I wonder, Phineas, if your father ever did." "Oh, no my father would not enter a play-house for the world." "What!" "Nay, John, you need not look so troubled.

You know he did not bring me up in the Society, and its restrictions are not binding upon me." "True, true." And he resumed his walk, but not his cheerfulness.

"If it were myself alone, now, of course what I myself hold to be a lawful pleasure I have a right to enjoy; or, if not, being yet a lad and under a master--well, I will bear the consequences," added he, rather proudly; "but to share them--Phineas," turning suddenly to me, "would you like to go home ?--I'll take you." I protested earnestly against any such thing; told him I was sure we were doing nothing wrong--which was, indeed, my belief; entreated him to be merry and enjoy himself, and succeeded so well, that in a few minutes we had started in a flutter of gaiety and excitement for Coffee-house Yard.
It was a poor place--little better than a barn, as Mr.Charles had said--built in a lane leading out of the principal street.

This lane was almost blocked up with play-goers of all ranks and in all sorts of equipages, from the coach-and-six to the sedan-chair, mingled with a motley crowd on foot, all jostling, fighting, and screaming, till the place became a complete bear-garden.
"Oh, John! take care!" and I clung to his arm.
"Never mind! I'm big enough and strong enough for any crowd.

Hold on, Phineas." If I had been a woman, and the woman that he loved, he could not have been more tender over my weakness.