Then there is the Futurist Artist. He is really a great factor in a girl’s education: he can show her how, at a glance, to tell the difference between a Matisse painting and a Spanish omelette, and he knows just what the vorticists are trying to prove. He dresses like the property artist in musical comedies and he is simply ripping at designing costumes--he tells you how Lucile is battling to engage him if he would only descend to commercialism. Avoid them, girls, avoid them! They always have a past!
But, after all, there’s no use in advising a girl what to do and what not to do, in choosing a husband. The safest way is just to let Nature take its course. She needn’t worry about the thing at all,--she is sure to know the Leading Man, the moment he makes his entrance. He doesn’t even have to be near her--if she just knows he’s back from patrol duty in a distant land, and on the telephone, the cosmic urge will make her break all existing running broad jump records, in order to get to the telephone.
It’s getting so that the members of the widely advertised working classes get up in the morning, look out of the window, and say, “This looks like a nice, warm day--let’s strike for something.” This little habit of going on strike is like the cosmic urge, or the wanderlust, or the young man’s fancy, or any of those things; it gets under way at any time of year, and there’s simply no stopping it. Here is a harrowing scene, one of the fearful tragedies incident to the strike of the nursemaids. The nurse, just called out by her union, is returning her charges to mother, a lady with whom they have but the merest bowing acquaintance, thus utterly spoiling the lady’s afternoon.
_If You Don’t See What You Want, Strike for It_
It’s only a question of time before the down-trodden husbands form a union and strike for freedom. They have come to realize that bitter truth of married life--it’s always the man who pays, and pays, and pays. Street-cleaners, ship-builders, riveters, gasfitters, and all other laborers claim the right to a forty-four hour week and every evening and Sunday off, with no questions asked--why not husbands? Here is one of the agitators of the Industrial Husbands of the World, shown in the act of uprising.