Or, again, you may be shaking hands with a very
dear friend in the presence of a third person whom you dislike. And you
are extremely anxious to have your friend come up for tea on Sunday,
and you cannot do it without asking the other man.
Under such circumstances, it is well to live in Brooklyn. All you need
say then to the person you have an aversion for is: "I should be
delighted to have you call on us Sunday afternoon. We live in Brooklyn,
you know, at No. 125 Bowdoin Place." You may then go home in peace,
confident that your undesired visitor will never find you. At eight
o'clock on Sunday night he will be wearily asking a policeman on
Flatbush Avenue what the shortest way is to Borough Hall. Long before
that he will have given up hope of finding No. 125 Bowdoin Place. His
only object is to get home before midnight. Now it is plain that such an
excellent defence against unpleasant people is unavailable in Manhattan.
Ask a man to look you up at No. 952 West One Hundred and Twelfth Street,
and though your heart loathes him, you shall not escape. But in
Brooklyn you are safe until the moment your doorbell actually rings.
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