“Yes, for many years, I have studied the German books on astronomy. It is my pleasure.”
From that day our respect for Fritz was established. There is an aristocracy of learning; we doff our hats to even the beggar who knows.
The visitors were all interested in Fritz’s queer looking sun-dial, made out of a square board and piece of telegraph wire. Automobiles halted by the roadside to look at it. The children insisted on setting their Ingersolls by its falling shadow. A well known physician stood examining the dial one day. He took out his watch to make comparison.
“Very clever,” he said, “very clever; now let me see Fritz.” And Fritz came out.
“He isn’t much to look at,” the Doctor whispered to me, as the old German approached us.
Just then the five o’clock whistle blew. The Doctor and I looked at the dial.
“The shadow,” I said, “falls on the figure five.”
“Quite true,” replied the Doctor.
“It must,” said Fritz, quietly; “it must, for the wire points to the North Star.”