Once upon a time there was a dashin' young English playwright which rejoiced in the high-soundin' name of Sir Samuel Tuke; and among the many high-class girl and music shows which this master mind tore off before departin' for parts unknown, was a wow entitled "The Adventures of Five Hours." In the last act of this frolic, or else it wasn't, one of the characters turns to such of the audience as stuck the thing out, hauls off and cracks the followin' nifty:
To turn the current of a woman's will!
That's a good thought. The best way to cope with a member of the female race is to act like you don't give a artichoke what they do. Then they usually do what you want 'em to do. Why? I ain't got the slightest of slight ideas. They can't even tell you themselves. As the noted Eve remarked when charged with makin' the Garden of Eden a lot of applesauce: "Girls will be girls!"
In thirty-four fiscal years of racin' around and tryin'
