everybody alike. But Clytie had never met an Abner Joyce.

And as soon as Clytie entered upon the particulars of her last slumming
trip through the river wards she began to discover the difference. She
chanced to mention incidentally certain low-grade places of amusement.

"What!" cried Abner; "you go to theatres--and _such_ theatres?"

"Surely I do!" cried Clytie in turn, no less disconcerted than Abner
himself. "Surely I go to theatres; don't you?"

"Never," replied Abner firmly. "I have other uses for my money." His
rules of conduct marshalled themselves in a stiff row before him; forlorn
Flatfield came into view. Neither his principles nor his practice of
making monthly remittances to the farm permitted such excesses.

"Why, it doesn't _cost_ anything," rejoined Clytie. "There's no admission
charge. All you have to do is to buy a drink now and then."

"Buy a drink?"

"Beer--that will do. You can stay as long as you want to on a couple of
glasses. Lots of our girls didn't take but one."

"Lots of----?"

"Yes, the whole class went. We found the place most interesting--and the
audience. The men sit about with their hats on, you know, in a big hall
full of round tables, drinking and smoking----"