I have seen again and again left 
 on a girl's dress when a man doesn't 
 wear gloves or use a handkerchief (and 
 you know as well as I do that all men 
 do not), the thing is wrong. The whole 
 idea of the hand back of the girl is to 
 guide her, and the only place, when such 
 guiding is or can be effective, is the 
 proper place: at the waist-line. That 
 was Dodworth's idea, and he was right, 
 and if you will look at any of the old- 
 time dancers you will see that the man's 
 hand is always at the waist-line. There 
 is where it belongs from the point of 
 grace or effectiveness. 
 
 The "middle-of-the-back grip" orig- 
 inated at what we men call the "spieler
 
 "The Grip Originated at Bowery Dances.
 
 Letter Number Five 83 
 
 dances" in the Bowery, and how in the 
 name of all decency the habit was ever 
 allowed to creep into other circles is 
 more than the average human mind can 
 tell. A man's hand is anything but a 
 graceful-looking object at its best, and 
 when you see it plastered up against a 
 girl's back it is about as far from a de- 
 sirable picture as you would want it to 
 be. Why borrow from the Bowery 
 when you can borrow from the best 
 seats of dancing in the world: the 
 courts of Europe? 
 
 The next time, Kittens, you see a 
 photograph of a foreign court ball, just 
 notice where the hands of the men are, 
 and you will invariably find them at the 
 waists of their partners. Foreigners 
 have repeatedly commented to me on the 
 vulgarity of our American "grip" in 
 dancing, and I am not surprised that
 
 84 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 they do. Of course, it is all well enough 
 to say, as I have heard American girls 
 say, that the foreigners are atrocious 
 dancers, and that to dance with an Eng- 
 lishman is either to have your feet 
 ' stepped on or your dress torn. But that 
 has nothing to do with the proper and 
 only way for a man to hold a girl in 
 the dance. We borrowed the dance 
 from abroad, and if we can improve it, 
 all well and good. But the present vul- 
 gar method of holding a girl is not an 
 improvement ; it is a distinct step down, 
 and lowers the dance of the drawing- 
 room to the dance of the Bowery hall. 
 
 These are the points that have made 
 the dance unpopular with the right sort 
 of men, and you girls will never get the 
 men to your dances until you get your 
 dances back to where they should be. 
 We had pretty good times at our dances
 
 Letter Number Five 85 
 
 fifteen or twenty years ago, and we 
 didn't stand for those things. We had 
 one partner for the whole dance; we 
 had the square dances and there's 
 nothing more graceful or enjoyable than 
 a double quadrille, for instance. We 
 stopped our dances at a decent hour, 
 and we held a woman in the dance as 
 she should be held. And what have you 
 girls gained by departing from these 
 standards? Nothing that I can see ex- 
 cept the growing disapprobation of in- 
 telligent parents and you have lost the 
 men! 
 
 Regular preachment this, isn't it? 
 But your letter gave me the chance, and 
 I've wanted to air my views on dancing 
 for some time. Think about them, Sis : 
 you'll find, if you take the trouble to ask, 
 that most men think as I do about this 
 subject.
 
 86 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 I'm mighty glad to hear that Nell is 
 getting to be her old bright self. My 
 "best" to her, and tell Ned he's a trump 
 to be so good to her and try to make her 
 forget. Haven't found out yet, have 
 you, which way the wind is blowing with 
 Ned? 
 
 My love to the governor and the 
 mater and kiss yourself heartily, and 
 long for 
 
 Your "preachy" brother, 
 
 LENT.
 
 LETTER NUMBER SIX.
 
 LETTER NUMBER SIX, 
 
 IN WHICH THE SISTER Is TOLD THE 
 
 KIND OF GIRLS THAT MEN LIKE 
 
 BEST IN THE LONG RUN. 
 
 My Dear Kittens: 
 
 CLEAR mad, aren't you : "simply 
 boiling," as you say! Well, 
 you let off steam all right ! And 
 all because I hadn't answered your last 
 two letters on the day I received them. 
 And why didn't I ? you demand. Simply 
 because, Sis, a chap just getting into 
 practice in a town like this, where there 
 are sixty lawyers for every case, has 
 something else to do than to write pri- 
 vate letters yes, even home letters. 
 And he hasn't to be forgetful of the 
 home folks, either, to be too tired to 
 write letters after a day at the office and 
 89
 
 90 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 in court, with a stack of papers that 
 have to be read in the evening before 
 court opens the next morning. 
 
 But, thunder, I don't suppose you 
 girls can understand that sort of thing. 
 In fact, that is, to my mind, where a 
 good many of you fail so utterly 
 with men: you don't understand men's 
 lives, and a lot of you don't seem to make 
 the slightest effort to do so, either and 
 my sister among them, too ! 
 
 For instance, in one of your letters 
 you tell me with great glee how Ned 
 Cooper took you to the theatre ; that it 
 was past midnight when you got home ; 
 that you had a little supper at the house ; 
 that the last trolley had gone long before 
 Ned started home, and that he had to 
 wait at the station for nearly an hour 
 before he could get a train back to the 
 city. You say Ned told a friend he
 
 Letter Number Six 91 
 
 didn't reach his rooms until nearly three 
 A. M., and you ask me: "Wasn't it a 
 lark?" For you and Jess, yes. You 
 two girls could sleep it off that day, and 
 did, as you say, "straight through until 
 past eleven." But how about Ned? It 
 wasn't much of a "lark" for him. He 
 had to be at the office the next morning 
 before nine. That meant getting up for 
 him by seven or a bit after. About four 
 hours' sleep! How do you suppose he 
 felt ? That's the part of a lark you girls 
 don't think much about. You'll say, 
 "Oh, well ; what of it? A man is strong. 
 Besides, he doesn't care." But he does 
 care more than you girls think. Take 
 a fellow like Ned : he is making his way, 
 and Fate seems always against a man 
 when he has been up late the night be- 
 fore and feels like a "boiled owl" the 
 next morning, for as sure as luck that is
 
 92 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 the very day that something important 
 will come up and a chap can't get his 
 mind in shape to meet it. 
 
 That is the real reason, only you don't 
 know it, back of your scolding when you 
 wrote that you girls don't see the men 
 at dances whom you would like to meet. 
 I know you don't, and what's more, you 
 won't. The young fellows who are try- 
 ing to make something of themselves 
 in the world know mighty well that they 
 can't go to these dancing affairs and be 
 fresh the next morning for their work. 
 They can't stand the late hours. A 
 man's life, whether you girls know it or 
 not, is his business. If it were not girls 
 would have a sorry time getting their 
 dressmaking, music and what-not bills 
 paid. 
 
 You say, "The men go in New York : 
 why is it that they don't out here?"
 
 Letter Number Six 93 
 
 There's where you're wrong, Sis. You 
 think, as I did when I came here, that 
 the men go to these affairs here in New 
 York because you see their names in the 
 newspapers. Under that delusion I 
 went to several of these affairs. But at 
 not one of them did I meet men who 
 amounted to shucks. I met chaps like 
 Harry Leer and Jimmie Van Alden. 
 But that type of fellow does not stand 
 for anything in New York, except to 
 lead a cotillion and that sort of thing. 
 They are fellows either of easy means 
 (inherited: because they couldn't earn 
 a penny themselves), or who have a cer- 
 tain cleverness, although they generally 
 shine only at one end, and with that end 
 they dance. But the young fellows who 
 have any backbone not one of them did 
 I see. In fact, there wasn't a man with 
 whom you could talk on any topic worth
 
 94 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 talking about. They could talk clothes, 
 they could tell you the latest kink in 
 "autos," they were up in polo and cross- 
 country riding, and all that sort of 
 thing. But that doesn't go very far 
 here. That's all right at Tuxedo and 
 Newport, but not in Nassau Street. 
 Those fellows are what we men call 
 "non-producers": some men call them 
 "sissies." 
 
 They are like that young chap, Carl- 
 ton, of whom you write so ecstatically. 
 He dances well, and dresses well, and 
 bowls up to the house at four in the 
 afternoon with his "auto" and takes you 
 and Jess for a spin to the Zoo. But that 
 isn't the sort of fellow who amounts to 
 a hill of beans in the long run. If he 
 did he wouldn't be able to come to the 
 house at four: he'd be at his office. 
 Take my word for it, Kittens, that kind
 
 Letter Number Six 95 
 
 of man doesn't wear. I know Carlton 
 better than you do. We were at St. 
 Paul's and at Yale together. He didn't 
 study then, and he isn't working now, 
 and when a fellow gets to be thirty and 
 isn't at work there's something wrong 
 with him. He's not the sort of chap 
 that a girl can afford to be seen with 
 often. 
 
 Of course you'll say I'm "poky." 
 That's a mighty convenient word you 
 girls have in calling a thing by its wrong 
 name when you don't like the right 
 name. But you watch Carlton and com- 
 pare him with Ned, and I'll buy you the 
 best bonnet at Le Reux's when I come 
 home for Easter if Ned doesn't size up 
 to ten of Carlton's kind. 
 
 That reminds me. You remember 
 Charlie Wilson, who lived next to Bert 
 Cox ? He's in New York now, and he
 
 96 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 dropped in at my rooms last night, and 
 as he sat "filling the pipe" he raved 
 about Carrie Poole. You know what a 
 stunning girl she is ! Well, Charlie was 
 telling me that he took her to see Maude 
 Adams the other evening, and when he 
 got to her home in Brooklyn she asked 
 him to come in. After a while she 
 said that while she would love to have 
 him stay longer they were having a bit 
 of supper with her mother and her two 
 cousins from Alabama she knew he 
 was a business man and had to keep 
 hours. He had to come 'way up town 
 here nearly to Harlem. She knew that 
 and appreciated that it would take him 
 a full hour, if not more, to get home. 
 That struck Charlie more than anything 
 Carrie ever said to him. It won him 
 "hands down," as we say. "That's the 
 sort of girl, Lent, to tie up to," he said.
 
 Letter Number Six 97 
 
 "She thinks a bit beyond the present 
 hour and the fun she is having. She's 
 got a fellow's interest at heart." And 
 she has! And I'll bet a cooky Charlie 
 will propose to her within a month. 
 
 Charlie, by-the-way, was telling me 
 that Jennie Boyd threw herself into a 
 huff the other evening and broke her 
 engagement with Jack Otis, and the 
 cause of it is, in a way, apropos of what 
 I have been just writing. It seems that 
 Jennie wanted to make up a "set" for a 
 little impromptu affair she was going 
 to have, and thoughtlessly tried at once 
 to reach Jack at his office by tele- 
 phone. It so happened that Jack was 
 busy talking over a big "deal" which he 
 had engineered with the head of his 
 house and two or three other principals 
 when the boy came in and told him that 
 "Miss Boyd wanted to speak with him
 
 98 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 at the telephone." Of course, he had to 
 excuse himself to his employers and go 
 to the 'phone. But it was awkward, for 
 the message caught Jack just as he was 
 in the middle of explaining the details 
 of his "deal" to the firm, and that con- 
 ference had to wait for ten minutes 
 while Jack went downstairs and talked 
 with Jennie about her "set." It didn't 
 do him any good with his firm, he knew, 
 to be called out of an important business 
 conference to answer a private 'phone 
 message. 
 
 That evening he told Jennie about 
 how her message caught him, as a de- 
 cently frank chap would, anxious for 
 his business welfare. But she took it as 
 an affront, and, like a spoiled child, mut- 
 tered something that she should mean 
 more to him than his "old business," 
 and, bless me! if one word didn't lead
 
 Letter Number Six 99 
 
 to another until she up and broke their 
 engagement. Of course, Jack is upset, 
 and I'm going to see him to-morrow 
 evening. But if he gives me half a 
 chance I'll tell him that I think he is well 
 rid of a girl who doesn't seem to realize 
 that a man's office is no place for the 
 making of social engagements, and who 
 cannot see that she has no right to 
 break into his business hours by calling 
 him up on the 'phone. If you write her 
 don't say too much in the direction of 
 encouraging her to get Jack back. A 
 girl of that sort is best left to her own 
 petulant spirits and has no place in the 
 life of a fellow who wants to make his 
 way in the world. 
 
