"When you get through with the fire, Mr. Pedagog," observed the Idiot, one winter's morning, noticing that the ample proportions of the School-master served as a screen to shut off the heat from himself and the genial gentleman who occasionally imbibed, "I wish you would let us have a little of it. Indeed, if you could conveniently spare so little as one flame for my friend here and myself, we'd be much obliged."
"It won't hurt you to cool off a little, sir," returned the School-master, without moving.
"No, I am not so much afraid of the injury that may be mine as I am concerned for you. If that fire should melt our only refrigerating material, I do not know what our good landlady would do. Is it true, as the Bibliomaniac asserts, that Mrs. Smithers leaves all her milk and butter in your room[Pg 48] overnight, relying upon your coolness to keep them fresh?"
"'IF YOU COULD SPARE SO LITTLE AS ONE FLAME'"
"I never made any such assertion," said the Bibliomaniac, warmly.
"I am not used to having my word disputed," returned the Idiot, with a wink at the genial old gentleman.
"But I never said it, and I defy you to prove that I said it," returned the Bibliomaniac, hotly.
"You forget, sir," said the Idiot, coolly, "that you are the one who disputes my assertion. That casts the burden of proof on your shoulders. Of course if you can prove that you never said anything of the sort, I withdraw; but if you cannot adduce proofs, you, having doubted my word, and publicly at that, need not feel hurt if I decline to accept all that you say as gospel."