"Ten years ago," said Axton, resuming his seat with a sigh. "Ten years ago, Octavius!"
"And it seems like yesterday," observed Octavius, smiling. "Strange that I should meet little Axton at Jarlchester, of all places in the world. What brought you here, old boy?"
"My own legs," said Roger, complacently. "I'm in the poet trade, and have been trying to draw inspiration from nature during a walking tour."
"A poet, eh! Yes, I remember your rhapsodies about Shelley and Keats at school. So you've followed in their footsteps, Roger. 'The child's the father of the man.' That's the Bible, isn't it?"
"I've got a hazy idea that Wordsworth said something like it," responded Axton, drily. "Yes, I'm a poet. And you?"
"I'm the prose to your poetry. You study nature, I study man."
"Taken Pope's advice, no doubt. A novelist?"
"No; not a paying line nowadays. Overcrowded."
"A schoolmaster?"
"Worse still. We can't all be Arnolds."