And “accomplished”—well, what do you mean by that? Has she taken a post-graduate course in Victrola lessons, can toddle and sing in Society’s amateur “Follies,” or do you mean you think she could some day referee a bout between a couple of lusty-lunged seven and ten-year-old boys, croon a lullaby to a nursing baby and keep the Sunday roast from burning, all at the same time? I’ll say you want to get one that’s “accomplished,” but it’s a damsite more important to visualize just what they could “accomplish” later, than what has gone before.
Note you say “her old man has oodles of money,” but you forgot to mention whether he was a burglar, a politician, or a flat owner—not that there’s very much difference, but I was sort of curious. Anyway, as I see it, that’s the least important thing in your description. The “old man” may be a decent sort, after all, and may have got it by marriage or from one of Ryan’s tips on the stock market, so it may not be his fault. At least, I don’t see how that’s going to affect you in the least. I know you well enough to know, Red, that you’ll never become one of those parasites who, on account of having money in the family, find their most arduous duty the daily airing of a poodle dog on a string—neither can I picture you under any circumstances paying your cigarette bills with other than the coin you had personally earned, so I’m not going to comment on that feature.
Now listen, Red, I expect you think that I’ve been pretty caustic in the foregoing, and in order to let you win an argument I’ll agree; but, Boy, this marriage thing is a more serious problem than you think it is. I appreciate that there are a great many requisites to look for in a wife that I haven’t enumerated above. It goes without saying that you will choose eventually a girl fully worthy of you in intelligence, beauty, lineage and what not, but I do want you to come down out of the clouds—realize that there’s something more to it than love and kisses and a cottage.
Remember the girl you choose will sit across the table from you for thousands of dinners. She may look awfully good in a party dress, but will she show up as well in a Mother Hubbard with her hair in curl papers? She may make an exquisite Welsh rarebit, but can she brew a real cup of coffee? She may be charming in the receiving line at an afternoon function, but can she build a satisfactory pair of rompers?
I’ve sort of born down on one feature, Red—I’ve done so advisedly, because in my opinion the deciding question, after all is said and done, is, “What kind of a mother will she make for my children?” If you can honestly answer that question and give a favorable one, the rest will take care of themselves, Boy—the rest will take care of themselves.
And, after reading this, Red, if the idea should come to you that maybe the “old man” don’t know what he’s talking about, just stop a minute—pause, Boy, and consider that it took some little picker to choose one who has come up to every one of these qualifications—your Mother! and the other half of the sketch knows that he’ll always be proud to sign himself
Your loving,
“DAD.”