 I'd rather see Jack tie up to Ruth El- 
 liott: she's more his style and the kind 
 that men like. I know you girls wonder 
 why we men think of Ruth as we do.
 
 ioo Her Brother's Letters 
 
 I heard you say to Jess and Nell last 
 winter that you couldn't make out 
 Ruth's success with men, because she 
 isn't pretty and hasn't those little ways 
 that most of you girls have. All the 
 same, men think she's all right, Sis. 
 Girls as pretty and light-headed as Jess 
 may go well for an evening's fun, but 
 Ruth is the kind of girl that men pick 
 out for something more lasting. You'd 
 never catch her allowing Archie to 
 spend something like his weekly salary 
 on an evening's fun with her as Jess did 
 last winter. Not on your life! She's 
 what Charlie called her, "a great girl," 
 and when I asked him why, he said: 
 "Why, hang me, if she didn't tactfully 
 arrange it the other evening when I pro- 
 posed the play to her that she'd prefer 
 to walk rather than to take a carriage, 
 since she wanted the exercise and the
 
 Letter Number Six 101 
 
 fresh night air. She knew mighty well 
 I couldn't really afford a hack, but that 
 I wanted to do the right thing with her. 
 She simply wouldn't have it, and got 
 around it that way. I didn't let on, of 
 course, that I saw through her game, 
 but I could have hugged her, old man, 
 right there and then, for her thought." 
 
 Well, here's your letter, and I'll try 
 my prettiest, Sis, to write you oftener 
 if I can ! My love to you and the gov- 
 ernor and the mater! Tell her that the 
 "unmentionables" she sent me were all 
 right, and that I felt her love woven 
 into each stitch. We have a great 
 mater, one in a hundred thousand, Kit- 
 tens. 
 
 As you say, "she's a darling." The 
 governor had good taste, hadn't he? 
 
 My regards to Ned, and tell him I've 
 found a new "mixture" that doesn't
 
 IO2 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 burn the tongue, and that I'll send him 
 a quarter-pound can of it. 
 
 Yours, in a bath of repentance, 
 
 LENT.
 
 LETTER NUMBER SEVEN.
 
 LETTER NUMBER SEVEN, 
 
 IN WHICH THE BROTHER TELLS OF A 
 
 HAPPENING THAT DISTURBED A 
 
 FASHIONABLE DINNER PARTY. 
 
 My Dear Kittens: 
 
 OF COURSE I shall be adjudged 
 "disagreeable" again, or, to 
 vary it, "disobliging." But all 
 the same, good sister of mine, I cannot 
 fall into your hysterical (yes, hysteri- 
 cal) plan that you, Jess and Lucy shall 
 come here to New York for a week, 
 with your pockets full of money, and 
 try "to help those dear unfortunate 
 people on the East Side." That is, to 
 put it plainly, you girls want to go 
 "slumming." Well, you can't, Kittens, 
 
 105
 
 io6 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 not with me. In the first place, I have 
 not the time to go with you: I don't 
 know any one who has, and even if I 
 did I wouldn't stand for my sister's 
 doing that sort of thing. I notice, by- 
 the-way, that Nell said she didn't care 
 to come, and that Ned hadn't the time 
 no, nor the inclination, he might have 
 added. Two sensible folks, those. 
 
 For conscience' sake, don't fly off and 
 get mad when I ask : What do you three 
 girls know about the poor? Nothing. 
 How could you ? You say, for instance, 
 you would like to see how working-girls 
 live, and find out how you could help 
 them. Now, what arrant nonsense ! In 
 the first place, what do you suppose 
 working-girls are like, and where do 
 you think they live? In one house, I 
 suppose, where you could go and look 
 them over, as you would go to the Zoo
 
 Letter Number Seven 107 
 
 to see the animals. Has it ever oc- 
 curred to you girls that it is yourselves ; 
 and not the working-girls, who need 
 help? Your very attitude to help the 
 working-girl is one of condescension. 
 Has it ever occurred that the thoughts, 
 the feelings, the aspirations, the ambi- 
 tions all that make up the world of the 
 working-girl may be, and are, as fine 
 as your own or those of any girl you 
 know ? The fact that we were born in a 
 certain social sphere, or that the gov- 
 ernor has been fortunate enough to ac- 
 cumulate some means, does not entitle 
 us, my dear Kittens, to go and seek out 
 those who are just as sensitive in their 
 feelings, and who value their home pri- 
 vacy just as much as we do. 
 
 As a matter of fact, you dear little 
 goose of a sister, this "slumming" busi- 
 ness is pure nonsense. It is a profana-
 
 io8 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 tion of the word charity, and is followed 
 only by women of over-weening vanity, 
 a prurient curiosity, or of an over- 
 wrought and hysterical sentimentality. 
 And do you fancy for a minute that this 
 "submerged tenth," as you choose to call 
 it (which, by-the-way, you should use 
 with quotation marks, for it is a bor- 
 rowed phrase), relish this invasion upon 
 their privacy by these foolish society 
 girls and idle women ? Let me tell you 
 a story for the dramatic quality of which 
 I know no equal. And it will be new 
 to you, for good pains were taken to 
 keep it out of the newspapers, and up to 
 this time none of us who were part of the 
 incident ever told of it. 
 
 It happened at the Clarke Uptons' 
 last winter, just as they moved into their 
 new and swell Central Park house, at a 
 dinner-party one of the jolliest I ever
 
 Letter Number Seven 109 
 
 attended, and, as it turned out, the most 
 memorable I was ever at. We were a 
 very merry party, and were, I should 
 say, about half or three-quarters 
 through the dinner when Mrs. Upton 
 gave a scream, and cried to her hus- 
 band: "Clarke!" We all looked up to 
 see not Mrs. Upton, but there in the 
 parted portieres between the dining- 
 room and the hall stood a young fellow, 
 the very picture of a Bowery tough. He 
 had the typical apparently unshaven 
 face of what we men call a "bruiser," 
 wore a black Derby hat, badly dented in, 
 and a pretty well-worn overcoat but- 
 toned up to his chin. He stood there 
 calmly surveying the scene, looking first 
 at the dinner-party and then all around 
 the room with an expression apparently 
 full of the keenest interest. 
 
 The two flunkies who were waiting
 
 no Her Brother's Letters 
 
 on us and the head butler were the first 
 to recover from the surprise that was 
 upon all of us, and made a concerted 
 move toward the man. 
 
 "Hold on, boys, hold on," came from 
 the bruiser; "I know what I'm about, 
 and I'd advise you not to meddle with 
 me or my business," and he shot a 
 glance at the flunkies and Joseph, the 
 butler, that had lots in it, I tell you, 
 Kittens. All three stood still where they 
 were with that fellow's eyes on them. 
 
 Clarke had by this time pulled himself 
 together, and as host it was now up to 
 him. 
 
 "Well, then, you fellow," he said, 
 "suppose you tell me your business." 
 
 "Oh, I'm just looking around to see 
 what I can see, that's all," he replied in 
 an easy, feel-perfectly-at-home-here 
 sort of a way. And then, as quick as
 
 Letter Number Seven in 
 
 a wink, seeing Clarke and a couple of us 
 make a move toward him, he said with 
 fire fairly shooting out of those eyes of 
 his: 
 
 "One minute, gentlemen, before you 
 go too far. I am, or rather up to 
 a year ago I was, a prize-fighter, and 
 there's nothing coming to me from any 
 one here, or from any three of you for 
 that matter, that I couldn't take care of 
 not for a minute but I'm not out for 
 trouble unless you want it, and then I'm 
 chuck-full of it." 
 
 It was a bit in the way of a challenge 
 that some of us men there didn't exactly 
 like, and as the young fellow's keen eyes 
 traveled like lightning over the group 
 (most of us were on our feet by this 
 time) he saw it, and he said: 
 
 "With those gentlemen there" (wav- 
 ing over to where we were) "I have no
 
 ii2 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 business, but I have with you, sir, for 
 I suppose you are Mr. Upton." 
 
 Then, turning abruptly to the flunkies 
 who had been moving toward him, he 
 said in a voice that left no room for two 
 interpretations : 
 
 "In your places, there !" 
 
 "Come, come," began Clarke, but the 
 fellow interrupted: 
 
 "Not so quick, Mr. Upton I have a 
 right here, just as much right, sir, as 
 Mrs. Upton" (with, I must say, a court- 
 ly bow to Clarke's wife) "and that 
 young fellow over there" (pointing to 
 Boyce Price) "had in my sister's room 
 this morning. He didn't have the man- 
 ners to take off his hat when he was 
 in the room, nor his coat. I have," and 
 with that, with what looked like one 
 movement, he took off his hat, pulled off 
 his overcoat, dropped them on the floor,
 
 Letter Number Seven 113 
 
 yanked out a handkerchief, passed it 
 over his face, and there stood before 
 us a fine-looking young fellow in full 
 evening dress, with a face as clean- 
 shaven as my own. 
 
 Gad, Sis, it was dramatic, as dramatic 
 as anything I ever saw, and done like a 
 flash. Every one of us took a breath, 
 and I couldn't help admiring the chap. 
 
 "I'll trouble you to take my coat and 
 hat," he said to one of the flunkies, and 
 then moving a step or two in the room 
 he turned to Clarke and said: "Mr. 
 
 Upton, my name is " (I can't give 
 
 his name, Kittens, for you would know 
 it, I think, from things he has written). 
 We all looked astonished, at which he 
 said : "I see it is not unfamiliar to you. 
 I knew it would be known to Mrs. 
 Bleecker there, as she read a little thing 
 of mine at the Waldorf last week. But
 
 H4 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 the reason I came here tonight, sir, was 
 simply to return the call of Mrs. Upton 
 and her party at my sister's house. If 
 your wife and her friends feel that they 
 can come to my sister's house without 
 an invitation, and without as much as 
 knocking at her door, and see her at 
 her work, it seemed to me that I was 
 just as much entitled to come here with- 
 out asking your leave and see you at 
 your dinner. If the poor are to be 
 'slummed' by the rich I can't for the life 
 of me see why the rich shouldn't be 
 'slummed' by the poor." 
 
 Clarke wanted to say something at 
 this point, but our uninvited guest held 
 up his hand and stayed the remark, 
 whatever it was, and said : 
 
 "There's nothing to say, sir. There's 
 nothing more for me to say. I have 
 said all that I came to say except this:
 
 Letter Number Seven 115 
 
 I apologize to you, sir, to Mrs. Upton 
 and your guests, for this interruption, 
 and for coming into your house and 
 room without an invitation and with my 
 hat on. And I shall expect your friend 
 there " (pointing to Boyce Price) "to 
 call at my sister's house at ten o'clock 
 to-morrow morning and make the same 
 apologies to my sister. I'll trouble you," 
 he said to Oscar, the flunky, and, taking 
 his overcoat and hat, he bowed, and in 
 a minute we heard the front door close, 
 leaving us gaping at each other in abso- 
 lute amazement. 
 
 It takes me some time to tell it, Kit- 
 tens, but actually the whole thing didn't 
 take five minutes, it was so neatly done 
 and quickly over. 
 
