"Ah, my bachelor!" he exclaimed, as he selected a straw.
"'Who would fardels bear?'" rejoined Mr. Meredith. Then came to the other
a recollection of an auburn-haired ball player on whom the third strike
had once been called while his eyes wandered tenderly to the grandstand,
where the prettiest girl of that commencement week was sitting.
"Have you forgot the 'Indian Princess'?" he asked.
"You're a dull old person," Tom laughed. "Haven't you discovered that 'tis
they who forget us? And why shouldn't they? Do _we_ remember well?--
anybody except just us two, I mean, of course."
"I've a notion we do, sometimes."
The other set his glass on the tray, and lit his cigarette. "Yes; when
we're unsuccessful. Then I think we do."
"That may be true."
"Of course it is. If a lady wishes to make an impression on me that is
worth making, let her let me make none on her."
"You think it is always our vanity?"
"Analyze it as your revered Thomas does and you shall reach the same
conclusion. Let a girl reject you and--" Meredith broke off, cursing
himself inwardly, and, rising, cried gaily: "What profiteth it a man if he
gain the whole wisdom in regard to women and loseth not his own heart? And
neither of us is lacking a heart--though it may be; one can't tell, one's
self; one has to find out about that from some girl.
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