Cynically, he recalled
some lines of poetry which he had had to write out a hundred times on
one occasion at school as a punishment for having introduced a white
mouse into chapel.
"Oh, woman in our hours of ease,
Un-something, something, something, please.
When tiddly-umpty umpty brow,
A something, something, something, thou!"
He had forgotten the exact words, but the gist of it had been that
woman, however she might treat a man in times of prosperity, could be
relied on to rally round and do the right thing when he was in trouble.
How little the poet had known women.
"Why not?" he said huffily..
She gave a little sob.
"I put you on a pedestal and I find you have feet of clay. You have
blurred the image which I formed of you. I can never think of you again
without picturing you as you stood in that saloon, stammering and
helpless...."
"Well, what can you do when your pianist runs out on you?"
"You could have done _something_. I can't forgive a man for
looking ridiculous.
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