‘Yes, old Parr, but not that Parr; you mean the English, I the Greek Parr, as people call him.’
‘I don’t know him.’
‘Perhaps not—rather too young for that, but were you of my age, you might have cause to know him, coming from where you do. He kept school there, I was his first scholar; he flogged Greek into me till I loved him—and he loved me. He came to see me last year, and sat in that chair; I honour Parr—he knows much, and is a sound man.’
‘Does he know the truth?’
‘Know the truth! he knows what’s good, from an oyster to an ostrich—he’s not only sound but round.’
‘Suppose we drink his health?’
‘Thank you, boy: here’s Parr’s health, and Whiter’s.’
‘Who is Whiter?’
‘Don’t you know Whiter? I thought everybody knew Reverend Whiter, the philologist, though I suppose you scarcely know what that means. A man fond of tongues and languages, quite out of your way—he understands some twenty; what do you say to that?’
‘Is he a sound man?’