TO CURE A HEADACHE—SHIRKING-GIRL THERAPY: TAKE A DOCTOR, A FAMILY, A NICE BRIGHT DAY, AND A BOX OF CHOCOLATES: USE THEM ALL UP.
She thought she was breathing, however, and breathing fast. Why, it was half past eleven before she got back downtown from her tailor, and she bought a wedding present till one, and she was just famished and ran to a tea room, but she had hardly touched a mouthful when she remembered there was a girl from out of town who had come in to spend a month doing nothing and had to be helped, but though she rushed to the ’phone she couldn’t get her friend before it was time to catch her suburban train home; in order to do which she jumped into the station ’bus, only to remember she had forgotten to buy a ribbon for her Siamese costume for the Benefit Ball; but it was too late now and she spent her time, going out on the train, trying to think of some way of getting along without it, and her head began to ache; but luckily she 150 met some of the girls on her way from the station to her high-school sorority alumnæ reunion and they began to tell her how to do it; but she had to hurry away because she had promised to go to the house of one of the girls and do stencil patterns, which started to be beautiful, but before she could get any of them really done she recollected that Chunk Brown had sent over a bunch of new songs and was coming to call to-night and she had to scoot home and practice “June time is moon time and tune time and spoon time,” as well as “The grass is blue o’er little Sue,” till there was just one hour left before dinner and she was perfectly crazy over the new “do” which one of the girls had showed her and she rushed upstairs and went at that “do” and by dinner time she had got it almost right, so that her father told her always to do her hair like that and brother wished he had it down at the factory to replace a broken dynamo brush, while as for Chunk, he was nicer than ever till he learned he had to take her to a rehearsal of the Siamese Group for the Benefit Ball: so that, what with having to coax him to go and what with changing into her costume, 151 she got to the rehearsal so tired she couldn’t stand up to go through the figures till she caught sight of the celebrated æsthete, the Swami Ram Chandra Gunga Din, who was there to hand out the right slants about oriental effects and who had persuaded Marie there was great consolation to be found in realizing that 152 life is a spiral and that therefore you can’t make progress straight up but must go round and round through rhythmic alternations of joy and sorrow, which caused Chunk to relapse again from his attentiveness but which pleased Marie greatly because she was always unhappy in between two periods of happiness and therefore felt she was getting along the spiral and into Culture pretty well, till it was eleven o’clock and she waked Chunk up out of a chair in the hall and made him take her home; and he said the Swami was a very clever man and she said American men had no culture and didn’t understand women, and Chunk didn’t even say good night to her, and she went to sleep crying, and remembering she hadn’t after all learned from the girls how to get along without that ribbon in her costume and she must get up early and buy it, which made her utter one final little plaintive sniffle of vexation.
It was a nice child’s life, full of small things which looked big, uncorrected in its view of love, culture, charity, or anything else by any carrying of the burdens, enduring of the shocks, or thrilling to the triumphs, of a really adult 153 life. Her brother, when he went to work, was her junior. In five years he was much her senior. (You may verify this by observation among your own acquaintances.) Marie was not a minute older now than when she left school. Talking to her at twenty-six was exactly the same experience as talking to her at twenty-one. That was what the world, from John Wyatt to her father, had done for her.
SEE THE PROUD HUSBAND. HE DID IT ALL HIMSELF.
From such a life there are necessarily revulsions. The empty leisure of the Nice Girl is quite successfully total waste. But it becomes intolerable to that waster who, though not desiring 154 genuine occupation, desires genuine sensation.
Hence smart sets.
Every social group in which there is much leisure has its own smart set. There may be a million dollars a year to spend. There may be only a few thousands. But there is always a smart set.
How suddenly its smartness may follow its leisure, how accurately its plunge into luxury may duplicate the suddenness of modern luxury itself, you may observe with your own eyes almost anywhere.