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I am terribly dejected for about a week or two. I take off my ring, I wear my worst clothes, I use no bears grease, and I frequently lament over the late Miss Larkinss faded flower. Being, by that time, rather tired of this kind of life, and having received new provocation from the butcher, I throw the flower away, go out with the butcher, and gloriously defeat him. This, and the resumption of my ring, as well as of the bears grease in moderation, are the last marks I can discern now in my progress to seventeen. |
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