He had just taken Bates's chambers in Staple Inn--you have
met him, I think. He didn't know many people then and was grateful
for my invitation. The play was one of those Palais Royal farces--
it cannot matter which, they are all exactly alike. The fun
consists of somebody's trying to sin without being found out. It
always goes well. The British public invariably welcomes the theme,
provided it be dealt with in a merry fashion. It is only the
serious discussion of evil that shocks us. There was the usual
banging of doors and the usual screaming. Everybody was laughing
around us. My young friend sat with rather a curious fixed smile
upon his face. 'Fairly well constructed,' I said to him, as the
second curtain fell amid yells of delight. 'Yes,' he answered, 'I
suppose it's very funny.' I looked at him; he was little more than
a boy. 'You are rather young,' I said, 'to be a moralist.' He gave
a short laugh. 'Oh! I shall grow out of it in time,' he said. He
told me his story later, when I came to know him better. He had
played the farce himself over in Melbourne--he was an Australian.
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