Robert bethought himself suddenly that Edward had better not. "I can tell you the time to a second," he said. "It's now twelve minutes past eleven."
Edward held his watch balancing. "Twelve," he repeated; and, behind this mask of common-place dialogue, they watched one another—warily, and still with pity, on Robert's side.
"You can't place any reliance on watches," said Edward.
"None, I believe," Robert remarked.
"If you could see the sun every day in this climate!" Edward looked up.
"Ah, the sun's the best timepiece, when visible," Robert acquiesced.
"Backwoodsmen in America don't need watches."
"Unless it is to astonish the Indians with them."
"Ah! yes!" hummed Robert.
"Twelve—fifteen—it must be a quarter past. Or, a three quarters to the next hour, as the Germans say."
"Odd!" Robert ejaculated. "Foreigners have the queerest ways in the world. They mean no harm, but they make you laugh."