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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Drift from Two Shores"

I was
astonished to find two young friends of mine, in correct evening
dress, reclining on each other's shoulders and sleeping the sleep
of the justly inebriated. I stated this fact to the coachman. Not
a muscle of his well-trained face answered to my smile. But he
said: "You see, sir, we've been out all night, and more than four
blocks below they saw you, and wanted me to hail you, but you know
you stopped to speak to a gentleman, and so I sorter lingered, and
I drove round the block once or twice, and I guess I've got 'em
quiet again." I looked in the carriage door once more on these
sons of Belial. They were sleeping quite unconsciously. A
bouttonniere in the lappel of the younger one's coat had shed its
leaves, which were scattered over him with a ridiculous suggestion
of the "Babes in the Wood," and I closed the carriage door softly.
"I suppose I'd better take 'em home, sir?" queried the coachman,
gravely. "Well, yes, John, perhaps you had."
There is another picture in my early rising experience that I wish
was as simply and honestly ludicrous.


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