IT’S got ’em, yes, it’s got ’em; they’re loco, one and all. There has never been as many since the time of Adam’s fall. The man that lives across the way, the loved one of your soul; the guy who owes you money, all are loco on the whole. Yes, it’s got ’em. Some are off on trotting, and some on love and wine; some are off on politics, and some are off on coin. It’s got ’em; yes, it’s got ’em, in many different ways; the women’s skirts like trousers are, the men are wearing stays. It’s got ’em.

While alighting from the train at night in your grimy khaki pants, don’t wince to see your heart’s delight all togged out for a dance; don’t raise your eyes to look at her; be workmanlike and meek. She smiles on Major Dickelfer, she fears you’re goin’ to speak. For it’s got her.

You’ll find your kids a-cryin’ ’round the brown-skinned hired girl, the neighbors all a-pryin’, and your cassa in a whirl; with rats and bits of finery, with old stockings and old shoes. Don’t go to geetin’ squiffy; ‘twas just the thing you choose. And it’s got you. Don’t fret and fume about it; take your commissary book, go down and get your groceries, and bring them to the cook. Then take your kids an’ wash ’em up an’ change their little frocks; see they get their suppers, then mend your pants and socks. And don’t let it get you.

If your wife throws cups and saucers about your head at night, don’t shriek and call the neighbors in to put ’em in a fright. Don’t call on poor Johannes, and put him in a rage, but fold your arms about your breast, like a hero on the stage. She’s got it.

If your neighbor’s wife is flirting, don’t run to call police, just flirt a little bit yourself or go your way in peace. Don’t go to Sam’s and sit and tell the vultures all she said when you took her for the auto ride to Panama with “Red.” Or she’ll get you.