that we're a much finer lookin' lot iv
fellows thin th' marrid men. That's why we're bachelors. 'Tis with us as
with th' ladies. A lady with an erratic face is sure to be marrid befure
a Dhream iv Beauty. She starts to wurruk right away an' what Hogan calls
th' doctrine iv av'rages is always with thim that starts early an' makes
manny plays. But th' Dhream iv Beauty figures out that she can wait an'
take her pick an' 'tis not ontil she is bumpin' thirty that she wakes up
with a scream to th' peril iv her position an' runs out an' pulls a man
down fr'm th' top iv a bus. Manny a plain but determined young woman
have I seen happily marrid an' doin' th' cookin' f'r a large fam'ly whin
her frind who'd had her pitcher in th' contest f'r th' most beautiful
woman in Brighton Park was settin' behind th' blinds waitin' f'r some
wan to take her buggy ridin'.

"So it is with us. A man with a face that looks as if some wan had
thrown it at him in anger nearly always marries befure he is old enough
to vote. He feels he has to an' he cultivates what Hogan calls th'
graces. How often do ye hear about a fellow that he is very plain but
has a beautiful nature. Ye bet he has. If he hadn't an' didn't always
keep it in th' show-case where all th' wurruld cud see he'd be lynched
be th' Society f'r Municipal Improvement. But 'tis diff'rent with us
comely bachelors. Bein' very beautiful, we can afford to be haughty an'
peevish. It makes us more inthrestin'. We kind iv look thim over with a
gentle but supeeryor eye an' say to oursilves: 'Now, there's a nice,
pretty atthractive girl. I hope she'll marry well.' By an' by whin th'
roses fade fr'm our cheeks an' our eye is dimmed with age we bow to th'
inivitable, run down th' flag iv defiance, an' ar-re yanked into th'
multichood iv happy an' speechless marrid men that look like flashlight
pitchers. Th' best-lookin' iv us niver get marrid at all.

"Yes, Sir, there's no doubt we do a good deal to beautify th' landscape.
Whose pitchers ar-re those ye see in th' advertisemints iv th'
tailorman? There's not a marrid man among thim. They're all bachelors.
What does th' gents' furnishing man hang his finest neckties in th'
front window f'r but to glisten with a livelier iris, as Hogan says, th'
burnished bachelor? See th' lordly bachelor comin' down th' sthreet,
with his shiny plug hat an' his white vest, th' dimon stud that he wint
in debt f'r glistenin' in his shirt front, an' th' patent-leather shoe