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. “What is it like, George?”
George took my arm.
“It’s just Hades,” he informed me confidentially.
“Then,” I remarked, “I have no reason to regret--?”
“Still, you know,” interrupted George, “it’s not half bad.”
“That appears to me to be a paradox,” I observed.
“It’s precious hard to explain it to you if you’ve never felt it,” said
George, in rather an injured tone. “But what I say is quite true.”
“I shouldn’t think of contradicting you, my dear fellow,” I hastened to
say.
“Let’s sit down,” said he, “and watch the people driving. We may see
somebody--somebody we know, you know, Sam.”
“So we may,” said I, and we sat down.
“A fellow,” pursued George, with knitted brows, “is all turned upside
down, don’t you know?”
“How very peculiar?” I exclaimed.
“One moment he’s the happiest dog in the world, and the next--well, the
next, it’s the deuce.”
“But,” I objected, “not surely without good reason for such a change?”
“Reason? Bosh! The least thing does it.”