Reuben Boob asks: For some time past I have been calling upon a young lady friend at her house evenings and going out with her to friends' nights. I should like to know if it would be all right to ask to take her alone with me to the theatre? Answer: Certainly not. This column is very strict about these things. Not alone. Not for a moment. It is better taste to bring your father with you.
I'll tell your wife about it," the little girl replied, with the good humor of a woman of forty "Never mind my wife. But how about the fellow who is going to marry you?" "I'd like to see him myself. I hope he ain't going to be some boob." The air was redolent of grass, flowers, ozone, and sex. All this was flavored with Miss Tevkin's antipathy for me THE next morning I awoke utterly out of sorts.
"Say," appealed Charley, "did you hear that cough-lozenge-peddling boob trying to tell me where to get off, in the proprietary game? Me!" "Perhaps he didn't know who you are," suggested Hal tactfully. "Perhaps he don't know the way from his hand to his face with a glass of booze, either," retorted the offended one, with elaborate sarcasm. "Everybody in the trade knows me.
Slowly Don buttoned his sweater. Tim's change of heart was a mystery no longer. At the edge of the field he found Andy Ford waiting. "Mackerel!" cried the assistant patrol leader; "wasn't that a corking game? When Tim made that throw Hello! What's the matter?" "Tim's sore because of what Bobbie said." "How do you know?" Don related what had happened at the bench. "Well, the big boob!"
The Boob ratio is just about 1 to 16. It does not pay to make fun of the Boob. There is no malice in him, no insolence, no passion to thrive at the expense of his fellows. If he sees some one on a street corner gazing open-mouthed at the sky, he will do likewise, and stand there for half hour with his apple of Adam expectantly vibrating. But is that a shameful trait?
But Ida never told her lovers her plain and commonplace tale of yielding to the irresistible pressure of economic forces. She had made men weep at her recital of her wrongs. It had even brought her offers of marriage none, however, worth accepting. "I'd be a boob to marry a man with less than fifteen or twenty thousand a year, wouldn't I?" said she.
"You're engine's missing, old timer. Let it cool off a bit and then try again." This was evidently heard by the stutterer, for he became excited, and that did not help him much. "S-s-shut up, y-y-you big b-b-boob," he finally managed to get out, in an infuriated tone. "I may be a boob, but I can talk straight, anyway," replied the amateur.
He would go to sleep presently and when he woke up, the great journey would have been accomplished. His words fulfilled themselves. Soon the Native Son fell into a coma. When he opened his eyes he was in Paradise. He raised himself up, gave one look about and exclaimed, "What a boob that doctor was! Whad'da he mean Paradise! Here I am still in California."
"D'you expect them to bring you things on a silver tray?" He began turning over Peter's notes again, and finally threw them on the bed in disgust. He began questioning Peter, and Peter's dismay turned to despair. He had not got a single thing that McGivney wanted. His whole week of "sleuthing" had been wasted! The detective did not mince words. "It's plain that you're a boob," he said.
"Have you pounded me all you think necessary?" asked Tom coolly, after more than a minute's hard interchange of blows in which neither man had gained any notable advantage. "No, ye slant-eared boob!" roared the assailant. "Ye " Here he launched into another stream of abuse. "You said all that before," remarked Tom, with a new flash in his eyes.