“Stay, stay, here come some uproarious fellows—this way, this way.”
And with off-handed politeness the man with the book escorted his companion into a private little haven removed from the brawling swells without.
Business transacted, the two came forth, and walked the deck.
“Now tell me, sir,” said he with the book, “how comes it that a young gentleman like you, a sedate student at the first appearance, should dabble in stocks and that sort of thing?”
“There are certain sophomorean errors in the world,” drawled the sophomore, deliberately adjusting his shirt-collar, “not the least of which is the popular notion touching the nature of the modern scholar, and the nature of the modern scholastic sedateness.”
“So it seems, so it seems. Really, this is quite a new leaf in my experience.”
“Experience, sir,” originally observed the sophomore, “is the only teacher.”
“Hence am I your pupil; for it’s only when experience speaks, that I can endure to listen to speculation.”
“My speculations, sir,” dryly drawing himself up, “have been chiefly governed by the maxim of Lord Bacon; I speculate in those philosophies which come home to my business and bosom—pray, do you know of any other good stocks?”
“You wouldn’t like to be concerned in the New Jerusalem, would you?”