AT THE CORNER OF LOVERS' LANE
agine he could hold his own. Say, he was a boy! and what a winner! I 'spose in his day he has led many a fascinating female up this very same Lovers' Lane. He was a boy!
"Well, that was the make-up of one of the gayest gangs that ever cheered for Princeton—only they didn't cheer in those days, did they? They had lots of manner and were great on clothes. They dressed to beat the band—gayly colored clothes with little flubdubs up here—you know what I mean—and a wig and all that, and carried sword-canes. They used them, too, in those days, when they got to scrapping in Whig and Clio Hall—imagine fighting a duel over the outcome of a debate! They used to take it more seriously than we do now in these times of brutal athletics. There's a portrait of my ancestor, as he was as a student, in our dining-room at home, by Peale; went all the way to New York in the stage-coach to pose for it during the Christmas holidays when he was visiting that New York pal I spoke of."
"We can guess at all that," interrupted one of the listeners. "Go on with the story."
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