Our new, exclusive, patented, and correct model for diffident bachelors. No more plucking of marguerites (she loves me, she loves my car, etc.). No more tortured proposals on the knees (ruining the fit of the new trousers). If she accepts, she writes to you. If she refuses, she files the record along with her latest Hawaiian Aloha song. In buying your proposal records, insist on having the phonograph people insert your name and hers on the discs,--_without charge_. The names can be added in less than ten minutes’ time. If you are a busy man, you can of course order your records by the dozen--merely cautioning the makers to use the names of as many girls as you happen to be wooing at the time. You can then distribute the records to the girls and await developments. In case you should happen to receive two or more acceptances, the simplest method is to toss a coin.
[Illustration: “She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not”]
The artist has mercifully drawn a veil over the hero in this scene. This is always the way you finish. You try out your proposals on different girls and find yourself landed at last with a big, masterful sort of sparring partner, a girl who grabbed you when you weren’t looking and marched you up the aisle with the Lohengrin record turned on at third speed. And, behind you and your big masterful girl, there stalks that dreadful mother of hers, and her soul-blighting Uncle Cyril, and her dreadful little twin brothers, and then--walking with a man whom you happen to hate--the bride’s sister Gertie, the bright little girl whom you _really meant to marry_.
Heroic little bands like this annually advance upon the fashionable resorts, to make an overt attack upon society. These invaders come from the heart of the wilds, where the head of the family (merely a courtesy title) is known locally as the Gravel Roof King. Little family groups of this sort are not considered complete without four daughters, at least, each more painfully unmarried than the rest.
_Sights at the Bathing Resorts When the Season for Salt Water is Declared On_
There is, alas, but little of this sort of thing, these days. The spectacle of a venerable waiter, working himself into a healthy glow over the wholesome indoor exercise of bottle-opening is becoming rarer every day. A corkscrew, once the national emblem, will soon be but a relic for a civic museum.