And thus began the Hermit's apprenticeship.
'It is too hot for footer,' said Chimp, after he had collected his thoughts, 'so we will make a start with a little cricket practice. Cricket,' he explained, 'is a game—the best game in the world. You ought to see W. G. and Ranji. But of course you don't know who they are. Oh dear, oh dear, what you are missing out here! W. G., that's W. G. Grace, the champion of the world. Your beard, Billykins, must have been rather like his a few years ago. And Ranji, that's Ranjitsinhji.'
'Yes, yes,' the Hermit remarked feebly, depressed by the weight of his stupendous ignorance.
Chimp went on with fine authority. 'Now, while I am cramming this sock with stuff to make a ball, you be sharpening these sticks for wickets. You've got a knife, I suppose?'
The Hermit admitted that he had not.
'What!' cried Chimp; 'no knife? Why, you'll never be a boy without a knife. Let me look at your pockets?'
The Hermit had but one pocket, and a handkerchief was all it held.
'Awfully clean,' was Chimp's contemptuous comment. 'And nothing else? Oh, this will never do! Look at mine now,' and turning out his pockets, he displayed a double-bladed knife containing several implements, including a corkscrew and an attachment for extracting stones from horses' feet, a piece of string, a watch spring, twenty or thirty shot, a button, a magnet, a cog-wheel, a pencil, a match-box, a case of foreign stamps all stuck together with salt water, a whistle, a halfpenny with a hole in it, and a soaked and swollen cigar which the Captain had given him.
'Are all these things quite necessary?' the Hermit asked humbly.
'No,' said Chimp, 'not quite all. The knife is, and the string is, and a fellow likes his smoke, you know. Collecting stamps is rather decent, but you needn't unless you want to. There's butterflies and birds' eggs, if you like. The other things are useful: the more you have the better for you.'