"There you go exaggerating everything I say. No wonder you know a lot about chemical experiments—your ideas tumble all over themselves. That's all right when you've got test tubes to pour 'em into, but you got to be careful how you spill 'em around Deep Harbor. What church do you attend?"
The suddeness with which this query came at me left me floundering once more.
"Church?" I queried, as if I had never heard of the institution.
"Hell, yes—church," Knowlton replied. "Nothing like being seen regularly at church when you hit a new town. You make friends that way, and it's good for business—makes people think you steady and dependable."
"Really, I had never before considered the church in the light of a business associate," I answered, "but I can see there is considerable point to what you say. I wonder Polonius didn't think of it."
"One of those classical guys you learn about in college, isn't he?"
"Yes—you would admire immensely his advice to his son. I'll buy you a calendar with it on when we get there. It's a lot like what you've been telling me."
"Well, I guess he was a wise guy, all right, and learned the way I did—from being up against it. That's worth all the book learning there is."
"But you learned your profession from books."
"Sure I did—scientific books. You can't put them in the same class with the stuff they fill you full of at college."