 You can imagine that the dinner- 
 party was a bit broken up after that, 
 and the women fairly dropped into their
 
 n6 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 chairs from the tension. But, ye gods 
 and little fishes, it was fine, Kittens! 
 That chap won me hands down, and 
 later in the evening I talked with the 
 hall-butler and asked how he got into 
 the house. 
 
 "Oh, I knew him, sir, from my early 
 days, sir" (he didn't say what his early 
 days were), "and when I opened the 
 door he recognized me and said, as he 
 pushed by me, 'All right, Con, this is on 
 the straight. No crooked work here. 
 No "peach" which meant, sir, I was 
 not to get a policeman, and I knew when 
 he said anything he meant it, sir. I was 
 amazed to see him here, but I knew he 
 was always straight when he said a 
 thing, sir." 
 
 Well, I got his address, and next 
 afternoon after court was over I called 
 on him, told him who I was, and said
 
 "She Dropped the Five Dollar Bill On My Sister's 
 Washboard."
 
 Letter Number Seven 117 
 
 I wanted to shake his hand ; and so did 
 Clarke, who went with me. 
 
 "Oh, that's all right, sir," he said. "It 
 is strictly between us, I hope. It wasn't 
 quite right, Mr. Upton" (turning to 
 Clarke), "for two wrongs never make a 
 right. But I was in the back room of 
 my sister's place when your wife and 
 her friends called, and I was hot, hot all 
 through. I knew Mrs. Upton didn't 
 mean it the way I took it, and the 
 way my sister took it, but when 
 she dropped the five-dollar bill on 
 my sister's washboard I returned it to 
 you this morning by mail it was just 
 too much, and I made up my mind to 
 show to one woman at least that there 
 wasn't any sense of decency or fairness 
 in this slumming business. I ask your 
 pardon, Mr. Upton," he concluded, 
 reaching out his hand. Clarke took it
 
 n8 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 with a bang, and said, like the man 
 he is: 
 
 "Pardon, man? Not at all. My 
 thanks, and hearty thanks at that. You 
 taught us all a lesson we shouldn't have 
 learned in a thousand years so well, as 
 Mrs. Upton said she would say to your 
 sister this morning when she made her 
 call of apology." 
 
 Now, then, Kittens, this story and 
 it's a true one to the letter will tell you 
 more than all the preaching that I could 
 do to show you the foolishness of this 
 "slumming" business, and how it is 
 taken by the "slummed." Keep out of 
 it, Kittens, you and your girl friends. 
 You girls have no business with the 
 people of the "other half." The only 
 people who can go among them and do 
 them good are those who have had ex- 
 perience so wide and so deep as to com-
 
 Letter Number Seven 119 
 
 pass the sorrows and trials of this 
 world, and who are mature in sympathy, 
 feeling and imagination. And as for 
 the working-girls, you have them, Sis, 
 right in your own home : the maids and 
 the cook. 
 
 Be patient, be considerate of them: 
 be womanly and human with them 
 as you would want some one to be 
 with you if you were in their places. 
 There's where real charity begins : right 
 at home, and, believe, me, the girl who 
 can find no charity work at home is not 
 the girl to do it outside. 
 
 Did Boyce Price go, you ask, and 
 apologize? Rather! The little idiot: 
 he went from sheer fear. He was afraid 
 he'd get his silly face pushed in. The 
 pity of it is that he did go. If he hadn't 
 he might have "heard something to his 
 advantage" if a good licking could be
 
 i2o Her Brother's Letters 
 
 of any advantage to a nincompoop of 
 his type. 
 
 It's midnight. It never does for my 
 next day's work to write you these let- 
 ters. So here's a yawny love to you and 
 all from 
 
 Yours, for no "slumming," 
 
 LENT.
 
 LETTER NUMBER EIGHT.
 
 LETTER NUMBER EIGHT, 
 
 IN WHICH THE BROTHER REPLIES TO 
 
 SOME OF His SISTER'S STRICTURES 
 
 ON MEN. 
 
 Dear Man- Angry Kittens: 
 
 YOU certainly had your go at 
 men in your last letter, and 
 I couldn't help wondering 
 whether they or, perhaps, one in par- 
 ticular had ruffled your feathers in 
 some way. But let us see what made 
 you angry with them. 
 
 First, it was about Beekman Price 
 poor Beek! 
 
 "And what do you think, Lent ? Here 
 poor, dear Gladys Price is dead just 
 about a year, and that nasty husband 
 of hers, Beekman, with all his deep sor- 
 row (deep, indeed!), has gone and en- 
 
 123
 
 124 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 gaged himself to Claire Willets ! Now 
 Claire was one of Gladys's friends, and 
 she, of course, used to go in and out of 
 their house all the time. And in that 
 way Beekman got to know of her. But 
 what makes it so positively disgusting 
 to me is that Beekman must have been 
 in love with Claire while Gladys was 
 alive. For a man can't get over his sor- 
 row over the loss of his wife and fall 
 deeply enough in love with another girl 
 to ask her to marry him, all in one year ! 
 Surely you, dear Lent, won't say he can, 
 will you now? Of course not. It's 
 positively indecent, that's what I think !" 
 
 Come, now, Kittens, isn't "indecent" 
 a pretty strong word, and just because 
 Beek has "found himself again," fallen 
 in love with a girl and asked her to 
 marry him? 
 
 Now as a lawyer I should say that
 
 Letter Number Eight 125 
 
 your reasoning that Beek was in love 
 with Claire while Gladys was alive is 
 hardly good, and as a man I should say 
 it is well, plain rot! Beek isn't that 
 sort of chap, sister mine, and I think I 
 know him better than you do. Because 
 Beek is going to marry one of his first 
 wife's best chums is, to my mind, more 
 of a tribute to that wife than aught 
 else. And by what possible variety of 
 feminine logic do you arrive at such an 
 unjust conclusion as to a double affec- 
 tion on Beck's part? 
 
 Beek was honestly and devotedly in 
 love with Gladys, and when she was 
 alive he had no eyes or heart for Claire 
 or any other girl. His heart was full 
 and his happiness complete. He looked 
 upon Claire as Gladys's friend and as a 
 nice, companionable girl. I know, for 
 example, that when Gladys was very ill
 
 126 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 at the time her first baby was born, Beek 
 felt mighty grateful to Claire for the 
 way she sat up nights with Gladys and 
 wouldn't leave her. But there was no 
 love for her not the kind of love you 
 mean, at any rate, any more than he felt 
 that kind of love for Nell because she 
 was a brick in nursing Gladys when she 
 was thrown from her auto. But, bless 
 your heart, Kittens, a man doesn't love 
 every girl who is good to his wife or 
 who happens to be much in his house as 
 his wife's friend. 
 
 Then Gladys became ill, and Claire 
 was like a sister to her in her watchful- 
 ness and care during those weeks of 
 fever. And Beek was grateful to the 
 last degree to her: he'd have been a 
 brute if he wasn't. And when Gladys 
 died he felt as if he would never recover 
 from the shock, and he was honest in
 
 Letter Number Eight 127 
 
 that grief. Thunder, girl, don't I, who 
 was with him for nearly a week after- 
 ward, know that ? In love with Claire ? 
 My conscience, Kittens, Beek never 
 thought of her that way. 
 
 But then he pulled himself together. 
 He had to for the sake of his two little 
 ones if not for his own sake, and as the 
 days went on, the more the fact was 
 forced upon him that he was lonely as 
 lonely as only a man can be who has 
 enjoyed eight years of absolute happi- 
 ness is it any wonder that he turned 
 to Claire ? Who knew him better : who 
 knew his children better, who mothered 
 them, who undressed them at night 
 and dressed them in the morning, who 
 heard their little "Now I lay me down 
 to sleep," who was Gladys to them if 
 not Claire ? Claire loved those children 
 not only as such a real, womanly girl,
 
 128 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 with every instinct of motherhood in 
 her, as Claire is, but she loved them for 
 Gladys's sake. And I know from her 
 people what hard work they had to keep 
 her away from the little ones after 
 Gladys passed away. Her big, fine, 
 womanly heart just went out to those 
 two motherless kids. 
 
 Now I believe, Kittens, in the theory 
 that there is some indefinable some- 
 thing, I don't know what to call it, ex- 
 cept that I believe it is Divine, which 
 draws the right people together, and 
 that subtle chord was all the time draw- 
 ing Claire and Beek together. They 
 wanted each other, although neither one 
 of them really knew it. It happens, dear 
 sister, that I know more about this little 
 affair than you think, for when Beek 
 was here with me three months ago he 
 told me all about it, and you would be
 
 "Claire Loved Those Children for Gladys's Sake.
 
 Letter Number Eight 129 
 
 the first, Kittens, to cover that pretty 
 head of yours in shame, and cry out for 
 forgiveness at Beck's hands, if you 
 could have heard him speak of Gladys, 
 and have seen him actually fight against 
 the feeling that was slowly but surely 
 drawing him to Claire. I asked him 
 one evening, finally, why he seemed to 
 resist Claire: why he kept aloof from 
 her. 
 
 He said, "Lent, not for my sake, but 
 for Claire's sake. I know what people 
 will say, and I don't mind it so far as I 
 am concerned, for I know where I stand. 
 But there's Claire. She was as good as 
 gold to Gladys : she has been a mother 
 to the kids, and aside from the talk of 
 any second marriage on my part, there's 
 always the point to consider whether 
 Claire wouldn't think I married her out 
 of gratitude."
 
 130 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 "How about your own feelings for 
 Claire just in a general way, I mean, 
 old man ?" I asked him. 
 
 "There's no doubt of that," he said; 
 and I could see from his face there 
 wasn't, either. "Gladys taught me how 
 to love a woman, and I love Claire with 
 that ripeness of love, if you may call it 
 so, which a man must learn, and which 
 after years he gives to the woman who 
 has taught him. But, of course, she 
 isn't here," he concluded, and then he 
 stood looking for a full ten minutes in 
 my grate, and I smoked and said not a 
 word. 
 
 Finally I asked, "How about Claire, 
 old man? Got any line on her feel- 
 ings?" 
 
 "Not the first," he said. "I haven't 
 the faintest idea how she'd take it, and
 
 Letter Number Eight 131 
 
 I haven't tried to find out. It didn't 
 seem well, I didn't, that's all." 
 
 Well, we talked as two fellows can 
 who know each other pretty well, and it 
 was 'way into the night before we part- 
 ed. But we left with the idea that he 
 would see Claire and tell her frankly 
 how he felt, and leave it to her to decide. 
 I told him to let the talk that might fol- 
 low "go hang," as we men say. The 
 only thing he'd need to think of was 
 whether he was right, and then leave it 
 to Claire. And he did, and you know 
 the result. 
 
 So, Kittens, you see I was closer to 
 this matter than you knew, and that is 
 why I was a bit put out when your let- 
 ter came. Of course, now you will say, 
 "Forgive me, Lent: I didn't know." 
 But, honest, now, Kittens, wouldn't it 
 have been better to have withheld ex-
 
 132 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 pressing your judgment, even to your 
 brother, until you knew more ? 
 
 Besides, dear girl, why didn't you 
 make a fuss and pass immature judg- 
 ment on Del Farriman when she 
 married again a scant year after 
 George died? Instead of that, if I re- 
 member right, you girls trooped to her 
 house to congratulate her, and then to 
 her wedding! You said then, "Won't 
 it be fine for Del's boys to have a father 
 again!" Well, how about Beck's two 
 little girls? Don't they need a mother 
 just as much, or can little girls get along 
 better without a mother than boys can 
 without a father? 
 
 Thunder, if it comes to that, how 
 about May Cast ? She didn't wait even 
 a year, yet you girls flocked to her sec- 
 ond wedding! Is it more incumbent 
 upon a man to wear sackcloth and ashes
 
 Letter Number Eight 133 
 
 than for a woman? Where's your log- 
 ic, Kit? You say: 
 
 "I think second marriages are wrong, 
 don't you?" 
 
