X.
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.'
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