Geoffrey turned, and found that the words proceeded from a little, withered, yellow-faced man, in a very old-fashioned dress. He was well-to-do, evidently, for a bunch of heavy gold seals hung from a black watch-ribbon, his Panama hat was of the finest quality, and there was something dapper and suggestive of the William the Fourth gentleman, in the blue coat, with gilt buttons, and neat drab trousers.
“I said, Tchah! Fools!” repeated the little man, on noticing Geoffrey’s inquiring gaze. “They have not got them yet!”
“Many a slip betwixt cup and lip, eh?” said Geoffrey, quietly. “Yes: one pull of the net over a rock—one blunder, and away goes the school; and that’s life?”
“You mean that’s your idea of life,” said Geoffrey. “No, I don’t, boy. I mean that’s life!”
“According to your view,” said Geoffrey, smiling.
“According to what it is,” said the old man, testily. “What the devil do you know of life, at your age?”
“Ah! that would take some telling,” replied Geoffrey. “You and I would have to argue that matter out.”
“Argue? Bah! Do I look a man with time to waste in argument?”
“Well, no; nor yet in getting out of temper, and calling people fools,” said Geoffrey, with a smile.
The old man thumped his thick malacca cane upon the stones, and stared aghast at the stranger who dared to speak to him in so free and contradictory a manner in a place where, after a fashion, he had been a kind of king.