 No, I don't. I am in favor of a fourth 
 marriage if through it two people can 
 find their fullest happiness, and if with- 
 out it they fail of finding that. I want 
 my wife if ever I have one to marry 
 again if I should die before her, if the 
 right man comes along and she loves 
 him, and I would think she was foolish 
 if she failed to do so simply because of 
 my memory. I don't believe in that sort 
 of grief: generally it isn't real, and 
 where it is real it is unwise. A man can 
 be just as true to the memory of his first 
 wife in the happiness he finds in another 
 of her sex as by depriving himself of 
 that happiness. I know it sounds very 
 noble and beautiful, this mourning
 
 134 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 away one's life for a departed husband 
 or wife that is, in romances. But I'm 
 speaking now of what is healthiest and 
 best for us on this very practical planet 
 of ours. 
 
 I know a very fine chap here in New 
 York whose wife died ten years ago, 
 and he grieves as much for her today 
 as he did then. I can't help admire 
 and respect such a fellow and bow be- 
 fore such a grief. But all the same I 
 think it would be infinitely better for 
 him, and I know it would have been 
 better for his three little children, if he 
 had pulled himself together, fallen in 
 love with some good woman who would 
 have made him happy and given his 
 children the joy of a mother's presence 
 and influence in their home and lives. 
 
 Now, as to your second grievance 
 over men:
 
 Letter Number Eight 135 
 
 "Fancy the latest! Joyce Peck has 
 asked to be divorced from Clara! 
 There's a man for you ! A beast, I say. 
 Poor Clara! She has given her best 
 years to that brute; has borne him his 
 children ; and now that her freshness is 
 gone he's through with her and casts 
 her off, and wants to marry that snip 
 of a Grace Ford ! That's manhood !" 
 
 Not quite so fast, Kittens, dear. That 
 type of man does exist, and no one can 
 loathe him more than I do, Sis; but it 
 so happens that Joyce is not of that 
 stripe. 
 
 I can't say I admire Joyce tre- 
 mendously, and it is not for me to com- 
 ment upon this step of his, since our Cin- 
 cinnati firm has his case. But, good sis- 
 ter of mine, there's another side to that 
 story, too. There always is, you know 
 even to a lawsuit, unwilling as one
 
 136 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 might be to think so after hearing some 
 lawyers plead for their clients. 
 
 Joyce is not a society man: he is a 
 student too much of a student, I think, 
 for his own good. The only things he 
 knows, during the evenings, are his 
 books and his engineering maps. But 
 Clara knew this when she married him, 
 for he has not changed a particle, and 
 instead of trying to draw him out of his 
 shell she left him to withdraw into it 
 deeper, while she went off cantering 
 here and there nearly every evening. Of 
 course, to such a state of affairs there 
 is generally only one end. Now, I don't 
 excuse Joyce, except that Clara said 
 when she married him she was going 
 to settle down, since Joyce told her that 
 his work wouldn't permit his doing the 
 society act. But she didn't settle down : 
 hers isn't the nature that settles. She's
 
 Letter Number Eight 137 
 
 a butterfly who flits here and there: 
 likes the lights, and the band playing. 
 Joyce saw his home at sixes and sevens, 
 with his wife going out to dinner nearly 
 every evening, and no one to talk to 
 about his problems. There was no 
 evening lamp in that house, Kittens, and 
 no hearthstone, and where those two 
 vital elements in a home are lacking 
 well, look out for squalls ! 
 
 Now, a man needs a woman's sym- 
 pathy in his work if he is going to do 
 things in the world (yes, it is I that say 
 it as perhaps shouldn't!), and if he can't 
 get that sympathy from his wife in his 
 home, where he has a right to find it 
 and get it, mark me, he's going to get 
 it elsewhere. And "elsewhere" in 
 Joyce's case was Grace Ford a "snip" 
 in your eyes, but an all-fired clever girl, 
 full of initiative, a fertile mind, and just
 
 138 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 the girl for Joyce to talk his work over 
 with and get sympathy and help. The 
 point is there: Joyce should have mar- 
 ried Grace Ford. But he didn't know 
 her when he could have married her, 
 and Clara was foolish enough to let him 
 find her out. And there's where I blame 
 Clara or any other wife who lets a hus- 
 band find out a woman who is better 
 qualified to help him than she is. If she 
 isn't so well qualified she ought to make 
 herself so, and this Clara could have 
 done, for she has brains only she was 
 after a life of pleasure. Well, she's 
 had it. 
 
 So you see, Kittens, there's much in 
 everything: it all depends on how you 
 look at it. There's one thing for you, 
 and a good many of your girl friends, 
 to guard against in such matters as 
 these, and that is a snap judgment.
 
 Letter Number Eight 139 
 
 Always wait until you know both sides 
 of a question. That's a lawyer's train- 
 ing, and it would be a mighty good thing 
 if it were in the curriculum of every 
 school and college in the land. 
 
 I am not excusing men : I am not de- 
 fending them. One point let me make 
 clear to you : There are scores of cases 
 of second marriages and divorces 
 where the men are to blame, where they 
 trample under their dirty feet the love 
 and sacrifice of some sweet, pure girl 
 who has given all she had to give them. 
 There are men walking this beautiful 
 earth of ours who have no business to 
 walk it. But that's God's business, Sis ; 
 not yours nor mine. I am simply stand- 
 ing up for the best there is in men : not 
 their worst. They have a best side 
 that side is generally developed by the 
 love of a woman ; and I am always for
 
 140 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 giving the devil his due. Man is not 
 an angel, but there's no use in painting 
 him blacker than he is, and my rule is 
 with man, as with woman: Believe the 
 best of him always until the other has 
 been proven. But be sure that the other 
 is proven first: that is, by cold, hard 
 facts, and not by hearsay, gossip or cir- 
 cumstantial evidence. These latter, 
 Sis, have condemned many an innocent 
 man and woman, and have also hanged 
 a few! 
 
 But honestly, Kittens, why all this 
 sudden fuss on your part about men 
 marrying a second time and "casting 
 off" their wives ? Do you already hear 
 the tread of another woman's walk on 
 your grave, or see yourself displaced? 
 Rather premature, isn't it? since you 
 are not married not even engaged! 
 Or are you thinking about both : honest,
 
 Letter Number Eight 141 
 
 now ? If not, why these thoughts man- 
 ward and marriageward ? That's 
 what's puzzling 
 
 Your wondering, but loving 
 
 LENT.
 
 LETTER NUMBER NINE.
 
 LETTER NUMBER NINE, 
 
 IN WHICH THE BROTHER TELLS OF 
 THE HIGH OPINION HE HAS OF 
 THE MAN His SISTER Is EN- 
 GAGED TO MARRY. 
 
 You Dear, Happy Kittens: 
 
 SO YOU found out at last the way 
 the wind was blowing with Ned 
 and you are "simply delirious- 
 ly, intoxicatingly happy." Of course 
 you are, Sis, and I didn't need your tele- 
 gram or your twelve-page letter to tell 
 me, either. I knew you would be, for 
 now you know what I knew all along 
 ever since Ned made a clean breast of 
 it to me a year ago. In fact, I knew it 
 before that from him, although he 
 didn't say a word. But it gave me a 
 splendid chance to get used to the idea 
 
 145
 
 146 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 of losing my sister. Yes, I know you 
 say in your letter, "We'll always be the 
 same." But we won't, Sis, just the 
 same. It is Ned now Ned, Ned, Ned. 
 Did you realize that in your twelve-page 
 letter you mentioned him just eighty- 
 one times: only seven times on each 
 sheet? (Ned's letter, by-the-way, was 
 a little more restrained: he only men- 
 tioned you sixty-nine times in eleven 
 pages! That's what I call self-poise!) 
 It's all right, dear: only from now on 
 it's Ned first and Lent second. And it 
 ought to be. I'm going to be "the con- 
 venient brother"! Well, that's a good 
 role, and I'll try to play it to the Queen's 
 taste Ned's "Queen," I mean, for in 
 his letter you were his "Queen" six 
 times. There were a few "darling 
 girls," "best girl in the worlds," "a girl 
 with a marvelously fine conception of
 
 Letter Number Nine 147 
 
 things," but the "Queens" had it! 
 Well, he's partly right about you, and 
 you are partly right about him. Wait 
 a minute, Sis, wait a minute ! My con- 
 science, no! I don't mean the slightest 
 disrespect to Ned not a whit. My 
 forehead touches the floor this instant! 
 But you see, Kittens, I've known Ned 
 pretty well: no other chap knows bet- 
 ter what a fine fellow he is: only, just 
 now well, you see, if he were all you 
 picture him he'd simply be divine, you 
 know. 
 
 And if he were divine you couldn't 
 live with him that is, not comfort- 
 ably, you know. He's all you say 
 he is and more. And that "more" 
 you'll find out when he's your husband 
 (pretty blush, Kittens, just as pretty as 
 it could be). Then you'll see Ned for 
 what he is : " not out of the eyes of "de-
 
 148 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 lirious" happiness, but out of the eyes 
 of experience. For you know, Kittens 
 dear ( although, come to think of it, you 
 don't), men are just a little different 
 after marriage from what they are be- 
 fore. Some are different, and not for 
 the better: some are otherwise. And 
 Ned is one of the otherwise kind. I 
 know him pretty well : I've seen him in 
 some pretty tight places, but I never 
 saw him "duck" yet. Ned never 
 "shone" in the way that some of the 
 fellows did who were forever hanging 
 around you at your beck and call, and 
 always on the spot when you dropped 
 that inevitable handkerchief that a girl 
 never seems to be able to put where it 
 won't drop! He's not one of the bril- 
 liant sort: he's not what we men call 
 a "shiner." But you'll always know 
 where to find Ned, and that will be a very
 
 Letter Number Nine 149 
 
 comfortable feeling for you in your life 
 with him. He will wear well! Balzac 
 hits off you two very well when he says : 
 "To be happy with one you love you 
 must have opposite characters and 
 identical tastes." The "opposite char- 
 acter" part comes in that Ned being so 
 much older will have the wisdom born 
 of experience the only wisdom worth 
 having. He's ten years older than you 
 are, and that is a good, safe difference, 
 for a man doesn't know much (although 
 he thinks he does) before he is thirty- 
 two. And it's a good age from your 
 side, for to be as young as a man a 
 woman should be at least six years 
 younger, and, to my mind, ten is even 
 better. 
 
 I remember how fearful he was 
 when he spoke about you to me that his 
 moderate income would influence you to
 
 150 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 be nothing but a sister to him! But I 
 told him he was dead wrong there, al- 
 though I notice it took him a year, all 
 the same, to screw up his courage and 
 believe me right. I gave him a long 
 talk on this : that he mustn't get the no- 
 tion in his head that you expected to 
 start with him where you'd leave off 
 with the Governor ! But he was full of 
 the comforts that surrounded you, and 
 all that, and three months after our first 
 talk he came to me with exactly the same 
 fear, picking up our argument just 
 where we left it the first time. Was it 
 fair to you, and so forth, and so forth ? 
 If he hadn't been in such dead earnest 
 I would have laughed at him. I told 
 him his two thousand a year was better 
 for both of you than the Governor's two 
 hundred thousand. It would compel 
 you to start just as the Governor did
 
 Letter Number Nine 151 
 
 with the mater, in a small cottage, and 
 that you'd get together, as did they, in 
 a way that nothing else can bring two 
 people together. You would have 
 something to strive for: to save for, 
 and, after all, it's self-denial and sacri- 
 fice that bring people really together. 
 I told him that it was an old-fashioned 
 idea, but I knew that idea was in your 
 heart as it is in the heart of every girl 
 of the right sort who loves a chap. 
 
