"The Idiot is right," said the Bibliomaniac. "It would not be a very good thing for the world if every day were Sunday. Wash-day is a necessity of life. I am willing to admit this, in the face of the fact that wash-day meals are invariably atrocious. Contracts would be void, as a rule, because Sunday is a dies non."
"A what?" asked the Idiot.
"A non-existent day in a business sense," put in the School-master.
"Of course," said the landlady, scornfully. "Any person who knows anything knows that."
"Then, madame," returned the Idiot, rising from his chair, and putting a handful of sweet crackers in his pocket—"then I must put in a claim for $104 from you, having been charged, at the rate of one dollar a day for 104 dies nons in the two years I have been with you."[Pg 64]
"Indeed!" returned the lady, sharply. "Very well. And I shall put in a counterclaim for the lunches you carry away from breakfast every morning in your pockets."
"In that event we'll call it off, madame," returned the Idiot, as with a courtly bow and a pleasant smile he left the room.
"Well, I call him 'off,'" was all the landlady could say, as the other guests took their departure.
And of course the School-master agreed with her.[Pg 65]