o felicitously taught when you don't know it.

Here's something else that taught me a good deal.

When I was seventeen I was very bashful, and a sixteen-year-old girl
came to stay a week with us. She was a peach, and I was seized with a
happiness not of this world.

One evening my mother suggested that, to entertain her, I take her
to the theatre. I didn't really like to, because I was seventeen and
sensitive about appearing in the streets with a girl. I couldn't see my
way to enjoying my delight in public. But we went.

I didn't feel very happy. I couldn't seem to keep my mind on the play.
I became conscious, after a while, that that was due less to my lovely
company than my boots. They were sweet to look upon, as smooth as skin,
but fitted ten time as close. I got oblivious to the play and the girl
and the other people and everything but my boots until--I hitched one
partly off. The sensation was sensuously perfect: I couldn't help it.
I had to get the other off, partly. Then I was obliged to get them off
altogether, except that I kept my feet in the legs so they couldn't get
away.

From that time I enjoyed the play. But the first thing I knew the
curtain came down, like that, without my notice, and--I hadn't any boots
on. What's more, they wouldn't go on. I tugged strenuously. And the
people in our row got up and fussed and said things until the peach and
I simply had to move on.

We moved--the girl on one arm and the boots under the other.

We walked home that way, sixteen blocks, with a retinue a mile long:
Every time we passed a lamp-post, death gripped one at the throat. But
we, got home--and I had on white socks.

If I live to be nine hundred and ninety-nine years old I don't suppose
I could ever forget that walk. I, remember, it about as keenly as the
chagrin I suffered on another occasion.

At one time in our domestic history we had a colored butler who had a
failing. He could never remember to ask people who came to the door
to state their business. So I used to suffer a good many calls
unnecessarily.

One morning when I was especially busy he brought me a card engraved
with a name I did not know. So I said, "What does he wish to see
me for?" and Sylvester said, "Ah couldn't ask him, sah; he, wuz a
genlinun." "Return instantly," I thundered, "and inquire his mission.
Ask him what's his game." Well, Sylvester returned with the announcement
that he had lightning-rods to sell. "Indeed," said I, "thin