"Heavens! well I must say I never should have thought of that," I said. "What a fearful girl. And what did you say?"
"Say! I tried to explain to her the awfulness of it, the incongruity, but no, she couldn't see it! We jawed about it for a couple of hours with the result that our engagement is now off!"
"Good. I am very glad to hear it; but perhaps a Breach of Promise will come on?"
"Can't help it. Anything would be better than to go through life with a girl who didn't feel there are some things no fellar can do; and one of them, that he can't put a word like crimpy in his sonnet."
"Been doing any work?"
"Yes; one poem. Like to see it?"
"Very much."
He got up and went to a table littered all over with papers—written, printed, and blank. After a time he extracted the one he wanted, handed it to me, and then flung himself into the chair again.
"Whew! This title won't do. 'The Hermaphrodite!' That's far too alarming for the British public."
"Oh, bother! Well, go on. Read the poem."