“Did you learn any chemistry when you were at school, Tom?” said his uncle, after a pause.
“Very little, uncle. There were some lectures and experiments.”
“All useful, boy. You know something about physics, of course?”
“Physics, uncle?” faltered Tom, as he began to think what an empty-headed fellow he was.
“Yes, physics; not physic—salts and senna, rhubarb and magnesia, and that sort of thing; but natural science, heat and light, and the wonders of optics.”
Tom shook his head.
“Very little, uncle.”
“Ah, well, you’ll soon pick them up if you are interested, and not quite such a fool as your uncle made out. Do you know, Tom, that windmill has made me think that I never could have been a lawyer.”
Tom was silent. Things seemed to be getting worse.
“Four times have I had to come up to town and see my lawyer, who had to see the seller’s lawyer over and over again—the vendor I ought to have said. Now I suppose you wouldn’t have thought that I was a vendee, would you?”