immense number of love affairs,” said the shirt collar, “no one left me any
peace. It is true I was a very fine gentleman; quite stuck up. I had a boot-
Jean and a brush that I never used. You should have seen me then, when I
was turned down. I shall never forget my first love; she was a girdle, so
charming, and fine, and soft, and she threw herself into a washing tub for
my sake. There was a widow too, who was warmly in love with me, but I
left her alone, and she became quite black. The next was a first-rate dancer;
she gave me the wound from which I still suffer, she was so passionate.
Even my own hair-brush was in love with me, and lost all her hair through
neglected love. Yes, I have had great experience of this kind, but my
greatest grief was for the garter-the girdle I meant to say-that jumped into
the wash-tub. I have a great deal on my conscience, and it is really time I
should be turned into white paper.”
And the shirt collar came to this at last. All the rags were made into white
paper, and the shirt collar became the very identical piece of paper which
we now see, and on which this story is printed. It happened as a punishment
to him, for having boasted so shockingly of things which were not true. And
this is a warning to us, to be careful how we act, for we may some day find
ourselves in the rag-bag, to be turned into white paper, on which our whole
history may be written, even its most secret actions. And it would not be
pleasant to have to run about the world in the form of a piece of paper,
telling everything we have done, like the boasting shirt collar.
