It's a most
interesting story. I can't put in any literary style and all that; but
I don't have to, don't you know, because it goes on its Moral Lesson.
If you're a man you mustn't miss it, because it'll be a warning to you;
and if you're a woman you won't want to, because it's all about how a
girl made a man feel pretty well fed up with things.
If you're a recent acquaintance of Bobbie's, you'll probably be
surprised to hear that there was a time when he was more remarkable for
the weakness of his memory than anything else. Dozens of fellows, who
have only met Bobbie since the change took place, have been surprised
when I told them that. Yet it's true. Believe _me_.
In the days when I first knew him Bobbie Cardew was about the most
pronounced young rotter inside the four-mile radius. People have called
me a silly ass, but I was never in the same class with Bobbie. When it
came to being a silly ass, he was a plus-four man, while my handicap
was about six. Why, if I wanted him to dine with me, I used to post him
a letter at the beginning of the week, and then the day before send him
a telegram and a phone-call on the day itself, and--half an hour before
the time we'd fixed--a messenger in a taxi, whose business it was to
see that he got in and that the chauffeur had the address all correct.
By doing this I generally managed to get him, unless he had left town
before my messenger arrived.
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