"Shall it be said we are clothed in male armor?" shrieked the general.
The murmur became a mumble.
"Will you," fiercely demanded the general, "show the white feather in
a season when feathers are not worn?"
The effect was electrical.
"Never!" roared the soldiers. And, forming into battle array, they
once more hurled themselves upon the enemy.
"You criticize us," said the Chinese visitor, "yet I see all your
women have their feet bandaged."
"That is an epidemic," it was explained to him, gently, "which broke
out in 1914. Those are called spats."
Little Tommy at the "movies" saw a tribe of Indians painting their
faces, and asked his mother the significance of this.
"Indians," his mother answered, "always paint their faces before going
on the war-path--before scalping and tomahawking and murdering."
The next evening after dinner, as the mother entertained in the parlor
her daughter's young man, Tommy rushed downstairs, wide-eyed with
fright.
"Come on, mother!" he cried. "Let's get out of this quick! Sister is
going on the war-path!"
Mrs. Will Irwin said at a Washington Square tea:
"The more immodest fashions would disappear if men would resolutely
oppose them.
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