Perfect Behavior: A Guide for Ladies and Gentlemen in All Social Crises

EN ROUTE After the purchase of a complete outfit, it will be necessary to say goodbye to one’s local friends. Partings are always somewhat sad, but it will be found that much simple pleasure may be derived from the last nights with the various boys to whom one is engaged. In this connection, however, it would be well to avoid making any rash statements regarding undying friendship and affection, because, when you next see Eddie or Walter, at Christmas time, you will have been three months in the East, while they have been at the State University, and really, after one starts dancing with Yale men— well, it’s a funny world. In case you do not happen to meet any friends on the train, the surest way to protect yourself from any unwelcome advances is to buy a copy of the Atlantic Monthly and carry it, in plain view. Next to a hare lip, this is the safest protection for a travelling young girl that I know of; it has, however, the one objection that all the old ladies on the train are likely to tell you what they think of Katherine Fullerton Gerould, or their rheumatism. If you are compelled to go to the dining car alone, you will probably sit beside an Elk with white socks, who will call the waiter “George.” Along about the second course he will say to you, “It’s warm for September, isn’t it?” to which you should answer “No.” That will dispose of the Elk.