He has chewed on one side of his mouth all his life. The teeth on the
other side have loosened and are ready to fall out, while the overworked
molars on the other are about to run into decay. The faculties whereby
he was expected to please other people have become rudimentary, and he
can now no more fascinate other people than he can sing soprano. He
makes an effort to engage the interest of a young lady. The hollowness
of his attack at once arrests her attention. The ease with which he
speaks long sentences of admiration proclaims his long practice in the
art, and the utter lack of real meaning in them. He knows that the girl
will