5. I’M BAD
TYPE:
The very young man with all distinguishing characteristics still in extremely early stages.
SUBJECT:
Any nice girl under fifteen years.
APPARATUS:
1 Porch swing.
REMARKS:
This lesson is relegated to the use of the kiddies; it is good for very little else. In this day of experience and the single standard it is passé, and I include it more as a curiosity than anything else. The beginner should know the fundamental principles, at any rate. For older participants in the game who wish to try their luck along these lines, I suggest more restraint. A few dark hints will go farther than any amount of explicit description. The imagination of an innocent girl can work wonders with a very slight encouragement.
I’M BAD
“But it is different,” says the little girl, with an eager note in her voice. You give up the argument for a time and sit in silence, hearing only the creaking of the porch swing’s chain above the noises of the summer night.
She takes up the conversation again.
“I mean that supposing I should want to do all those things—some girls do, you know—well, I couldn’t. Of course it isn’t likely I should want to. I don’t see any fun in hanging on to the under part of a train——”
“Riding the blinds,” you say, patiently.
“All right; riding the blinds. But there might be something. Like—like staying up all night, perhaps, when it isn’t New Year’s. Bob used to do that. Mother didn’t think it was particularly terrible if he just said he was studying, but I can’t even do that. It isn’t fair. Here I am a senior in high school and practically grown up and they’ll always treat me like a baby just because I’m a girl.”
“Yeah,” say, as she stops for breath, “it’s a shame.” And this is as far as your sympathy goes. After all there isn’t much else to say. Nevertheless she feels slightly resentful.
“You don’t have to be so satisfied about it,” she says.
“I’m not satisfied. Only I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it. I think myself you girls are pretty darned lucky. A man has to look out for himself, and believe me sometimes it isn’t so much fun as you think.”
“Well, even if——”
“No, you can say things like that for hours, but you can’t really tell until you have to try it. Why, I’d just like to see you in some of those situations.”
She is really impressed.
“What situations?”
“Aw, I couldn’t tell you. A fellow couldn’t really talk about some of it.”
“Oh, go on! I wouldn’t tell anyone!”
“You bet you wouldn’t! What if I told you that I was caught in a Raid?”
“Really? You’re not kidding? What kind of a raid?”
“Why, a—a Raid. There’s just one kind. The cops come in and pretty soon the music stops and——”
“Where?”
“’Xpect me to tell? Oh, well, then—Place called the Yellow Mill.”
“Oo, gee! Were you alone?”
“Was I alone! Don’t be such a dumb-bell. Of course I wasn’t alone. Do you suppose a fellow goes to those cabarets alone? Why, they wouldn’t let him in!”
“Then who was with you?”
“Never you mind. Some other men and some girls.”
“What girls? Anyone in school?”
“Maybe and maybe not.”
“Honest? Then it was. I’ll bet it was Eleanor.”
“Well, it just wasn’t. What do you think Eleanor is? A man wouldn’t take a NICE girl to the Yellow Mill.”
“Why—why Walter, you don’t know any other kind, do you?”
“Say, don’t judge everybody by yourself.”
“Well—what happened?”
“I told you what happened. The cops came in and the music stopped and some of the girls sort of screamed and then the cops started looking for booze.”
“Did you have any?”
“Well of course we had had some, but by the time——”
“Oh, Walter!”
“Gosh, don’t you think a fellow has to have a drink sometimes? By the time they came we had finished it.”
“What was it?”
“You wouldn’t know the difference if I told you. It was wine. Elmer got it from his old man.”
“Elmer Busby?”
“Nevermind. Well——”
“It was!”
“Well, what if it was? Do you want to hear about this?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Well, keep quiet. Well, there wasn’t any left when the cop came over to us, so he couldn’t prove anything. He just looked at us and said ‘All right. Outside!’”
“Then what?”
“Why—then we went home.”
“Gee, I’d have been scared to death.”
“Sure you would. Any girl would have been.”
She sighs and looks out over the front lawn.
“Maybe I wouldn’t have been scared, though. Maybe——”
“Sure you would have!”
“No, wait a minute. Maybe it would be fun to be scared sometimes.”
“Well, I’d think so, myself, but a girl wouldn’t. A nice girl.”
“Why, Walter! What a thing to say!”
“Well, I mean it. Look at the way all of you act—‘Oh, no, it wouldn’t be right—do you think we ought to?’”
“What are you talking about?”
“You. That’s just what you said the other night after the party when I tried——”
“Well, really, Walter, I don’t see what that has to do with raids.”
“Well, it’s the same thing.”
“Just because I didn’t let you kiss me?”
“Well, why didn’t you?”
“I don’t like kissing.”
“You just don’t care. You never do let me kiss you. You don’t know anything about it. That’s the way girls are. No wonder you never have any fun.”
“Walter, I think you’re really bad.”
“Sure I’m bad! I have a good time. You don’t.”
“No, I don’t. But I didn’t mean that.”
“You’re afraid. That’s all.”
“Walter, I guess——” she stops.
“What?”
“I guess you can kiss me once. Don’t tell anybody.”
Silence.
“There now. What did you think?”
“I didn’t like it. It was horrid. If you tell anybody I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Well, then, try it again. I won’t tell anybody. Come on! What do you think I am? Sure I won’t tell anybody.”
“Oh, Walter, I bet you think I’m terrible.” “Of course I don’t. Don’t be a dumb-bell.” A sudden voice calls from the house.
“Willa! Willa, it’s ten-thirty!”
“Oh, Walter, I have to go.”
“Good night. Whatcha crying about? What is it, Willa?”
“Oh, you just think I’m terrible!”
“Honest I don’t. Can I come over tomorrow night?”
“You know you don’t want to. Oh, Mother’s calling again.”
“Sure I want to.”
“All right.”
“Good night. Listen, Willa. Honest I think it’s all right. I think you’re a good sport. Honest. Good night.”