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Locke, William John, 1863-1930

"Simon the Jester"

I broke into a chuckle, somewhat hysterical
I must admit, and then, throwing myself into an arm-chair, gave way to
uncontrollable laughter.
The scare of the unexpected rose in Dale's eyes.
"Why, what on earth is the matter?"
"Can't you see?" I cried, as far as the paroxysms of my mirth would let
me. "Can't you see how exquisitely ludicrous the whole thing has been
from beginning to end? Don't you realise that you and I are playing
the same scene as we played months ago in my library, with the only
difference that we have changed roles? I'm the raving, infatuated youth,
and you're the grave and reverend mentor. Don't you see? Don't you see?"
"I can't see anything to laugh at," said Dale sturdily.
And he couldn't. There are thousands of bright, flame-like human beings
constituted like that. Life spreads out before them one of its most
side-splitting, topsy-turvy farces and they see in it nothing to laugh
at.
To Dale the affair had been as serious and lacking in the fantastic as
the measles.


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