Throw out every rag you think doesn't fit in with what I want to be.
How's my grammar?"
I was proud of it; I had been taking more or less pains with my mode of
speech for a dozen years. "Rather too good," said he. "But that's better
than making the breaks that aren't regarded as good form."
"Good form!" I exclaimed. "That's it! That's what I want! What does 'good
form' mean?"
He laughed. "You can search me," said he. "I could easier tell
you--anything else. It's what everybody recognizes on sight, and nobody
knows how to describe. It's like the difference between a cultivated
'jimson' weed and a wild one."
"Like the difference between Mowbray Langdon and me," I suggested
good-naturedly. "How about my manners?"
"Not so bad," said he. "Not so rotten bad. But--when you're polite, you're
a little too polite; when you're not polite, you--"
"Show where I came from too plainly?" said I. "Speak right out--hit good
and hard. Am I too frank for 'good form'?"
"You needn't bother about that," he assured me. "Say whatever comes into
your head--only, be sure the right sort of thing comes into your head.
Don't talk too much about yourself, for instance. It's good form to think
about yourself all the time; it's bad form to let people see it--in your
talk.
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