Hud. Aren't you going to the Assembly to-night?
[Enter Hudson from bedroom putting on evening coat.]
Burl. [without looking up]. Did you ever know me to go to more than one Harvard Assembly? Don't ask foolish questions.
Hud. Well, don't you be such a lazy lummox. [Going to looking-glass.] Really, Ned, you ought to go out more among decent people.
Burl. Yes. I have such a good time when I do. At the last and only party in Boston to which I ever went, I knew just one girl, and spilled ice-cream on her dress. After holding up the wall for an hour and a half, and finding it impossible to get you or any one else to come back to Cambridge with me, I started home alone in Riley's cab. Mr. Riley felt in a sporting mood as usual, and insisted on racing an electric car. We broke down at Central Square. It was snowing hard and the walk home in patent leathers was lovely. When I got home, of course, I found that my keys were chained to my other trousers, and I busted the bags I had on in climbing through the ventilator over the door. I dropped on the rocking-chair and the pup both at once, and then found there was nothing to drink in the book-case. Oh, I enjoyed the last Assembly thoroughly. I think it would be fun to go again. Ugh!
Hud. Very few ever go to a party for pleasure, my dear boy. It is a duty that you owe to yourself. If you never go to balls, you will never know how to behave in a ballroom. When you have learned to do that, why then you needn't go to balls.
Burl. That is logical.
Hud. It is also a duty that you owe society.
Burl. Society can have my share of the supper, and call it square.
Hud. Well, now look here, Ned, I want you to go in to the Assembly to-night for a particular reason, besides your own civilization.