believe in doing a reasonable amount for the aid and comfort of the
young things that are just beginning to turn their hair up under,
or who rub a stealthy forefinger over their upper lips to feel the
pleasant rasp, but I don't believe in their monopolizing everything.
I don't think it 's fair. All the books printed - except, of
course, those containing valuable information; we don't buy those
books, but go to the public library for them - all the books printed
are concerned with the problem of How She can get Him, and He can
get Her.

Well, now. It was either yesterday morning or the day before that
you looked in the glass and beheld there The First Gray Hair. You
smiled a smile that was not all pure pleasure, a smile that petered
out into a sigh, but nevertheless a smile, I will contend. What
do you think about it? You're still on earth, aren't you? You'll
last the month out, anyhow, won't you? Not at all ready to be laid
on the shelf? What do you think of the relative importance of
Love, Courtship, and Marriage? One or two other things in life
just about as interesting, aren't there? Take getting a living,
for instance. That 's worthy of one's attention, to a certain
extent. When our young ones ask us: "Pop, what did you say to Mom
when you courted her?" they feel provoked at us for taking it so
lightly and so frivolously. It vexes them for us to reply: "Law,
child! I don't remember. Why, I says to her: 'Will you have me?"
And she says: 'Why, yes, and jump at the chance.'" What difference
does it make what we said, or whether we said anything at all? Why
should we charge our memories with the recollections of those few
and foolish months of mere instinctive sex-attraction when all that
really counts came after, the years wherein low passion blossomed
into lofty Love, the dear companionship in joy and sorrow, and in