“Lo, I am it!”
Verily, verily, all the days of his life he shall be waited on and cooed over and coddled by women; and his way shall be as one continuous path of conquests and thornless roses.
For this is the Stunt of Stunts!
CHAPTER THREE
I charge thee, my Daughter, seek not to break a man’s heart; for it is like unto family pride, or a pin, which may be bent, but cannot be broken! Yea, it is as a ball of India rubber which reboundeth easily after the worst shocks.
Lo, the heart of a woman is full of soft spots in which every man she hath once loved occupieth a “cozy corner”. She lingereth tenderly over the grave of a dead love; but a man flingeth a spadeful of earth thereon and proceedeth to dig a new one. And his heart is as a great cemetery!
A woman keepeth a bundle of love-letters tied in faded ribbons; but a man cleaneth his pipe bowl cheerfully with the stem of the rose which the girl-before-the-last hath worn in her hair.
A woman remembereth the dress she hath worn and the song she hath sung for each particular man; but a man remembereth not the scent of violet sachet when the odor of heliotrope is in his nostrils.
And, after six months, when he cometh by chance upon an old glove or a lock of hair at the bottom of his trunk, he casteth it into the fire, muttering, “Now, who the devil put that thing there?”