Well, why not!

Front matter

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Prologue To Foreword

No book that essays to call itself a book is complete nowadays without either a Foreword or a Preface. Not being able to secure a writer of sufficient merit to write either, the task necessarily falls to the author. The Foreword that follows is, therefore, a masterpiece of general intelligence and superabundant wit. It is one of the best Forewords yet presented to the Public.

Foreword To Introduction To Preface

Heretofore all Forewords have stood alone. Their difficulty, of course, is in the fact that nothing lies between them and the contents. No sooner has the reader skipped the Foreword than he is obliged to read the book. In this, our book, however, the reader is led so gradually into the contents that he hardly minds when he is there. But in addition to giving you so much for your money by providing a Prologue, an Introduction, and a Preface — -something apparently that no author has hitherto thought of in the Introduction to the Preface that follows, the author has availed himself of the privilege of originality by providing an entirely new style of Introduction. In most Introductions, the author includes all the ideas he has in the book, writing them over again, probably upon the assumption that, as nobody ever reads an " Introduction, " he is quite safe in giving away beforehand all the book contains. The Introduction that follows is above all this. It is guaranteed not to disclose the slightest inkling of what is in the book.

Introduction To The Preface

It ought to be quite plain now, even to any handsome person of average unintelligence, that the author of this book knows his business better than any other author now in typographical captivity. Every common author writes a preface (or gets someone else to do it for him), a Foreword, or an Introduction. But the present author, several years ahead of his age, has provided them all — and more — for he has not only begun with a Prologue, but he is quite likely to wind up with "A Few Remarks." This being incontestably true, the next thing in order is the

Preface

The idea of a Preface is to exhaust the reader before the book itself is reached, provided it is read, which it rarely is. To do this the author must not only give a history of his life, but must tell how he came to write the book and his motives in inflicting it upon an always expectant (and generally disappointed) public. Then he must express his thanks to all those who, having read the book, have secretly advised him not to issue it while loudly proclaiming its epoch-making qualities. The present author, however, is seeking the gratitude of the public, so he refuses to do all these things, except to say that thanks are due to an expensive electric fan that provided him with reasonable fresh air while writing it; to four typewriter ribbons that furnished the ink and inspiration, to certain vulgar creditors who, without knowing it, spurred him on, and to an innocent publisher who knew no better than to think he could get his money back. But

P. S.

A great fear has come over the present author that unless some outside person of distinguished ability can be induced to write something favorable about the book, the public will feel cheated out of its just dues and will therefore refuse to read it. As already hinted, no literary celebrity could ever be induced to read the book, let alone write anything complimentary about it. Not that it is necessary to read a book in order to write about it. But while several celebrities have been approached, the answer was always the same. The author was not the kind of an author who would write anything that any conscientious celebrity could introduce. He was over twelve years of age. That barred out Mr. Barrie. He had never done anything else — such as robbing other people of a couple of hundred millions, throwing a baby down a well, starting a new religion, inventing a new diet, or running for President — which would entitle him to the privilege of writing upon any subject of which he knew nothing. This being so, he was in despair until — out of a clear kitchen sky — a martyr appeared who offered her services. The few Remarks that follow, therefore — properly introducing the readers who may now be left — were written (as the author firmly believes) by the only Perfect Lady Cook.

A FEW REMARKS

The author of this book is personally known to the writer of these lines as one who eats regularly three meals a day, and as many more as he can get, and who frequently robs the refrigerator at midnight, drinking up all the milk left in the remaining bottle, and almost invariably leaving both doors open. There have been moments when he appeared to have a good disposition, but this was immediately after meals, and did not last. Also, he gets up in the middle of the night in search of what he terms ideas, the only result, however, being to disarrange the furniture and not infrequently to do it damage. He was never known to put any article back in its place and has never learned how to take care of himself. When it rains, his raincoat and umbrella are always somewhere else; and in summer his bathing suit, and in winter his overshoes, are never where he is ready to take oath he put them the season before. On the approach of any burglar he cowers in bed, with the sheets over his head. He cannot be trusted to mind a baby for fifteen minutes without endangering its life. His eyesight and memory are fast failing him and he cannot remember the face or name of any woman, even if she has spent a week-end in his home, for more than a few hours. He once tried to make out an income tax report and was only saved from a term of imprisonment and a heavy fine by two lawyers and the president of his local bank. His judgment in all business matters is wretched, and if given more than ten dollars at a time he squanders them in hard gum drops (which always disagree with him), in second-hand golf balls, and in moving picture shows. He has never learned how to put the studs in a dress shirt. His knowledge of politics, history, literature, art, and music is all quite vague and uncertain, his inaccuracy being so proverbial that when he makes a prediction on any subject, the exact opposite is certain to occur. He is full of conceit and frequently so absent-minded and rude in his manner that apologies have to be privately offered for him. He cannot drive a nail, lock a door properly, allows women to put on new tires, and does not even know how to replace an electric bulb. In fact, his ignorance is only exceeded by his vanity. His book, therefore, ought to be a great success. Well, Why Not?

The Only Perfect Cook.