With an innocence hard to credit in one so clever, William asked why.
“Why!” June almost snorted. “Because if Uncle Si offers you seven and sixpence for a thing which he knows you bought for five shillings, you can be sure that he considers it may be valuable.”
“The master has always been very good to me,” said the young man with extreme simplicity.
At these words June felt a stab of pain, so great was the contrast between the two men. One saw the wares in which they dealt only in terms of beauty, the other in terms of money.
“You are too modest. And, although you are so clever, if you don’t mind my saying so, you are also rather foolish in some ways—at least that’s my opinion.”
William frankly admitted the impeachment.
“Well, now,” said June, a cool and steady eye upon him, “suppose you tell me where you think your foolishness lies?”
“Why, I was foolish enough to think that patch”—the Simpleton pressed the finger of an artist upon the patch—“was really and truly a windmill. But, of course, it’s nothing of the kind.”
“I’m not speaking of windmills now,” said June severely. “I’m speaking of things much more important.”
“Oh, but a windmill can be very important. Have you ever really seen a windmill?”