Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. “You are making your dress?” “Such as it is. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. “Look here, daddy,” she said, in a tone of great reasonableness, “I MUST go to that dance, you know. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. “Well,” he said at last slowly, “I’ll pay it. “I want to be your friend,” he said. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone.
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