"It's a great pity that a genius like Borg should drink so much," replied Levi.
"How and when does he show his genius?" asked Falk.
"A man can be a genius without writing verse," said Struve pointedly.
"I dare say; writing verse does not pre-suppose genius, nor is a man a genius if he behaves like a brute," said Falk.
"Hadn't we better pay and go?" remarked Struve, hurrying towards the door.
Falk and Levi paid. When they stepped into the street it rained and the sky was black; only the reflexion of the gas-lit town faintly illuminated the sky. The coach had driven away; there was nothing left for them but to turn up their collars and walk.
They had gone as far as the skittle-alley, when they were startled by terrible yells above their heads.
"Curse you!" screamed a voice, and looking up they saw Borg rocking himself on one of the highest branches of a lime tree. The branch nearly touched the ground, but at the next moment it described a tremendous curve upwards.
"Oh! Isn't it colossal!" screamed Levi. "Colossal!"
"What a madman," smiled Struve, proud of his protégé.