They drank off their beer, and sat smoking and talking of other things, until Ferdinand remarked casually: “By the way—about your friend—are his parents still alive?”
Klaus was by no means anxious to go into Peer’s family affairs, and answered briefly—No, he thought not.
“I’m afraid I’m boring you with questions, but the fact is the fellow interests me rather. There is something in his face, something—arresting. Even the way he walks—where is it I’ve seen some one walk like that before? And he works like a steam-engine, I hear?”
“Works!” repeated Klaus. “He’ll ruin his health before long, the way he goes on grinding. I believe he’s got an idea that by much learning he can learn at last to—Ha-ha-ha!”
“To do what?”
“Why—to understand God!”
Ferdinand was staring out of the window. “Funny enough,” he said.
“I ran across him last Sunday, up among the hills. He was out studying geology, if you please. And if there’s a lecture anywhere about anything—whether it’s astronomy or a French poet—you can safely swear he’ll be sitting there, taking notes. You can’t compete with a fellow like that! He’ll run across a new name somewhere—Aristotle, for instance. It’s something new, and off he must go to the library to look it up. And then he’ll lie awake for nights after, stuffing his head with translations from the Greek. How the deuce can any one keep up with a man who goes at things that way? There’s one thing, though, that he knows nothing about.”
“And that is?”
“Well, wine and women, we’ll say—and fun in general. One thing he isn’t, by Jove!—and that’s YOUNG.”