STRANGE, BUT TRUE
The other day my young cousin George lunched with me. He is a
cheery youth, and a member of the University of Oxford. He
refreshes me very much, and I believe that I have the pleasure of
affording him some matter for thought. On this occasion,
however, he was extremely silent and depressed. I said little,
but made an extremely good luncheon. Afterwards we proceeded to
take a stroll in the Park.
"Sam, old boy," said George suddenly, "I'm the most miserable
devil alive."
"I don't know what else you expect at your age," I observed,
lighting a cigar. He walked on in silence for a few moments.
"I say, Sam, old boy, when you were young, were you ever--?" he
paused, arranged his neckcloth (it was more like a bed-quilt--oh,
the fashion, of course, I know that), and blushed a fine crimson.
"Was I ever what, George?" I had the curiosity to ask.
"Oh, well, hard hit, you know--a girl, you know."
"In love, you mean, George? No, I never was."
"Never?"
"No. Are you?"
"Yes. Hang it!" Then he looked at me with a puzzled air and
continued:
"I say, though, Sam, it's awfully funny you shouldn't have--don't
you know what it's like, then?"
"How should I?" I inquired apologetically.
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