Andy walks up and
down and chews the left end of his mustache.
"'A woman of high intellect and perfect beauty is a rare thing, Jeff,'
says he.
"'As rare,' says I, 'as an omelet made from the eggs of the fabulous
bird known as the epidermis,' says I.
"'A woman like that,' says Andy, 'ought to lead a man to the highest
positions of opulence and fame.'
"'I misdoubt,' says I, 'if any woman ever helped a man to secure a job
any more than to have his meals ready promptly and spread a report
that the other candidate's wife had once been a shoplifter. They are
no more adapted for business and politics,' says I, 'than Algernon
Charles Swinburne is to be floor manager at one of Chuck Connor's
annual balls. I know,' says I to Andy, 'that sometimes a woman seems
to step out into the kalsomine light as the charge d'affaires of her
man's political job. But how does it come out? Say, they have a neat
little berth somewhere as foreign consul of record to Afghanistan or
lockkeeper on the Delaware and Raritan Canal.
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