 You'll have the time of your lives in 
 your little home, beginning with little 
 and growing into things as they come 
 to you. For grow you two will. Ned 
 is not the sort of a chap to stand still. 
 I know he has the confidence of the best 
 business men of Cincinnati, and that is 
 a starting-point for a chap second to 
 none. I remember last spring hearing 
 a lot of men at the Merchants' Club
 
 152 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 talking about Ned, and I realized then 
 that their eyes were on him, and, more 
 than that, they had confidence in him. 
 Other chaps have said to me: "Ned 
 hasn't done much," but they forget that 
 it is sometimes what a man doesn't do 
 as often as what he does do that attracts 
 the attention of men. When these very 
 same fellows who spoke of Ned were 
 bowling in their autos, or having a 
 game of one hundred points of billiards 
 at the club at noon, Ned was working 
 away for dear life. I remember trying 
 him one day. "Come on, Ned," I said 
 after lunch, "let's have a turn at bil- 
 liards." "No, thanks, old man, not 
 now," he replied; "I'll play you this 
 evening if you wish," and although I 
 urged him and made rather light of his 
 getting back to the office, and although 
 he had every reason to stand well with
 
 Letter Number Nine 153 
 
 me as the brother of his "beloved," 
 there was "nothing doing !" Twice after 
 that I tried to lure him from his work 
 in daylight hours, but I might just as 
 well have tried to move the Flatiron 
 Building. Now that's the stuff, shown 
 in little things, that men are made of. 
 
 Now, don't show Ned this letter, and 
 I'll tell you a story about him. You 
 know, of course, he was doing musical 
 work for "The News" in his college 
 days. Well, one day the owner of the 
 paper called him, and told him a certain 
 artist was to appear that evening for 
 the first time in a public concert; that 
 this artist was a friend of his family, 
 particularly of his wife, and that he 
 wanted some nice things said of her in 
 the paper next morning. The next day 
 the paper contained a fulsome notice of 
 the young singer, and old called
 
 154 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 Ned into his office when he reported 
 that afternoon for assignments, and 
 acknowledged the notice. 
 
 "I didn't write it, Mr. ," said 
 
 Ned. 
 
 "How was that?" asked the old 
 gentleman. 
 
 "I couldn't, Mr. ," replied Ned. 
 
 "I should have gone to that concert 
 lacking the one thing that a critic should 
 have when he goes to hear or see what- 
 ever he is to criticise: the right to say 
 what he honestly thinks." 
 
 I heard about this incident from the 
 old man's secretary, not from Ned, and 
 he told me how the old man grunted 
 with disgust and turned to his desk. 
 Ned went to the managing editor, ten- 
 dered his resignation, and the next day 
 the old man sent for him, asked him to 
 remain, and tendered him the position
 
 Letter Number Nine 155 
 
 of regular musical critic of the paper if 
 he would leave college. Now Ned need- 
 ed the money sorely, as I happened to 
 know, but he refused, saying that his 
 college course meant more for him than 
 any position on the paper. But I knew 
 Ned well enough to know that no 
 amount of dollars could have induced 
 him to work for a man who had, even 
 for a single time, so forgotten his own 
 self-respect and the honor of his paper, 
 and had failed to give Ned credit for 
 either. A year after that I was talking 
 to the old man, and I mentioned Ned 
 and this incident to him. He turned to 
 me like a flash, and his keen gray eyes 
 fairly snapped as he said : "Carson, I'd 
 give half my interest in the paper to 
 have on my staff six men like that. 
 They would make 'The News' the great- 
 est power in New England."
 
 156 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 Now that's the way Ned has done 
 things right along, and in his law prac- 
 tice he has stood for the same ster- 
 ling honesty, never swerving a hair's 
 breadth. I know of two bully good cases 
 I mean now from the financial side 
 that he could have had, in fact he was 
 urged to take, and they would have 
 meant big money to him. But he didn't 
 like the looks of the cases, didn't have 
 confidence in the firms that wanted to 
 retain him, and he declined and stood 
 pat. All this is in line for a success that 
 may come slower, but when it does come 
 it sticks, and that's the kind of a success 
 that Ned is building up. 
 
 You're safe with such a chap safer 
 than with any other man I know 
 of. Ned's morals are clean and his 
 hands are clean, and I don't know a fel- 
 low in all my circle of friends who has
 
 Letter Number Nine 157 
 
 ideals that are high and yet so possible 
 for every man to attain. I grant you 
 Ned isn't much as looks go: he will 
 never cut much of a figure in the dance, 
 but he's all there when it comes to the 
 things that count, and that is what my 
 sister, and any other fellow's sister, 
 wants in a man, if only more girls had 
 the sense to see it and know it. 
 
 I'm prouder of you than ever, Kit- 
 tens, proud that my sister measured 
 up to my standard of her and had the 
 good sense to turn from the chaps that 
 hovered around her and gave the most 
 precious feeling that a girl can give a 
 fellow to the right chap. I never doubt- 
 ed you for an instant, although I con- 
 fess once in a while the rumors I heard 
 and read about you in "The Enquirer" 
 annoyed me. But I always clung to the 
 belief that my sister was true gold, and
 
 158 Her Brother's Letters 
 
 that when the time came her true na- 
 ture would lead her to give her heart 
 to the one who deserved it and who has 
 the love and the consideration to take 
 care of it and the life that goes with it. 
 God bless you, Sis, and remember your 
 old-time chum and brother asks you, as 
 one of his last words, to take these little 
 lines into your married life. You can 
 live by them, Kittens : 
 
 "In essentials, unity. 
 
 In non-essentials, liberty. 
 
 In all things, charity." 
 I'll wire you what train I'll come on 
 next week. Meantime, kiss the mater 
 for me, and tell the Governor that I'm 
 with him heart and soul when he said 
 to you : "Kittens, you'll bring me a son 
 I'll be proud of," although it looked a bit 
 queer on paper when I first read it ! Tell 
 Nell she and I will keep each other com-
 
 Letter Number Nine 159 
 
 pany in our single blessedness ( ! ) over 
 the chessboard while you and Ned are 
 well, fill it in yourself for 
 
 Your joyful and devoted 
 
 LENT.
 
 THE SISTER'S ANSWER TO HER 
 BROTHER'S LETTERS.
 
 THE SISTER'S ANSWER TO HER 
 BROTHER'S LETTERS, 
 
 IN WHICH "KITTENS/' Now MRS. ED- 
 WARD KING, TELLS How SHE LIKED 
 WHAT HER BROTHER WROTE HER. 
 
 You Dear Old Lent: 
 
 I WISH that I had you here this min- 
 ute that I might give you a good 
 bear's hug and tell you how dearly 
 I love you and how truly I thank you 
 for your wise and kind guidance of this 
 silly, scatterbrained little sister ! 
 
 The reason for this violent attack of 
 affection is the fact that I have been re- 
 reading your letters to me, written be- 
 fore I was married. I came upon the 
 packet, duly tied up and labeled "Lent's 
 Preachments," when sorting over an 
 old catch-all trunk. I sat right down on 
 163
 
 1 64 The Sister's Answer to 
 
 the floor then and there and read every 
 word of them. It was quite a different 
 girl, Lent dear, who read them today 
 from the one who first received them. 
 I was indignant then all the more so 
 that I had to fight my own inner con- 
 sciousness (it kept sneaking in the 
 thought that you were right) and Nell's 
 gentle championship of your wider ex- 
 perience and disinterested love for me 
 for Nell always sees your side of every 
 subject, I happen to notice. I called you 
 "poky" and old-fashioned, over-par- 
 ticular, extreme. 
 
 You know, dear, that girls like above 
 all things to do as the others do and 
 what a tremendous influence their ex- 
 amples have upon each other they have 
 little idea! and all the girls did wear 
 low-necked gowns to dances, and as 
 long as the bodices were perfectly mod-
 
 o 
 
 to
 
 Her Brother's Letters 165 
 
 est in cut I could see no harm in them. 
 But after your letter came I could not 
 do it. I was not convinced that you 
 were right, but when the girls wondered 
 and questioned about why I did not do 
 as the rest did I quoted your arguments 
 and in defense of you I converted 
 myself. 
 
 Do you remember the lawyer who 
 was suddenly asked: "Are you always 
 of your own opinion?" And he an- 
 swered, laughing at himself: "Yes, 
 when I begin to talk." That was my 
 case. I could not resist my own elo- 
 quence. 
 
 To tell the truth, I found that a white 
 gown with lace filling in the space from 
 the edge of the low-cut bodice to the 
 throat was really most becoming but 
 when I had a perfect dream of a frock 
 that looked as though a softly blushing
 
 1 66 The Sister's Answer to 
 
 pink rose had obligingly turned into a 
 gown, and my glass told me flattering 
 things, I was really cross for a little 
 about having to fill in the neck with 
 white and spoil the rose effect. I was 
 going to the Beekmans', too, where I 
 knew that I should see Ned. Suddenly 
 it occurred to me to use fine pink tulle 
 instead of white; and, gathered in 
 lightly, leaving the tiniest of Vs front 
 and back, it was extremely becoming 
 "though I say it myself as shouldn't." 
 
 Judge of my delight when Ned said 
 the other day that he had been building 
 barriers about his heart to defend it 
 from me for some time, but that the 
 evening at the Beekmans' "finished" 
 him, adding please believe that I am 
 blushing, Lent "It was not that you 
 were a perfect vision of loveliness you 
 were always that in my thoughts, but
 
 Her Brother's Letters 167 
 
 that veil thing over your neck seemed 
 to proclaim you the most modest, wom- 
 anly, refined ideal of girls, and there 
 was nothing left of me that was not 
 adoring you. By Jove, Kittens ! a girl 
 should seem like one of those exquisite 
 lilies, such as we see at Easter, just the 
 incarnation of purity and sweetness, if 
 she would occupy the shrine that a fel- 
 low keeps for the woman he hopes to 
 have for his wife some day." 
 
 That is the sort of girl I dream of 
 now, Lent, when I think of my blessed 
 roly-poly baby-girl growing into maid- 
 enhood. Jimmineddy ! how much high- 
 er our ideals are when we fit them on to 
 those whom we love very tenderly! I 
 think the best model a girl could follow 
 would be her ideal of what she would 
 wish her own daughter to be. One does 
 not have to be a mother to know such
 
 1 68 The Sister's Answer to 
 
 things. Every woman is a mother at 
 heart. 
 
 Have you noticed that I wrote three 
 whole pages without once mentioning 
 Ned's name ? 
 
 So remarkable a phenomenon could 
 occur only because that young man is 
 sitting at the table by my side, poring 
 over some old law-papers that he had 
 to bring home, lacking time enough at 
 the office, and I thought the best way to 
 secure him from interruption and me 
 from temptation was for me to write 
 to you. 
 
 I wanted to "talk back" after reading 
 your letters to that silly girl who did not 
 know how to appreciate them. 
 
 I lingered long over your second let- 
 ter. Do you remember it? The one 
 wherein you gave that dreadful picture 
 of the girls' disgusting conduct toward
 
 Her Brother's Letters 169 
 
 their matinee idol. It was revolting! 
 and I wish every girl in the land could 
 read that letter. 
 
 You don't think for a minute, I hope, 
 dear, that your sister could have acted 
 in the way you so graphically describe ! 
 I might have been on the outer fringe 
 of the crowd, but never, oh never, any 
 nearer but to be seen there at all would 
 have been a disgrace that your warning 
 kept me from. Ned says that "when a 
 woman throws herself at a man's feet 
 one kind of male creature steps on her, 
 using her as a pedestal for his vanity; 
 the better sort of fellow is disgusted and 
 pained that anything of the same sex 
 as those whom he loves and honors 
 should so cheapen herself." 
 
