I looked from the sensible woman with her well-chosen clothes to the
woman across the way. This second woman was a sort of
dressed-up-and-no-place-to-go type, with a squirt of Cashmere Bouquet in
the center of her handkerchief. And nothing on that went with anything
else she had on. And a hat which one knew was a hat, because it was on
her head, otherwise it might have passed for almost anything.
The woman beside me wouldn't have been caught dead looking like the
second woman. Yet she should have been thankful for her. For it is only
by contrast that the well-groomed look smart, and the overdressed look
fussy. Whether that is Einstein's theory of relativity or not, I don't
know. I only know that, "It takes all sorts of people to make a world."
There we sit on parade in these side-seater cars, and what we are is
revealed so pitilessly to all who sit across from us. It is as though
Fate were making jokes of us and sits us down beside the antitheses of
ourselves. Such a one of Nature's jokes I saw recently. They were two
men. The first was the sort whom one calls an "old boy." A racy
individual, well-fed with a round front, an Elk, of course, a city man,
reeking of good cigars, and an appraising eye out for a good-looking
woman.
Beside him sat a man who had been studying birds in the Park. Berkeley
was written all over him.
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