“I really marvel, Richard, what this one point can be, for, to my eyes, we seem to differ so materially, and so often—”
“Mere consequences, sir,” interrupted the sheriff; “all our minor differences proceed from one cause, and that is, our opinions of the universal attainments of genius.”
“In what, Dickon?”
“I speak plain English, I believe, Judge Temple: at least I ought; for my father, who taught me, could speak——”
“Greek and Latin,” interrupted Marmaduke. “I well know the qualifications of your family in tongues, Dickon. But proceed to the point; why are we travelling over this mountain to-day?”
“To do justice to any subject, sir, the narrator must be suffered to proceed in his own way,” continued the sheriff. “You are of opinion, Judge Temple, that a man is to be qualified by nature and education to do only one thing well, whereas I know that genius will supply the place of learning, and that a certain sort of man can do anything and everything.”
“Like yourself, I suppose,” said Marmaduke, smiling.
“I scorn personalities, sir, I say nothing of myself; but there are three men on your Patent, of the kind that I should term talented by nature for her general purposes though acting under the influence of different situations.”
“We are better off, then, than I had supposed. Who are these triumviri?”
“Why, sir, one is Hiram Doolittle; a carpenter by trade, as you know—and I need only point to the village to exhibit his merits. Then he is a magistrate, and might shame many a man, in his distribution of justice, who has had better opportunities.”