The Life of the PartyCobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
General
The Life of the Party
Cobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
Costume -- Fiction; Humorous stories; Lawyers -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction
What matter though the whole house grew clamorous now with a mounting
and increasing tumult? What mattered it though he could hear more and
more startled voices commingled with the shattering shrieks emanating
from the Braydon apartment beneath his feet? He, the hard-pressed and
sore-beset and the long-suffering, was at last beyond the sight of
mortal eyes. He was locked in, with two rooms and a bath to himself, and
he meant to maintain his present refuge, meant to hold this fort against
all comers, until Bob Slack came home. He would barricade himself in if
need be. He would pile furniture against the doors. If they took him at
all it would be by direct assault and overpowering numbers.
And while he withstood siege and awaited attack he would rid himself of
these unlucky caparisons that had been his mortification and his
undoing. When they broke in on him--if they did break in on him--he
would be found wearing some of Bob Slack's clothes. Better far to be
mistaken for a burglar than to be dragged forth lamentably yet
fancifully attired as Himself at the Age of Three. The one thing might
be explained--and in time would be; but the other? He felt that he was
near the breaking point; that he could no more endure.
XII
He stopped where he was, in the middle of the room, with his eyes and
his hands seeking for the seams of the closing of his main garment. Then
he remembered what in his stress he had forgotten--the opening or
perhaps one should say the closing was at the back. He twisted his arms
rearward, his fingers groping along his spine.
Now any normal woman has the abnormal ability to do and then to undo a
garment hitching behind. Nature, which so fashioned her elbows that she
cannot throw a stone at a hen in the way in which a stone properly
should be thrown at a hen, made suitable atonement for this articular
oversight by endowing her joints with the facile knack of turning on
exactly the right angle, with never danger of sprain or dislocation, for
the subjugation of a back-latching frock. Moreover, years of practice
have given her adeptness in accomplishing this achievement, so that to
her it has become an everyday feat. But man has neither the experience
to qualify him nor yet the bodily adaptability.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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