“She is liable to have to go more than half before this evening is done,” said Simple. “We are going to a formal, the Beaux Noirs Annual Easter Monday Dance. Do you know what a formal is? It is a function where you have to wear a tux with a shirt that buttons only with studs and a tie that is a bow. Joyce has got herself an evening gown that is cut so low it looks like she is trying to show how little she can wear and not catch pneumonia. If you are anybody in society at all at a formal you have to have a box to retire to between dances. Me and Joyce is sharing our box with another couple, which makes us only have to pay half, which is Twelve Dollars, the box costing Twenty-Four to seat eight. When you go to a formal it is necessary to invite guests to set in your box, so we have invited two couples. Since Joyce and me and the other couple are the hosts, we have to furnish the licker. I got one bottle of White Mule and one bottle of White Horse. The Horse is for Joyce—since she says a lady drinks nothing but Scotch at a public formal.

“I’m telling you, a formal is something! Right there, daddy-o, I have done spent Twenty-Three Dollars and Eighty-Two Cents, not counting renting the tux which also required a Ten Dollar deposit in case I snag it or do not bring it back. Raining and blowing like it is tonight, I got to take Joyce in a cab, which is another Dollar and a Half. Fifty Cents for the checkroom girl, tips for the waiter that brings the set-ups, another tip for extra ice. Then after the dance, womens always have to eat even if it is mighty nigh breakfast time, so you have to take them for four A.M. barbecue at Ribs-In-The-Ruff, so they can gaze at Sidney. Man, a formal costs almost as much as a funeral! Since Joyce just has to go to a formal, what reason is it she shouldn’t pay half? It were not my idea in the first place.”

“One doesn’t take a woman out on her own money,” I said.

“I do,” said Simple, “when she insists on going some place I can’t afford. Why can’t they have a formal without all this rigmarole? I had rather die than put on a stud-buttoned shirt. And I do not understand why it takes a formal for Joyce to wear a dress cut so low everybody can see almost as much of her as I could if I was married to her.”

“Maybe that is why folks like formals,” I said, “because women reveal their hidden charms.”

“Such charms should be reserved for husbands.”