Etchings in Verse (Underhill)/Not the Right Man

by Andrew Findlay Underhill

NOT THE RIGHT MAN.

A Story in Two Chapters.

Chapter I.

"DON'T tell me of women," said Charley,
 When a fresh cigarette he had rolled.
"They're not as angelic as angels,
 Nor as pure as the purest of gold.

"They talk a great deal of what's proper;
 They 'never' would squeeze a man's hand;
And if you but 'dared' just to kiss them,
 They'd slay you, and 'scream' where they stand.

"I tell you, old man, it's all nonsense,
 There isn't a woman who can
Withstand the well planned machinations
 Of a cautious, experienced man.

"Now, there's Belle, whom the men call an iceberg,
 And think is so distant and chaste;—
I'll bet you a 'ten' in a week, George,
 I can sit with my arm round her waist.

"I know it will need careful planning,
 Circumspection, and patience, all that;
But if I don't win at this wager
 Egad, sir! I'll eat my own hat!

"You may laugh; you may smile; but I'll do it,
 And that, too, in a week from to-night;
So you might as well pay the bet now, George;
 For you'll find in the end I am right."

Chapter II.

Two Weeks Later.

HE took a long time to get seated.
 Then he said: "George, pass down that port wine."
There was something quite strange in his manner
 And his cheeks to the red did incline.

"Good wine, George. You know, 't isn't often
 One—""The deuce with the wine, and with you!
If you want a drink, Charley, why take it!
 But, tell me, how's Belle De la Rue?"

With that he turned seven shades paler.
 Then he looked at his boots with a sigh,
And his gaze wandered off to a razor
 That lay on the table hard by.

I saw in his face an expression
 So dark and prophetic of death,
That I moved with great care the keen weapon
 From its place to the drawer underneath!

When I turned he was wholly unconscious
 Of me or aught else in the room—
And he held in his hand a dark substance
 Which he gazed at in pitiful gloom.

He toyed with it long, and quite fondly,
 Then he suddenly rose from his chair,
Spread the substance flat out on the table,
 And rushed from the room in despair.

And there, as I looked, lay before me,
 While the clock ticked and all else was still,
The amount of the wager he bet me,
 To wit:—a new ten-dollar bill.

Why it was that he gave me the money
 I never could certainly tell;
For he did not confess to a failure
 In that thrilling affair with Miss Belle.

But I always have thought—perhaps wrongly—
 That a new life for Charley began
From the day of his wooing of Bella,
 When he found he was not the right man.