By this time, however, we were aware that a hug-me-tight was not a thing for a nervous man to ask a young lady for, without preparing her mind gently. We have always believed that we have a spiritual face—the grave, sweet expression of a monk who is happy in his calling. But any healthy man who says he can look spiritual while asking a lady-clerk for a hug-me-tight is a liar. We hate to be vulgar, but no other word will do. The thing isn't possible—that's all. So we were politic.
"Have you any woollen garments, something in the nature of a jacket," we asked in our most elaborately casual tone, while the blond person patted her hair and stared negligently past our right ear, "which would be suitable for an elderly lady to wear in the house or under a coat?"
"Oh, what you want is a hug-me-tight," she said.
And she never batted an eye! The self-control of women at times is really a wonderful thing. So we got our hug-me-tight at last. But never again—s'elp us! We'll get that nice old lady a meerschaum pipe first.
VENTILATION
Ventilation
This is the season of the year—we are writing on a fine brisk December day, friend reader—when ventilation becomes one of the paramount issues. To open the window or not to open it, that is the question. Discussions on this topic have been known to split families. They have even led to the splitting of heads.
Heaven only knows how many divorces have been started by arguments as to how much air should be let into the bedroom o' nights—with the number of blankets and the thickness of the eiderdown as sub-headings of debate.
Consider the sad lot of the ordinary poor anæmic husband married to one of those hardy modern women, who are so full-blooded that they can't bear to wear anything to speak of above the corset-top or below the knees. We saw one on the street the other day, and about the only difference between her and "September Morn" was a sealskin coat thrown back on the shoulders, and the fact that she didn't stand the same way as the lady in the picture. It was a cold day, too.