Mr. William Townsend regarded his friend with half-shut eyes, and asked, “Are you still the superior person who defies the–the malady?”
“Even so.”
“You never had it?”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty.”
“Then it’s a lie.”
“It’s the truth. Of course I have known very fine girls who caused the usual thrills, whose conservatory kisses I should never undervalue. But when it comes to the fatuous delirium–the celestial idiocy that queers the brain and impairs the vision–why, I have been unlucky, that’s all.”
“You are a liar, Pats. Just a liar.”
“Mumps have been mine, and measles; and I have fooled with grape juice, but that other drunkenness has been denied me.”