“I dreamed that it was dancing-school. And I went. And I was the only fellow there. And what do you think? All the little girls were Cecelia!”
They gasped.
“You don’t suppose he’ll be a poet, do you, Ritch.? Or a genius, or anything?” his mother inquired anxiously.
“Lord, no!” his father returned. “I should say he was more likely to be a Mormon!”
Dick knew nothing of either class. But the Little God knew very well what he was, and was at that moment making out his diploma.
The End
By A. Conan Doyle
THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES
A Sherlock Holmes Novel