"Was he born defective?" I asked.
"No—I've heard my mother say he was as good a baby as I."
"And what relation did you say he was?"
"I rather hate to own it—but he's my brother!"
HIS CRUTCHES
Why should the Stronger Sex require,
To hold him to his tasks,
Two medicines of varied fire?
The Weaker Vessel asks.
Hobbling between the rosy cup
And dry narcotic brown,—
One daily drug to stir him up
And one to soothe him down.
OUR ANDROCENTRIC CULTURE; or, THE MAN-MADE WORLD