“Well, get rid of it, then,” said young Bingo. “The woman is a menace to society, a home-wrecker, and a pest. Do you know what she’s done? She’s got Rosie to write an article for that rag of hers.”
“I know that.”
“Yes, but you don’t know what it’s about.”
“No. She only told me Aunt Dahlia had given her a splendid idea for the thing.”
“It’s about me!”
“You?”
“Yes, me! Me! And do you know what it’s called? It is called ‘How I Keep the Love of My Husband-Baby.’ ”
“My what?”
“Husband-baby!”
“What’s a husband-baby?”
“I am, apparently,” said young Bingo, with much bitterness. “I am also, according to this article, a lot of other things which I have too much sense of decency to repeat even to an old friend. This beastly composition, in short, is one of those things they call ‘human interest stories’; one of those intimate revelations of married life over which the female public loves to gloat; all about Rosie and me and what she does when I come home cross, and so on. I tell you, Bertie, I am still blushing all over at the recollection of something she says in paragraph two.”
“What?”
“I decline to tell you. But you can take it from me that it’s the edge. Nobody could be fonder of Rosie than I am, but—dear, sensible girl as