"What?" asked Hilary; for I had paused to light a cigarette.

"Uninteresting," said I, getting into my cab.



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."