 He once knew a man who was pretty 
 well acquainted with a popular actor, 
 and the actor said that nearly every mail
 
 170 The Sister's Answer to 
 
 brought him an effusion from some hys- 
 terical girl, adding, "I rarely read them. 
 I hand them over to my wife they 
 amuse her some of them would make 
 you seasick!" 
 
 What a boon it would be if girls could 
 occasionally know how men regard 
 things, to see their conduct from a 
 man's point of view if the criticism 
 could be kindly, and not directed too 
 pointedly at their own particular foibles 
 and follies at the moment that they are 
 bent upon committing them in short, 
 if every girl could have a dear, fussy 
 old brother Lent, just like mine! 
 
 Especially valuable would it be when 
 a girl wants to find out about her men 
 friends. 
 
 Only men are really competent to 
 judge men, just as girls are the best 
 judges of girls. If a girl is a favor-
 
 Her Brother's Letters 171 
 
 ite with her own sex you may be sure 
 she is the right sort. 
 
 What a service you did for dear Nell ! 
 Fancy such a splendid girl sacrificed 
 for life to that cad! 
 
 Oh, how I laughed as I reread the 
 letter which recalled my literary aspira- 
 tions as a club-woman! I was so 
 pleased with myself, and so in love with 
 my fine phrases in the paper that I was 
 to read before the august body of "The 
 Tuesday Club." 
 
 I had been trembling in my boots at 
 the prospect of facing all those women 
 and your letter just pricked the bubble 
 of my vanity and I had no courage left, 
 so my words of weighty wisdom were 
 lost to the world ! 
 
 As I was only a spectator after that, 
 and had abandoned all idea of taking 
 any active part, I was "at leisure from
 
 172 The Sister's Answer to 
 
 myself" to observe the others. The 
 whole business had not the true ring, 
 Lent there was no sincerity and sim- 
 plicity in it. They all posed as being 
 clever, and those who were really clever 
 were too self-conscious. 
 
 These meteors had each a group of 
 satellites I'm afraid my astronomy is 
 getting a little mixed, but never mind 
 who applauded everything they said, but 
 there was more or less rivalry and jeal- 
 ousy. Somehow the clever ones were 
 not liked so well as those who made no 
 pretensions and were just kind and 
 commonplace. For all were not kind: 
 I heard a good many "catty" remarks, 
 and I am glad that you saved me from 
 their uncharity. 
 
 The "pose" deceived me at first. One 
 woman read a paper on "Ideals" which 
 opened like this: "You are all doubtless
 
 Her Brother's Letters 173 
 
 familiar with Plato's immortal definition 
 that the ideal is the archetypal essence of 
 all things, subsumed under one concept" 
 and all around the room I saw self- 
 satisfied smirks and glances inter- 
 changed. I felt so out of it. I could 
 not even remember the first word of the 
 "immortal definition," and taking my 
 courage in both hands I asked the lady, 
 when she had finished reading her 
 paper, to repeat it to me. I wrote it 
 down and learned it, or I could not quote 
 it now to save my life ! 
 
 I belong to a little club here, of six 
 or eight women, who meet once a fort- 
 night at the hour for afternoon tea at 
 each other's houses. 
 
 There are no rules. We just agreed 
 among ourselves that anything interest- 
 ing or helpful that we have learned from 
 our reading, experience or contact with
 
 174 The Sister's Answer to 
 
 others we will share when we meet. 
 Naturally it is a stimulus to read and 
 observe. 
 
 We talk quite naturally of that which 
 interests us, and welcome more warmly 
 anything that has to do with our babies, 
 our housekeeping or home-making than 
 we do any other helpful suggestion. 
 
 The best sign is that we grow more 
 and more fond of each other and feel 
 that we are forming lifelong friend- 
 ships. 
 
 I bring home to Ned all that I have 
 heard, and I am glad to have fresh ma- 
 terial for his entertainment or even 
 his amusement for he sometimes 
 laughs at us a little in his dear, kindly 
 way. 
 
 You would have laughed if you could 
 have known the effect upon me of read- 
 ing your letter about dancing this after-
 
 Her Brother's Letters 175 
 
 noon. All your criticisms at first scarce- 
 ly reached my consciousness, but the 
 letter stirred delightful memories and 
 roused the desire to dance, to feel my 
 feet twinkling once more in time to that 
 dear, delightful music ! It was like the 
 smell of powder to an old war-horse. 
 
 When Ned came in this evening the 
 spell was still upon me and T just seized 
 him and waltzed him around and 
 around our wee parlor to the accom- 
 paniment of his panting whistle and my 
 dulcet tones, until we stopped for lack 
 of breath. 
 
 He is such a dear he fell in with my 
 mood as readily as though not my 
 wishes only but my very feelings ani- 
 mated his actions. It is the "little things 
 all the time" that prove love and make 
 happiness. 
 
 I think you are quite right about the
 
 176 The Sister's Answer to 
 
 lack of grace in the manner of holding 
 a partner that some men have ; but lack 
 of grace is not the worst thing. There 
 are some men who hold one too tightly. 
 
 Mother told me that if dropping my 
 han$ down between my partner and my- 
 self, instead of placing it on the man's 
 arm, was not a sufficient hint, I could be 
 sure that his action was not from in- 
 advertence and I should stop dancing 
 at once on some pretext so transparent 
 as to show that it was a pretext and I 
 was displeased. It never happened but 
 once. 
 
 I think as you do about the two-step. 
 It is a romp, not a dance. But, do you 
 know, there are times when a girl feels 
 as though she had springs in her heels 
 and she wants to romp? But waltzing 
 is the very poetry of motion. I scarcely 
 remembered whom I was dancing with
 
 Her Brother's Letters 177 
 
 unless it was Ned, and he rarely went 
 to dances. 
 
 Your letter spoke of the minuet. It 
 is beautiful to watch, but it belongs to a 
 more stately and more artificial time 
 than ours, I am afraid. Still, why it is 
 not revived I can't for the life of me 
 imagine. I was reading about old 
 dances recently the pavane and the 
 sarabande and I learned to my sur- 
 prise that it was customary for the cav- 
 alier to "salute" the lady upon leaving 
 her by way of recognition for the pleas- 
 ure exchanged; and certain stately 
 dances were punctuated at intervals 
 with such salutes, not only on the hand 
 but on the cheek as well ! 
 
 What kind of letters do you think the 
 Lents of that period wrote to their sis- 
 ters when the custom first came in? 
 
 It is true, what you said about not
 
 178 The Sister's Answer to 
 
 meeting the nicest men at dances the 
 earnest fellows who mean to make their 
 way to the top. The late hours are hard 
 on them and women are stupid not to 
 adapt the hours of their entertainments 
 to the needs and pleasures of those 
 whom they are trying to please. 
 
 I used to get quite tired and sleepy 
 and waste all the evening at home just 
 waiting for the time to come to go to a 
 dance. The "Cinderella" dance was a 
 good idea. 
 
 The letter that really pleased me when 
 I got it was the one about the kind of 
 girls men really like. For, do you know 
 that you sketched a portrait to the life 
 of guess who ? Nell, and no mistake ! 
 
 Did you "look into your heart and 
 write," as young authors are told to do, 
 fair sir? 
 
 Ah, if you and Nell could only over-
 
 Her Brother's Letters 179 
 
 hear my prayers you might "learn some- 
 thing to your advantage," as the news- 
 paper "personals" say just a little sug- 
 gestion that might set you thinking 
 you dear, stupid old Lent ! 
 
 But to go back to generalities. It is 
 true that girls are dense about the ways 
 that please men. They must judge us 
 from "straws," though it is not always 
 fair. When a girl is considerate of a 
 fellow's time, strength, and pocket, 
 when she puts herself in real sympathy 
 with him, his interests, aims, ambitions, 
 is tender in speaking of the sorrows and 
 misfortunes of others it all tells, and 
 is very "beguiling," as Ned says. 
 
 No really sensible girls mind going to 
 the theatre in a street car. They do it 
 every day, but they are thoughtless or 
 feel awkward in suggesting it, fearing 
 to imply to the young man that his
 
 i8o The Sister's Answer to 
 
 pocketbook is too light for even so small 
 an expense. 
 
 Girls are often lots better than they 
 seem. They are only silly and a little 
 stupid. Love acts upon them like spring 
 sunshine on the earth all sorts of beau- 
 tiful things appear. 
 
 I, being a married woman, while I 
 have not yet forgotten how to be a girl 
 and know how girls feel, and yet with 
 the advantage of the confidential, dis- 
 interested advice and the point of view 
 of two of the best and manliest men that 
 God ever made that's one for you, 
 Lent ! I am going to use my influence 
 to "coach" the girls of my acquaintance 
 and tell them a few things that I have 
 learned. 
 
 I feel now just as I do when I lift my 
 chiffon veil and everything is clear to 
 my eyes that was a little misty and un-
 
 Her Brother's Letters 181 
 
 certain before. That is one effect that 
 marriage seems to have. I think young 
 married women might do a lot of good 
 to the girls whom they know if they 
 tried. 
 
 But oh, Lent, of all that precious 
 batch of letters the last was the best! 
 It was a beautiful letter, and I shall 
 keep it as long as I live. Did Ned really 
 mention my name sixty-nine times in his 
 letter to you, and call me all those lovely 
 things? I am so glad! It is nice to 
 have them on record, and I am going 
 to put that especial letter with those that 
 Ned has written me. Is not that an 
 honor? and some day perhaps I shall 
 read them to my daughter, when the 
 right love comes into her life bless her ! 
 Indeed, I shall keep all your letters and 
 read them to her as a help in instilling
 
 1 82 The Sister's Answer to 
 
 the right ideas and making her like the 
 fair lily of her Daddy's ideal. 
 
 All that you say of Ned is perfectly 
 true, and far, far more. For sheer lov- 
 ableness he is unsurpassable. He is not 
 just what I thought him but thanks be 
 to the Providence that watches over 
 thoughtless girls' happiness, he is so 
 much better, finer, nobler, everything! 
 He has the caretaking, provident, pur- 
 poseful, steady nature that my happy- 
 go-lucky nature needs as a balance- 
 wheel. 
 
 You say that Ned is not much to look 
 at. I don't know what you mean by 
 that. He certainly has the most ex- 
 pressive eyes I ever saw in my life 
 and don't you think he has a perfectly 
 fascinating smile? I do. As for his 
 nose, its very imperfection gives char-
 
 Her Brother's Letters 183 
 
 acter to his face. I don't care for 
 "handsome men" ; they seem a bit wom- 
 anish. 
 
 As for pecuniary matters could 
 mortal woman want anything lovelier 
 than this wee cottage of ours! Every 
 article in it has a pleasant history or 
 suggestion. I have everything I want, 
 and I just love to make every dollar do 
 its full duty for Ned's sake and Baby's ! 
 Why, when I show him something that 
 I have made over or bought at little ex- 
 pense, he thinks I am a perfect wonder. 
 I would not exchange the approval I see 
 in his eyes for a carte blanche order on 
 Worth! The old proverb says, "Con- 
 tent is rich" ; I am therefore fabulously 
 wealthy, for I don't want any more. Of 
 course, as time goes on I hope to add 
 little touches here and there to the home
 
 1 84 The Sister's Answer 
 
 nest. Meantime I am "as happy as the 
 day is long." 
 
 Next month, as you may know, father 
 and mother are coming to make us a 
 bit of a visit, and my head is full of 
 pleasant plans and Ned is through his 
 work and I must stop No need to apol- 
 ogize you always understand. 
 
 Good-by, dear, and God bless you ! 
 Your truly loving 
 
 KITTENS.
 
