For me it is a serious matter. `Life is real, life is earnest, and the
Grave is not its goal,'" I quoted in impasioned tones.

(Because that is the way I feel. How can the Grave be its goal? THERE
MUST BE SOMETHING BEYOND. I have thought it all out, and I beleive in a
world beyond, but not in a hell. Hell, I beleive, is the state of mind
one gets into in this world as a result of one's wicked Acts or one's
wicked Thoughts, and is in one's self.)

As I have said, the other side of the Compromise was that I was not to
carry Flasks with me, or drink any punch at parties if it had a stick
in it, and you can generally find out by the taste. For if it is what
Carter Brooks calls "loaded" it stings your tongue. Or if it tastes like
cider it's probably Champane. And I was not to smoke any cigarettes.

Mother was holding out on the Sweater at that time, saying that Sis had
a perfectly good one from Miami, and why not wear that? So I put up a
strong protest about the cigarettes, although I have never smoked but
once as I think the School knows, and that only half through, owing to
getting dizzy. I said that Sis smoked now and then, because she thought
it looked smart; but that, if I was to have a Career, I felt that the
sootheing influence of tobaco would help a lot.

So I got the new Sweater, and everything looked smooth again, and mother
kissed me on the way out, and said she had not meant to be harsch, but
that my great uncle Putnam had been a notorious drunkard, and I looked
like him, although of a more refined tipe.

There was a dreadful row that night, however, when father came home. We
were all dressed for dinner, and waiting in the drawing room, and Leila