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Updated: May 27, 2025
Mansus sniffed again. "What about the man who half murders his wife, does he do that to be well thought of?" he asked, with a tinge of sarcasm. T. X. looked at him pityingly. "The low-brow who beats his wife, my poor Mansus," he said, "does so because she doesn't think well of him. That is our ruling passion, our national characteristic, the primary cause of most crimes, big or little.
Such a hard face he has, a reg'lar low-brow map, and a neck like a choppin'-block. His stubby legs are sprung out at the knees, and his arms have a good deal the same curve. "Built like a dachshund, ain't he?" I remarks. "Quite so," says Fothergill. "See, he's stopping. And he has a bundle under one arm." "Overalls," says I. "Plumber, maybe."
THE YOUNG MAN: I have always loved poetry. I can remember to this day the first poem I ever learned by heart. It was "Evangeline." JULIE: That's a fib. THE YOUNG MAN: Did I say "Evangeline"? I meant "The Skeleton in Armor." JULIE: I'm a low-brow. But I can remember my first poem. It had one verse: Parker and Davis Sittin' on a fence Tryne to make a dollar Outa fif-teen cents.
I want love, and that's all there is to it that's crudely all there ever is to it with any woman, no matter how much she pretends to be satisfied with mourning the dead or caring for children, or swatting a job or being religious or anything else. I'm a low-brow; I can't give you the economics of it and the spiritual brotherhood and all that stuff, like Mamie Magen.
The house was pleasant and comfortable they were too sophisticated to be "periodic" and there was always good talk going, if you happened to be the kind that could stand good talk. Of course you had to pass an examination first. You had at least to show that you "caught on." They were high-brow enough to permit themselves sudden enthusiasms that would have damned a low-brow.
So off went my apron and out I went. It was funny. For, oddly enough, the effect of my entrance on the scene was like that on a noisy class-room at the teacher's return. The tumult stopped, rather sheepishly, and that earful of men instinctively slipped on their armor plate of over-obsequious sex gallantry. They knew I wasn't a low-brow.
I don't know how it struck J. Bayard Steele, but as for me, right then and there I got wise to the fact that, in spite of the ear tufts and low-brow manners, Hunk Burley, man for man, would measure up with De Kay or anyone else; that is, within his limits. For he'd found his job. He was there with the goods! The same thought must have hit Cuyler too. Couldn't help it.
I'd find something to put in the time on there." "Not very much, I'm afraid," replied his host apologetically. "I'm of the low-brow species in my reading tastes, or else rather severely practical. You'll find some advertising data that may interest you, however."
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