The window was opened; but, instead of Crescence, the tailor's wife looked out, and said,--
"Crack your jokes before somebody else's house."
With a roar of laughter the College Chap returned to the middle of the road.
Within, Crescence sat with the geometer, paying but little heed to his blandishments: at last she feigned a headache and went to bed.
Tired of their fruitless watch, the three boys in the road bent their steps toward the inn. They had not gone far before they encountered Josey, the French simpleton. The College Chap cried, seizing him by the collar,--
"Qui vive? la bourse on la vie?"
"Paridadoin mullien," calmly replied the person addressed, meaning to say, "What do you want?"
"Here's a jolly lark!" cried the student, triumphantly. "Let's take Josey with us and make him do the geometer. Come; we'll treat you to a mug of beer."
"Moin paroula goin," answered Josey,--as if to say, "I've no objections." His words were all formed by accident; and he eked them out with nods and grins. Originally Josey was not more than half a simpleton; but the half which Nature had denied had been carefully educated into him by the wags of the village. If any villager has a mole in his disposition, he may be assured that his townsmen will stretch it into a mountain for their common behoof and education.
Nobody knew, or cared to know, what had given Josey the notion that he was master of all the living tongues. Some contended that he had been dry-nurse so long as to have acquired the baby-lingo by incessant practice. Be that as it may, it was impossible to address him in any real or imaginary language without receiving an instantaneous reply. This apart, he was as good a field-hand as many others; and, whether he understood the language of the beasts or not, they understood him and did his bidding. In church Josey was the only member of the congregation who nodded at every word of the Latin mass, to imply that he understood it to perfection.