"So I've heard you say," answered the huckster. "Give Mary another cup of tea, please, Sarah Jane."
"Yes," continued Mr. Churchward. "At first I had reason to believe that William would develop very unusual intellects. His childhood was rich in evidences of a precocious mind. But it seemed, in the race between brain and body, that after a struggle the physical being out-distanced the mental spirit. If I am becoming too subtle, stop me. But you may have observed that men above six feet high are seldom brilliantly intelligent."
"I know a chap who is, however," said Sarah Jane. "A young man bigger than your son, Mr. Churchward, but a very great thinker in his way—so my father says."
Mr. Churchward raised his eyebrows incredulously, and at the same moment bowed.
"Bill's sharp enough, and father knows it," said Mary Churchward. "He's horrid lazy; that's all that's the matter with him. If he had to work, 'twould be a very good thing for him."
"The questions that child used to ask me!" continued Adam. "Why, I believe it is allowed that I can reply to most people—am I right, Huggins?"
"Never yet knowed you to be floored," replied Mr. Huggins, in an aged treble. "There's the guts of a whole libr'y of books packed behind your gert yellow forehead, schoolmaster."
"Thank you, Huggins," said Mr. Churchward, with dignity. "Thank you. Truth has always been your guiding star since I have known you, and though your words are homely, they come from the heart. Pass me the sally-lunns, Susan, and I'll tell you a good thing Will said when he was no more than seven years old."
Mr. Churchward selected a cake, nibbled it, then waved it.
"Stop me if I have narrated this narrative before. I was giving the child a lesson in divinity. Indeed, at one time I had thoughts of the calling for him, but his mind took another turn."