“It’s the perpetual Tom,” said Ned.
“I supposed so,” observed the Professor. “What has that youth been doing now? Drinking, swearing, gambling, bad company, theft, murder?—out with it! I am prepared for anything, from the expression of your face; for anything, that is to say, except my lecture on Domestic Arts, which comes at three.”
“Well, if you choose to make fun of me,” said Ned, “I can go; but I thought you would advise me.”
“And so I will, you ridiculous creature, when you need it,” said the Professor; “only at such times you generally act for yourself. But, come; my advice and sympathy are yours; so what has Tom done?”
“He has fallen in love,” said Ned.
“Oh, no!” said the Professor.
“Yes, sir,” repeated Ned, more firmly, “he has fallen in love.”
“’Tis the way of all flesh,” said the Professor; “but I don’t think Tom can fall in love. He never even dislikes any one without a cause.”
“That’s all very well, sir,” said Ned; “but when a fellow has a girl’s picture, and looks at it when he thinks he isn’t watched; and when he receives notes, and keeps them, instead of throwing them around, as usual; and when he takes to being blue,—what do you say?”
“Please state your propositions separately,” said the Professor, “and I will endeavor to form an opinion. When a fellow has a girl’s picture,—what was the rest?”