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Literary Lapses
·
Stephen Leacock
118
"Not
stand
it!"
cried
Robinson
fiercely;
"me
not
stand
it!
By
gad!
I'm
made
for
it.
I
just
wish
I
had
a
taste
of
the
old
life
again
for
a
while.
And
as
for
innocence!
Well,
I'll
bet
you
you
weren't
one-tenth
as
innocent
as
I
was;
no,
nor
one-fifth,
nor
one-third!
What
a
grand
old
life
it
was!
You'll
swear
this
is
a
darned
lie
and
refuse
to
believe
it--but
I
can
remember
evenings
when
I'd
have
two
or
three
fellows
in,
and
we'd
sit
round
and
play
pedro
by
a
candle
half
the
night."
"Two
or
three!"
laughed
Jones;
"why,
my
dear
fellow,
I've
known
half
a
dozen
of
us
to
sit
down
to
supper
in
my
piano
box,
and
have
a
game
of
pedro
afterwards;
yes,
and
charades
and
forfeits,
and
every
other
darned
thing.
Mighty
good
suppers
they
were
too!
By
Jove,
Robinson,
you
fellows
round
this
town
who
have
ruined
your
digestions
with
high
living,
have
no
notion
of
the
zest
with
which
a
man
can
sit
down
to
a
few
potato
peelings,
or
a
bit
of
broken
pie
crust,
or--"
"Talk
about
hard
food,"
interrupted
the
other,
"I
guess
I
know
all
about
that.
Many's
the
time
I've
breakfasted
off
a
little
cold
porridge
that
somebody
was
going
to
throw
away
from
a
back-door,
or
that
I've
gone
round
to
a
livery
stable
and
begged
a
little
bran
mash
that
they
intended
for
the
pigs.
I'll
venture
to
say
I've
eaten
more
hog's
food--"
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