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Bob gets a kick out of hearing Ccrrol Ann babble of the beauties of her young sister, Barbara.
BOB YOUNG handed me the slip of paper on which he'd just scribbled the following: "How to Lose Friends and Influence Nobody" — by Robert Young.
"Me and Dale Carnegie," he grinned. "He's a psychologist and a writer. I don't know much more about writing than how to tell one end of a pencil from the other. As for psychology, I've watched the antics of my own ego, and that's the conclusion I'm led to.
"Maybe I'm not typical. I've read about the timid little guy who finds he has a nose like Napoleon's, and winds up on the throne. And about the wallflower who tells herself, 'You're beautiful, you're beautiful, you're beautiful,' and the men come flocking. It doesn't work that way with me. Maybe I'm short on faith. If I said to myself, 'You're Napoleon, you're beautiful' — which, let me interpolate, I don't — echo would immediately answer, 'You're Bob Young, with the same old pan you always had,' and I wouldn't know the comeljack to that one.
"What I do sometimes tell myself is, 'You're not a good mixer. You should cultivate dash and aplomb.' Mostly that happens after I've been playing one of these sons of wealth who dash with aplomb all over the Ritz and Italy and St. Moritz, never at a loss for the right word, thanks to the author.
"Here's what happens. I meet someone. Ordinarily
we'd pass the time of day, and go about our business. But I'm a man of the world now, I've got to act in character. What would a man of the world do at this point ? He'd toss off some gay and charming nifty, light as a bubble.
"I rack my mind for a nifty. Needless to say, my mind remains a blank.
"Or I go to a party, bent on being the life of it for once. I've primed myself with a couple of stories, and wait for a chance to spring them — airily, you know, as if they'd just popped into my head. The screen hero always gets his chance, but somehow I don't. Nobody seems to be in the mood for stories — not for mine, anyway. I stroll around, searching for a victim, and trying to look like myself in 'The Bride Wore Red.' Apparently without success, because people start getting that what's-thematter-with-yozf ? look in their eyes.
"Finally, I collar someone. Airy or not, I'm going to tell a story. By that time I'm in a state where, if Carol Ann asked me for 'The Three Bears,' I wouldn't know which came first. I flounder and I fumble and I miss the point and I pull out my handkerchief to wipe the beads
IF YOD HAVE A HANKERING TO BE SOMEONE YOU'RE NOT, DON'T CHANGE-AT LEAST NOT
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