supplies; Mame waits on us, jolly and kind and agreeable, and it looks
like an even break, with Cupid and the cook working overtime in
Dugan's restaurant.

"'Twas one night in September when I got Mame to take a walk after
supper when the things were all cleared away. We strolled out a
distance and sat on a pile of lumber at the edge of town. Such
opportunities was seldom, so I spoke my piece, explaining how the
Brazilian diamonds and the fire kindler were laying up sufficient
treasure to guarantee the happiness of two, and that both of 'em
together couldn't equal the light from somebody's eyes, and that the
name of Dugan should be changed to Peters, or reasons why not would be
in order.

"Mame didn't say anything right away. Directly she gave a kind of
shudder, and I began to learn something.

"'Jeff,' she says, 'I'm sorry you spoke. I like you as well
as any of them, but there isn't a man in the world I'd ever
marry, and there never will be. Do you know what a man is in
my eye? He's a tomb. He's a sarcophagus for the interment of
Beafsteakporkchopsliver'nbaconhamandeggs. He's that and nothing more.
For two years I've watched men eat, eat, eat, until they represent
nothing on earth to me but ruminant bipeds. They're absolutely nothing
but something that goes in front of a knife and fork and plate at the
table. They're fixed that way in my mind and memory. I've tried to
overcome it, but I can't. I've heard girls rave about their sweethearts,
but I never could understand it. A man and a sausage grinder and a
pantry awake in me exactly the same sentiments. I went to a matinée once
to see an actor the girls were crazy about. I got interested enough to