George Allan England

“ Art? No good. You had already drawn several pictures for Her, all smudgy and highly colored with your penny crayons; and you remembered only with too awful a heart-sickness how you had found them, torn and sodden, in the gutter on Ashford Street. No, Betty possessed no soul for Art. ”

“ The trouble was, Betty didn't need candy, in the first place and was sick of it; in the second, her father kept the store, and complications might result. What was candy to a girl who could go in, any old time, and help herself even to the almond-bars? Besides, her father was rather an awful man, with a bulbous nose, a wen and a dreadfully big fist. No...
Of course, you might learn to smoke. That was always reputed a good way to make head in a girl's affections and admiration. Naturally, you mustn't do it in an aggressive or show-offish manner. ”

“ You remembered what Teacher had said about smoking, also the composition she had made you write, in which you had virtuously declared: “Cigerts are bad on the hearp and livver they stump your growt, I wil not smoke.” Nevertheless, to win Betty's love—? Yes, you might go so far as to venture cubebs, or even “real ones,” or if absolutely necessary, a pipe stuffed with dried leaves. Pipes always made one very sick. Awful sick! So much the better. Martyrdom! And yet—?
Yes, there might be other ways, just as effective and less painful. Suppose you could be just terribly brave, some way? ”

“ The big boys smoked, some of them. Why couldn't you? Bub Cook smoked, and so did Tom Ashley, and Leatherbee, and lots of 'em. And you knew where there was lots of dried corn-silk, in Morrison's barn—another lair of the Rangers. Brother Paul smoked, too, in spite of the fact that he told you smoking would draw the blood out of your lungs, and breathed through a handkerchief to prove it. The brown stain, he said, was dried blood. This was very awful, but interesting. You might even die of it, a martyr to love. ”

“ Dimly, by reason of one bunged eye and absolute dizziness, you perceived a knot of the fellers drifting down the street, in mockery; and from its midst rose wails—and ever you heard “Cry-baby! Cry-baby!” ”

“ You were minded, suddenly, to flee; to crawl through the gapped fence, and, making overland via the Deadwood Dick Trail across Morrison's kitchen-garden, to risk encounter with their bull-pup and seek refuge in far places.
But alas, 'twas now too late. You had been seen of Her; caught, moreover, in the flagrant crime of carving Her initials—certain scandal, if bruited abroad. ”

“ Too unspeakably frightful the risk. And beside, a soul unmoved by art and music would never melt for literature. Besides, you had already used up all your rhymes—dove, love; cruel, gruel; sweet, feet; heart, smart ”

“ Right away you found it wasn't a bit as easy as it looked to coax your head down between your legs, wrap yourself in your arms and roll round. Somehow, you wouldn't stay put. First one leg would break loose and stick out, and then one arm, and then your head; and then you would all come apart at once and sprawl.
“Gee! I never thought it was so awful hard! Gonta do it, anyhow. Gonta, even if I hafta tie myself!”
Tie yourself? Why not? Great idea! Quietly you sneaked down the steep, twisty barn stairs and out into the back yard. ”

“ Call Brother Paul. Call Ma!
Never! No, not while life endured! Guess not! Imagine it, will you? Imagine the news round town: “Buck, he tried t' do circus-stunts an' tied hisself in a hard knot an' couldn't git out, an' his ma had to cut him loose!' Conceive the effect on Betty, will you? ”