I wish I could draw a picture of him.
Perhaps he's too good looking. Myself, I think the enfranchised women of
California should bring injunctions - or whatever is the proper legal
weapon - against so dangerous a degree of male pulchritude. Of course
the Native Son could reply that, in this respect, he has nothing on the
Native Daughter, she being without doubt the most beautiful woman in the
world. To, this, however, she could retort that that is as it should be,
but it's no fair for mere men to be stealing her stuff.
This is misleading!
That agglomeration of the Anglo-Saxon, the Celt and the Latin, has
endowed the Native Son with the pulchritude of all three races. In
eugenic combination with Ireland, California is peculiarly happy. The
climate has made him tall and big. His athletic habits has made him
shapely and strong. Both have given him clear eyes, a smooth skin, swift
grace of motion. Those clear eyes invest him with alook of innocence and
unsophistication. He is as rich in dimples as though they had been
shaken onto him from a salt-cellar. One in each cheek, one in his chin -
count them - three! The Native Daughter would have a license to complain
of this if she herself didn't look as thou she'd been sprinkled with
dimples from a pepper-caster.
Pages:
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50