“And term lasts two months?”
“Yes, hang it!”
“All is well,” said I, crossing my legs. “There is more virtue in two months than in Ten Commandments.”
George regarded me with a dispassionate air.
“You’re an awful ass sometimes,” he observed critically, and he rose from his seat.
“Must you go?” said I.
“Yes—got a lot of things to do. Look here, Sam, don’t go and talk about—”
“Talk about what?”
“Anything, you old idiot,” said George, with a pleased smile, and he dug me in the ribs with his cane, and departed.
I sat on, admiring the simple elements which constitute the happiness of the young. Alas! With advancing years, Wrong loses half its flavor! To be improper ceases, by itself, to satisfy.