It is not often that one so young has such a giant intellect. Take, for example, Petey Bellows, my roommate at the university. Same age, same background, but dumb as an ok.
"Raccoon," he mumbled thickly.
"Raccoon?" I said, pausing in my flight.
"I want a raccoon coat," he wailed.
"Can you mean," I said incredulously, "that people are actually wearing raccoon coats again?"
"All the Big Men on Campus are wearing them. "I've got to have a raccoon coat," he said passionately. "I've got to!"
"Petey, why? Look at it rationally. Raccoon coats are unsanitary. They shed. They smell bad. They weigh too much. They're unsightly. They—-"
"You don't understand," he interrupted impatiently. "It's the thing to do. Don't you want to be in the swim?"
"No," I said truthfully.
"Well, I do," he declared. "I'd give anything for a raccoon coat. Anything!"
My brain, that precision instrument, slipped into high gear. "Anything?"
. I refer to his girl, Polly Espy.
Beautiful she was. She was not yet of pin-up proportions, but I felt sure that time would supply the lack. Gracious she was. By gracious I mean full of graces. She had an erectness of carriage.
Intelligent she was not. In fact, she veered in the opposite direction. But I believed that under my guidance she would smarten up. It is, after all, easier to make a beautiful dumb girl smart than to make an ugly smart girl beautiful.
"Where are you going?" asked Petey.
"Home for the weekend."
"Look," I said to Petey when I got back Monday morning. "Holy Toledo!" he repeated fifteen or twenty times.
"Would you like it?" I asked.
"Oh yes!" he cried, clutching the greasy pelt to him. "What do you want for it?"
“I want your girl”
"Polly?" he asked in a horrified whisper.
"Try on the coat," said I.
He complied.. "Fits fine," he said happily.
"Is it a deal?" I asked, extending my hand.
I took her first to dinner. "Gee, that was a delish dinner," she said as we left the restaurant. Then I took her to a movie. "Gee, that was a marvy movie," she said as we left the theater. And then I took her home. "Gee, I had a sensaysh time," she said as she bade me goodnight.
We went to the Knoll, the campus trysting place, and we sat down under an oak, and she looked at me expectantly: "What are we going to talk about?" she asked.
I winced, but went bravely on. "First let us examine the fallacy called Dicto Simpliciter."
"Then tell me some more fallacies."
"All right. Let's try Contradictory Premises."
"Yes, let's," she chirped, blinking her eyes happily. The evening passed and we spend the next evening discussing fallacies.
Seated under the oak the next evening I said, "Our first fallacy tonight is called Ad Misericordiam."
"The next fallacy is called Poisoning the Well."
"How cute!" she gurgled.
"Fire away," she said with an airy wave of her hand.
Heartened by the knowledge that Polly was not altogether a cretin, I began a long, patient review of all I had told her.
"Polly," I said when we next sat beneath our oak, "tonight we will not discuss fallacies."
"My dear," I said, "we have now spent five evenings together. We have gotten along splendidly. It is clear that we are well matched."
"Hasty Generalization," said Polly brightly.
"I beg your pardon," said I.
"Hasty Generalization," she repeated. I chuckled with amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons well. "My dear," I said, patting her head in a tolerant manner, "five dates is plenty. After all, you don't have to eat a whole cake to know that it's good."
"Ad Misericordiam," said Polly.
"Well, Polly," I said, forcing a smile, "you certainly have learned your fallacies."
"You did."
"That's right. So you do owe me something, don't you, my dear? If I hadn't come along you would never have learned about fallacies."
"Hypothesis Contrary to Fact," she said instantly.
"Dicto Simpliciter," she said, wagging her finger at me playfully.
That did it. I leaped to my feet, bellowing like a bull. "Will you or will you not go steady with me?"
"I will not," she replied.
"Why not?" I demanded.
"Because this afternoon I promised Petey Bellows that I would go steady with him."
"Poisoning the Well," said Polly, "and stop shouting.” “I’ll be going steady with Petey Bellows." I think shouting must be a fallacy too."
With an immense effort of will, I modulated my voice. "All right," I said. How could you choose Petey Bellows over me? Can you give me one logical reason why you should go steady with Petey Bellows?"
"I certainly can," declared Polly. "He's got a raccoon coat."
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