BETTY AND BUDDHA
Betty was tired of Bob.
And Bert.
And Reggie.
So she took up with Buddha.
Bob was too hot.
Bert was too cold.
And Reggie was neither hot nor cold—merely lukewarm.
Men seemed all wrong.
But Buddha seemed just right.
One need never worry about him.
He could always be relied upon.
So Betty made a fuss of him.
She got silver for his garments.
And gold for his features.
And pearls for his eyes.
First she gave him a shrine.
Then she gave him a corner of a room.
And finally she gave him a whole room to himself.
She got oriental draperies for the wall, oriental rugs for the floor, and oriental odds and ends for every nook and cranny.
And, last but not least, she got oriental silks and satins and jewels—for herself.
She said that these were for—Buddha.
But, be that as it may, she looked very well in them.
And, in her heart of hearts, she was well aware of the fact.
Betty had never been on the stage.
But she had acted—all her life.
She had played the heroine in many little comedies and tragedies.
And in this, her latest production—she had Buddha for the hero.
Betty was not only a temperamental actress—she was also an artistic stage manager.
She had a wonderful eye for situations and effects.
She always saw that the scenes were properly set.
And she loved art for art’s sake.
But to-day she wished that she had an audience to view the performance—or, at any rate, that she had a few dramatic critics present.
It was matinee.
The hour was four o’clock.
Curtains were drawn over the windows.
Candles were lighted in brackets.
Incense was burning in braziers.
And Betty wore her Eastern robes.
She was draped in yellow silk.
She was decked in golden ornaments.
And she was possessed of the spirit of adoration....
She sang to Buddha.
A song of praise.
Her voice was sweet.
She danced for Buddha.
A dance of joy.
Her steps were light.
She prayed for Buddha.
A prayer of peace.
Her eyes were sad.
“O Buddha!” cried Betty, “I would learn of thee! Teach me thy will!”
She stood before him.
But Buddha made no sign.
“O Buddha!” cried Betty, “I do not ask for much—only for a little!”
She knelt before him.
Still Buddha made no sign.
“O Buddha!” cried Betty. “I would be at peace! At peace with the world!”
She prostrated herself before him.
And still Buddha made no sign.
Betty waited.
And waited.
And waited....
All of a sudden there was a sound.
Betty started.
What could it be?
The sound was repeated.
It was a knock at the door.
Betty heaved a sigh.
She rose to her feet.
“Come in!” said Betty.
A servant entered the room.
“What is it?” said Betty.
“Mr. Billy is here,” said the servant.
“Show him in!” said Betty.
Her face was a study.
The servant left the room.
Betty went to a glass.
She inspected herself.
She was satisfied with the reflection.
She had cause to be.
A man entered the room.
This was “Mr. Billy.”
“Hello, Betty!” said Billy.
“Hello, Billy!” said Betty.
“Am I disturbing you?” said Billy.
“Not at all!” said Betty.
“Would you rather I went away?” said Billy.
“On the contrary!” said Betty.
She curled herself on her divan under a canopy.
He perched himself on a stool beside her.
She rattled her bracelets.
He stroked his chin.
“You look very charming,” said Billy.
“I feel very happy,” said Betty.
“May I ask what you have been doing?” said Billy.
“You may,” said Betty.
“And will you tell me?” said Billy.
“I will,” said Betty.
“Well?” said Billy.
“I have been worshipping Buddha!” said Betty.
“Not really?” said Billy.
“Yes really!” said Betty.
“Do you believe in him?” said Billy.
“Of course!” said Betty.
“I don’t!” said Billy.
“You don’t believe in anything,” said Betty.
“Oh, yes, I do,” said Billy.
“Well, what do you believe in?” said Betty.
“I believe in—you!” said Billy.
“Be serious!” said Betty.
“I am!” said Billy.
“But Buddha is a god,” said Betty.
“And you are a goddess,” said Billy.
“But he answers my prayers,” said Betty.
“And you answer mine,” said Billy.
“Do I?” said Betty.
“I hope so!” said Billy.
“What do you pray for?” said Betty.
“Shall I tell you?” said Billy.
“I’ve asked you to,” said Betty.
“I pray for love!” said Billy.
“Ah!” said Betty.
“For your love,” said Billy.
“Oh!” said Betty.
“Do you answer my prayer?” said Billy.
“I—don’t—know!” said Betty.
He leaned towards her.
He took her in his arms.
And he breathed his prayer—with a kiss.
She shrank from him.
She hid her face.
And then she answered his prayer—and his kiss....
Her head, with its glittering ornaments, rested on his shoulder.
Her arms, with their jingling bangles, twined around his neck.
And her mouth, with its maddening caress, clung to his.
The candles cast a soft glow over them.
The incense sent a sweet odor around them.
And Buddha kept a watchful eye upon them....
Billy was about to kiss her again.
But Betty released herself from his embrace.
She got up.
She walked over to the shrine.
And she turned Buddha around—so that he could not see.
Then she went back to Billy—and answered his prayer, and his kiss—all over again....
In the beginning, we stated that Betty was tired of Bob.
And Bert.
And Reggie.
And, in the end, we will state that Betty was tired of Buddha, too.
Buddha was only a god.
But Betty was not tired of Billy.
Billy was—a man!