 ONE OF KITTENS'S LETTERS TO 
 HER BROTHER.
 
 ONE OF KITTENS'S LETTERS TO 
 HER BROTHER, 
 
 IN WHICH SHE TELLS HER BROTHER 
 How NED PROPOSED TO HER. 
 
 My Dear, Dear Lent: 
 "VWyHAT will you think of your 
 \ft/ little sister? And yet you 
 knew all the time where 
 Ned's interest was. Everybody seems 
 to have known except myself. I never 
 thought it was / he cared for. How 
 shall I tell you about it in any straight 
 sort of fashion? My pen wants to 
 hurry and tell everything all at once. 
 What possessed me I don't know. We 
 were alone in the library last evening 
 when I finished my letter to you. Ned 
 came in early in the evening and 
 brought me a new magazine to read; 
 
 187
 
 1 88 One of Kittens's Letters 
 
 he has quite often come in when I am 
 writing to you, but won't let me stop 
 writing to entertain him. 
 
 Nell frequently brings her writing 
 down to the library, too, and often we 
 spend the whole evening in golden si- 
 lence, we girls writing letters and Ned 
 reading or sitting by the open fire. 
 
 Last evening father and mother were 
 both away and I was alone. I got so 
 interested in my letter to you that I 
 nearly forgot Ned, who was not reading 
 at all, but sitting in a comfortable chair 
 by the fire, watching the cat, I supposed. 
 I asked him if he wasn't, and he said, 
 "No, it was Kittens he was looking at." 
 Saucy boy, wasn't he, brother? Well, 
 Lent, when I got my letter finished, just 
 for the fun of the thing I carried it over 
 to Ned and asked him if he didn't want 
 to read it. I have read him parts of
 
 To Her Brother 189 
 
 your letters to me, and have once or 
 twice let him read letters that I have 
 written you. He took the letter and 
 went over to the desk while I sat down 
 by the fire. 
 
 I guess he must have read it through 
 a dozen times it took him a fearfully 
 long time. He looked pretty sober once 
 or twice when I looked at him, and then 
 I began to get a bit scared and to won- 
 der what sort of letter I had written, 
 anyway. What made you ask me such 
 a question, and why did I write you a 
 letter about the kind of man I wanted to 
 marry. Remember, Lent, you prom- 
 ised not to show that letter to any one. 
 Think of my letting Ned read it! It 
 was just one of my quick impulses when 
 I didn't stop to think. 
 
 Oh, Lent, brother, I thought of all 
 sorts of things while I was waiting for
 
 190 One of Kittens's Letters 
 
 him, and my heart was doing double- 
 quick all the time. I wanted to run 
 away, and I promised Kittens a good 
 thumping when I got her upstairs alone. 
 Ned has been so good to me and I have 
 bothered him so often; honestly, Lent, 
 I began to be most awfully ashamed of 
 myself for letting him read that letter, 
 and I even determined not to send it to 
 you. Finally I couldn't stand things 
 any longer, and went over to the desk 
 and took the letter away from him and 
 said with a laugh : "I didn't suppose it 
 was so uninteresting as that; it has 
 nearly put you to sleep. Do you sup- 
 pose my letters have that same effect on 
 Lent?" 
 
 He smiled a bit, but didn't answer 
 me, so, of course, I had to keep talking 
 to make up for what he didn't say. I 
 have forgotten what I said or tried to
 
 To Her Brother 191 
 
 say, and, anyway, it didn't amount to 
 much. 
 
 Then he turned off the light by the 
 desk and we went over by the open fire 
 and sat down. 
 
 I started to sit on a cushion on the 
 floor in my usual comfortable and baby- 
 ish fashion, but suddenly remembered 
 that it wasn't company manners, and so 
 got a rocking-chair. I tried to do some 
 more talking, to fill in the silent places, 
 but Ned wouldn't say anything, so final- 
 ly I got quieted down, too. 
 
 "Shall we discuss your letter now," 
 he said, "just as we have the other let- 
 ters you have let me read?" Then, 
 brother, I got contrary and said, "No, 
 let's not talk anything about it. I don't 
 believe I shall send it to Lent, anyway. 
 I wish I hadn't let you see it." 
 
 He didn't say anything more about it,
 
 192 One of Kittens's Letters 
 
 and I went and got some marshmallows 
 and began to toast some for him. There 
 wasn't any special need of my toasting 
 my cheeks any more, for they were red 
 enough, and Ned only ate one marsh- 
 mallow. But I felt so provoked with 
 myself that I had to do something. You 
 know Ned plans to go to New York to- 
 morrow for a week's stay, and if the 
 business he is undertaking is successful 
 it may mean that he will live in New 
 York for the next six months. So, you 
 see, I supposed this would be his last call 
 on us, and there I was making things 
 so uncomfortable for us both and spoil- 
 ing the whole evening! How did I 
 know he was going to take the letter in 
 such a sober, serious fashion there, 
 Lent! I got all out of patience with us 
 both and was just ready to cry when he 
 took some papers and envelopes from
 
 To Her Brother 193 
 
 his pocket and began looking them over. 
 Then he handed one to me and said: 
 "Does that look anything like the man 
 you would like to marry?" At first I 
 thought he was trying to jolly me, only 
 his eyes didn't look that way, so I 
 looked in the envelope and there was 
 the dearest picture of himself: just a 
 small one. But it is the nicest picture, 
 looks me right in the eyes with the most 
 honest, happy expression. I looked at 
 it and then at him. "It is a dandy pic- 
 ture, Ned," I told him, and then, Lent, 
 I just began to bawl ! I hope you are 
 ashamed enough of Kittens, but wait. 
 Then I threw a cushion on the floor and 
 sat down on it right beside Ned and just 
 put my head on his knees and wept. 
 Wasn't it awful ? Lent, don't you ever, 
 ever tell. And the worst is yet to come ! 
 I hardly gave him time to be scared or
 
 194 One of Kittens's Letters 
 
 to run away or anything else, though 
 he did get his arms around me and 
 forced me to look at him ; then I stopped 
 crying and said, "Kiss me, Ned, quick." 
 Don't be ashamed of me, brother, please 
 don't. I simply couldn't help it. He 
 took me right into his arms and kissed 
 me, and I knew that he had forgiven 
 all the times I meant to tease and the 
 times, too, when I hadn't meant to. 
 
 Oh, brother dear, I was so happy ! I 
 just hid my head on his shoulder and 
 he held me close, till he whispered, 
 "Please," and I wanted, oh, so badly, to 
 look into his eyes again. They were so 
 steady, honest and true. Lent, dear, I 
 am simply deliriously, intoxicatingly 
 happy. I didn't suppose love could be 
 anything like this. 
 
 And just think of such a strong, hon- 
 est, real man caring for your flighty
 
 To Her Brother 195 
 
 little sister. I rather guess she will have 
 to begin to try to make herself worth 
 while, won't she? 
 
 Ned is such a thorough gentleman; 
 I don't mean a dandy or anything of 
 that sort ; he isn't forever picking up a 
 girl's handkerchief and fussing around 
 to see what he can do for us just as if 
 he thought we were too helpless to do 
 anything for ourselves, but I do think 
 he has the finest courtesy and thought- 
 fulness for women; the real, old-fash- 
 ioned kind, and I love him for it. He 
 doesn't shine as some of the men do; 
 Bert has beautiful eyes he knows it, 
 too, and knows how to use them but 
 Ned, dear boy, his eyes are just steady, 
 quiet, honest and true. And they were 
 more than that last night for me. 
 
 He has loved me more than a year; 
 you knew all about it, and neither
 
 196 One of Kittens's Letters 
 
 mother nor the pater was a bit sur- 
 prised. Mother has just been in and 
 I jumped up and put my arms around 
 her neck and said, "Mother, mother, 
 mother, you knew about it all the 
 time. Why didn't I know, too?" She 
 just hugged me and told me that the 
 love was there all the time, even if I 
 didn't know it. I guess she is right. It 
 seems to me now as if I had always 
 loved Ned, and all the little things he 
 has done for me take on a new meaning 
 and are so precious. I always thought 
 he was nice to me because I was your 
 sister, and I supposed the reason why 
 I tried to make things pleasant for him 
 was because he was such a good friend 
 of yours. 
 
 He does admire you so much, and 
 we have had lots of good talks about 
 the days when you were in college
 
 To Her Brother 197 
 
 together, and he is anticipating a hap- 
 py six months in New York, where 
 he can see you occasionally. Only, 
 Lent, he said last night he wasn't going 
 to stay there six months without me, 
 and that he was thinking about my liv- 
 ing in New York, too. Just think of 
 that, brother! Supposing I should live 
 in New York sometime where you could 
 run in and see me every day wouldn't 
 it be fine ! 
 
 You have been my dearest chum ever 
 since we were wee tots, and we'll al- 
 ways be the same, brother dear, only 
 Ned comes in, too ; but that is different. 
 Why, he is just everything, but you will 
 always be the same chum that you have 
 always been. 
 
 Brother dear, what do you suppose 
 has bothered Ned all these months 
 well, there ! he thought I only cared for
 
 198 One of Kittens's Letters 
 
 money and couldn't be persuaded to 
 share his two thousand a year. 
 
 I was a bit hurt at first. I am glad, 
 and I told him so, that I haven't got to 
 be a rich man's wife. Of course, I am 
 glad that the pater has money and all 
 that, and I know, too., that lots of girls 
 wouldn't think of marrying a man un- 
 less he had at least five thousand a year, 
 but that isn't Kittens's way of thinking. 
 I would rather begin with a small cot- 
 tage and all that goes with it. I sup- 
 pose I don't know much about doing 
 without things, but one can learn, and 
 with Ned to stand by me who cares what 
 any one else says or thinks? Ned says 
 you tried to make him believe that the 
 state of his pocketbook would make no 
 difference with me ; thank you for that, 
 brother. It doesn't. 
 
 Now, Lent, I want to tell you of one
 
 To Her Brother 199 
 
 of the nicest things that Ned has done 
 for my sake. 
 
 Some months ago we were talking 
 about smoking, Nell and Ned and I, 
 and I said that I did not like to have a 
 man smoke in my presence, for it gave 
 me a sick headache, and that even the 
 smell of a cigar anywhere about a man 
 was repugnant to me. From some 
 things he has said and by putting two 
 and two together I am almost sure that 
 Ned has not smoked a single cigar since 
 that time. Only last week he and the 
 pater were sitting on the piazza and the 
 pater offered him a cigar, and he de- 
 clined it. I happened to be going into 
 the house, and I said to him: "And 
 doesn't 'she' like smoking any better 
 than I do ?" There was a queer look in 
 his eyes when he answered me. "Not a 
 bit better."
 
 zoo One of Kittens's Letters 
 
 When a man gives up a pleasure like 
 that and without making a fuss about it 
 either, what do you suppose a girl thinks 
 of him? I told Ned last night what I 
 thought, and he well, he said some 
 pretty nice things to me. 
 
 Oh, dear ! how can I bear to let him 
 go away tomorrow ! He will be back in 
 a week, but that seems such a long time. 
 Perhaps it is a good thing that he is 
 going and I shall have time to get my 
 feelings straightened out a bit. I've 
 just made Kittens stand before the look- 
 ing-glass and promise herself that she 
 won't kiss him before he goes, but there 
 is such a naughty twinkle in her eyes 
 that I almost know she won't keep her 
 promise. Brother mine, you know I am 
 not half good enough for Ned. I haven't 
 promised to marry him yet. When 
 I do kiss him it will mean that I am giv-
 
 To Her Brother 201 
 
 ing him everything that a girl can give 
 to the man she loves. 
 
