"Parse that," said I, listlessly.
"Parse your granny!" he retorted. "I don't believe you could parse it yourself, as clever as you think you are. Beggar conceitedness; beggar everything. I wish I was about forty."
"And know as much as you do now?" I barely articulated.
"Yes—and know as much as I do now," he repeated doggedly. "In fact, I never met anyone that knows as much as I do; but people won't pay any attention to a young fellow, no matter if he was Solomon. That Martin wants a lift under the ear."
"Does he?" I asked faintly. "I did n't hear him express the desire."
"Gosh! you've been on the turkey; you'll be cutting yourself some of these times. I wish Toby was back with the mail. I hope he'll forget to ask for your letters."
"Now the Lord lighten thee; thou art a great fool," I sighed. "What time does Toby generally get back?"
"Any time between two in the afternoon and sunrise next morning, according to the state of the mailman's horses. Beggar such a life as this. At it, early and late; working through accounts, and serving-out rations, and one thing or another; and no more chance of distinguishing myself than if I was in jail. I can't stand it much longer, and what's more, I won't. I wish the mail was in. I've got a presentiment of something good this time. If you don't speculate, you won't accumulate, as the saying is; and if a man can't make a rise by some sort of gambling, he may as well lie down and die, straight-off. But the first rise is the difficulty; and, of course, you've got to take the risk."
"What do you do with the rise when you get it?" I asked, drowsily.
"Why, distinguish yourself, of course—what else? There's a great future sticking out for a fellow, if he's got his head screwed on right."