"You don't mean to say that you write for the papers?" put in the School-master, with an incredulous smile.
"I try to," returned the Idiot, meekly. "If the papers don't take 'em, I find them useful in curing my genial friend who imbibes of insomnia."
"What do you write—advertisements?" queried the Bibliomaniac.
"No. Advertisement writing is an art to[Pg 92] which I dare not aspire. It's too great a tax on the brain," replied the Idiot.
"Tax on what?" asked the Doctor. He was going to squelch the Idiot.
"The brain," returned the latter, not ready to be squelched. "It's a little thing people use to think with, Doctor. I'd advise you to get one." Then he added, "I write poems and foreign letters mostly."
"I did not know that you had ever been abroad," said the clergyman.
"I never have," returned the Idiot.