"
"What was it?" I said, laughing, as he shook his head dubiously and
looked meditatively into the fire.
"Why, I sent her a sonnet--at least, no, a verse--and we were
talking about it afterwards, I had written--"
'And leaning sideways, looks, and lifts
The tresses of her heavy hair.'
"See?"
I nodded.
"Well, she objected to the adjective 'heavy,' and wanted me to
insert another. What word do you think she suggested?"
"Can't say at all. Golden, perhaps!"
"Worse!" he answered, with a groan. "Golden is hackneyed but still
conceivable. No--Crimpy! my dear fellow! Think of it!"
I went into a fit of laughter.
"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.
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