 I am not all of the lovely things he 
 says I am, and I am a bit afraid he will 
 find it out and won't love me any more. 
 But I am not much afraid, for I am very 
 sure that your little sister has sole pos- 
 session of his big, honest heart. Aren't 
 you glad for her ? 
 
 No one has yet seen the picture he 
 brought me. He told me that the nega- 
 tive was broken, and only this one pic- 
 ture taken. So it is all mine. I shall 
 show it to mother and father in a day 
 or two, and when you come home next 
 week you shall see it, but no one else 
 ever shall. Isn't Kittens foolish ! Never 
 mind, she is happy. The pater and 
 mother are so pleased in my joy. The 
 pater gave me a big hug. As for 
 mother, she has had a warm place in her
 
 2O2 One of Kittens's Letters 
 
 heart for Ned ever since you two were 
 in college together. Nell shares my joy, 
 although she looks a bit sober, and I 
 know she is thinking about Bert. 
 
 I've often thought of the time when you 
 would get married, Lent, and I should 
 lose my chum and brother, and I didn't 
 like the idea a bit. But now I just want 
 you to be as happy as I am, and I shall 
 be glad for the girl that you make as 
 happy as Ned has made me. 
 
 But there ! brother dear, I must stop. 
 This is a long letter and I haven't half 
 expressed my great gladness ; I will tell 
 you more when you come home next 
 week. 
 
 Ned is coming up the street, and Kit- 
 tens just has to run and meet him and, 
 well, never you mind ! She's just 
 Your happy, happy sister, 
 
 KITTENS.
 
 A MAN'S ANSWER TO A MAN
 
 A MAN'S ANSWER TO A MAN. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "HER BROTHER'S 
 LETTERS/' 
 
 OF THE hundreds of letters that 
 have come to me from men, as 
 the result of the serial publica- 
 tion of the foregoing letters, this is the 
 one I have chosen to answer. It is 
 worth reading because it presents the 
 subject clearly and yet with reserve: 
 
 "I cannot help wondering if there 
 aren't some few things to be said for the 
 young fellows who, like myself, may 
 have been reared by good mothers, who 
 deep in their hearts honor and respect a 
 pure, sweet woman, who are not natu- 
 rally bad, and yet who will sometimes 
 allow the 'other side' of themselves to 
 205
 
 206 A Man's Answer to a Man 
 
 gain the ascendency for a time. I know 
 that the Tm-no-worse-than-other-fel- 
 lows' argument sounds pitiably weak 
 when brought forth as an excuse for 
 such things, but the thought in the 
 mind of a young fellow that all or 'most 
 men do' has lots to do sometimes with 
 his giving way, especially as he is apt to 
 look rather lightly upon the reward of 
 virtue when he sees many other men 
 eschew any possible chance of such re- 
 ward and yet seem to lose little or noth- 
 ing of their standing in the world. 
 
 "In a recent novel by one of our fore- 
 most writers, one of the characters, a 
 young man of the South, exceptionally 
 clean-minded and of high ideals, is 
 made to say, 'I'm not "innocent" in the 
 least. You'll find we're all men here, 
 just as much as any men in the North 
 you could pick out.'
 
 A Man's Answer to a Man 207 
 
 "In another novel, also by a promi- 
 nent writer and a war correspondent as 
 well, the hero, a virile, strong-headed 
 chap who is pictured as every inch a 
 man, is not, by his own confession, a 
 whit more innocent, and this confession 
 is made to the young girl he hopes to 
 marry, and whom in the end he does 
 make his wife. 
 
 "Do not all these things influence the 
 average young fellow, whose instincts 
 may be gentlemanly, in the belief that 
 society is rather inclined as a whole to 
 be tolerant toward the young man who 
 is 'having his fling/ expecting it of him 
 as a matter of course, and thinking none 
 the worse of him for it ? 
 
 "Isn't it true that a young man who 
 mingles much with men and women, or 
 reads our novels, will come in the course 
 of time to see that virtue in a single man
 
 208 A Man's Answer to a Man 
 
 is hardly expected ? If the feminine half 
 of our society demanded the same of a 
 man that the men demand of them, 
 would not the men as a rule meet the 
 demand, and such a letter as yours not 
 have the power to make so many of us 
 smart?" 
 
 Of course, all this is merely saying 
 that what a man can do, with a certain 
 stretch of conscience, a woman can not 
 and must not do. 
 
 It is the old, old idea that so- 
 ciety condones in a man what it con- 
 demns in a woman. That is, in a 
 sense, true: no one can gainsay it. 
 That the law itself will, in a police 
 "raid," dismiss the men with a repri- 
 mand the following morning and im- 
 prison the women is a spectacle that is 
 constantly shown us in our newspapers. 
 But is it fair ? Is it what we know today
 
 A Man's Answer to a Man 209 
 
 as the "square deal"? To me it is in- 
 fernally unfair. 
 
 I am not one of those men who believe 
 that what is called the "social evil" in 
 our cities should be stamped out. I have 
 traveled too much and seen too much 
 of life from every point of view to hug 
 such a delusion. But because such a 
 social evil exists must I make myself 
 part of it ? Because there is a grogshop 
 on the corner of the street where I live, 
 and another on the corner of the street 
 where I work, must I go into the one or 
 the other? Because other men get 
 drunk must I get drunk? Because I 
 know where there is an opium-joint 
 must I go and smoke the pipe ? Because 
 a social evil exists must I make it a per- 
 sonal condition in myself? Not at all. 
 If society condones, or will condone, or 
 blink at, or wink at, if you choose, some-
 
 21 o A Man's Answer to a Man 
 
 thing which my sense of fairness, of de- 
 cency, of self-respect tells me is not 
 square, is that any excuse for my doing 
 it? If other men commit a wrong does 
 that make it right for me to do it? 
 What matters it to me what other men 
 do? My conscience is mine: my self- 
 respect is mine: my principles are my 
 own mine to guide me, ME, ME. Does 
 it seem right, square, honest, to me? 
 That is the only question there is for me 
 to settle. 
 
 I do not say that there should be an 
 equal social law for men and women 
 alike. Although I believe it would be 
 the only square thing, nevertheless I am 
 not in the business of making laws for 
 others. I have enough to do to square 
 myself, and I can square myself only by 
 believing, as I have always believed, 
 that the same decent code of conduct
 
 A Man's Answer to a Man 211 
 
 that applies to my sister applies to me, 
 and I cannot see it in any other way. If 
 other men see it in another light that is 
 their affair. This is not living, perhaps, 
 according to the spirit that I am my 
 brother's keeper. But I see very little 
 room in this life for theory : to me it is 
 a living, burning "condition that con- 
 fronts" me, and it is first and foremost 
 up to me to keep my own life clean ; not 
 letting the other fellow shift for him- 
 self, no; helping him when I can, and 
 giving him a lift when he needs it and 
 when I can give it to him. But my rule 
 has been first to see that my own door- 
 step is clean before I begin to bother 
 about other people's doorsteps. And I 
 have never seen a time yet when looking 
 after my own doorstep hasn't kept me 
 tolerably busy. 
 
 Of course, I know all that men say on
 
 212 A Man's Answer to a Man 
 
 this question: the evasions they bring 
 to ease their consciences, or to try to; 
 the supposed human needs, and all that. 
 This one fact, nevertheless, remains : of 
 all the men I know, the best of them 
 I mean now the biggest of them the 
 men who are men, when we have talked 
 as men will occasionally talk, have con- 
 fided to me that they have never found 
 any -valid excuse for "having their 
 fling." There are notions, of course, to 
 the contrary, heaps of them. But 
 never yet have I run these notions to 
 the ground and I have run a few 
 of them down without finding, in 
 the last analysis, that they are no- 
 tions and purely that, without a single 
 solid foundation-stone to give them the 
 slightest basis. It is not disrespect, but 
 simply the common truth, to say that 
 mistaken masculine notions can and do
 
 A Man's Answer to a Man 213 
 
 find receptive soil in the medical mind 
 as well as in the legal mind, or any other 
 kind of mentality. That a man is a 
 physician does not make him any the 
 more fit to be my moral guide, except 
 when I digress from morality to endan- 
 ger my physical self. And it must, in- 
 deed, be a man of great medical under- 
 standing who could tell me, and prove it, 
 that a decent life in a man is incompat- 
 ible with his best and wisest human self. 
 Nor can I see the slightest common 
 sense in the argument that a young fel- 
 low may lapse because it is "expected" 
 of him, or that he will get no credit for 
 abstaining if he doesn't. In the first 
 place, it isn't "expected" of him. On the 
 contrary, it is distinctly expected of him 
 that he will lead a clean and decent life, 
 and he should expect it of himself if no 
 one else expects it. And as to getting
 
 214 A Man's Answer to a Man 
 
 "credit" for it, men do not lead honor- 
 able lives for the sake of getting credit 
 for it : for the sake of winning applause. 
 They do it for themselves: for their 
 own self-respect: for their own inner 
 satisfaction, that they may be true to 
 themselves and to tne best that is within 
 them. It is their very silence of decency 
 that is often misconstrued into a veiled 
 inference of indecency. The men who 
 live lives as decent men's lives should be 
 lived do not talk of the fact as an 
 achievement: they live their lives and 
 let it go at that. As a matter of fact, 
 however, men do give a young fellow 
 credit if he lives a decent life, and they 
 know it far oftener than he thinks they 
 do. Only they don't talk about it. To 
 decent men decency is a thing that is 
 taken for granted, and there is always 
 an indefinable atmosphere, an unseen
 
 A Man's Answer to a Man 215 
 
 bond, one might say, that draws a young 
 man leading a decent life toward men 
 who have lived as he is living. "Birds 
 of a feather flock together" is as true 
 of people of high principles as it is of 
 the kind to whom the truism is more 
 popularly applied. 
 
 Men who have a single standard of 
 honor in their lives are far more numer- 
 ous than the average young fellow gen- 
 erally supposes, and he need never share 
 the delusion that if he lives a decent and 
 clean life he will find himself apart from 
 other men except the men from whom 
 it is always a distinction to be apart. A 
 young fellow is always known by his 
 true colors. That need never give him 
 a moment's worry. Adherence to the 
 very highest principles always reflects 
 itself in a young fellow's life, and al- 
 ways counts with himself as well as with
 
 216 A Man's Answer to a Man 
 
 others. "For what is called "sowing wild 
 oats" is nothing more or less than self- 
 degradation to any young chap. That 
 at twenty-five or thirty he has passed 
 through a siege does not make him, or 
 any man, one particle more of a man. 
 What it does do is to make him just so 
 much less of a man. It doesn't mean a 
 broader view of life to have experienced 
 certain phases of it: it means a dwarf- 
 ing of his views. And he realizes this 
 afterward. For the "life" that has had 
 glitter for him in youth becomes a repel- 
 lent remembrance to him as a man. The 
 reputation and power that come of right 
 living are what the man of from forty 
 to seventy covets, and nothing but the 
 well-spent years of early life can assure 
 these. 
 
 I haven't put up impossible ideals in 
 what I have said. For a man to live a
 
 A Man's Answer to a Man 217 
 
 decent life isn't to live up in the clouds, 
 or with his feet far from the earth, or 
 to be a "ninny" or a "sissy." It is sim- 
 ply to be a man, nothing more or noth- 
 ing less. And there are many thou- 
 sands of chaps who can say, with hon- 
 esty, what a friend of mine said at his 
 wedding breakfast. He lifted a glass 
 and drank a toast which gave a mo- 
 mentary shock to his bride and their 
 guests, but behind which lay a signifi- 
 cance unexpressed and yet understood 
 by every man big and fine and clear : 
 
 "Here's to the happiest years of my life, 
 Spent in the arms of another man's wife: 
 
 My mother!"
 
 A 000118711 1