Tony flushed. “What is the Socratic method?”
“You ask questions; I answer—a few of them.”
“I don’t know that I have any particular questions to ask. I supposed we might find something to say if we tried hard enough. However, if you will tell me in which room I am to sleep, and at what hour we are expected to get up, I think I can get on without troubling you any further.”
“As to the first of your enquiries,” the long languid youth replied, “as I happen to have the advantage of being in the Fourth, and to have arrived a day earlier than you upon the scene of action, I have chosen the larger one to the right, which is protected from the early morning sun by a trifling angle of the exterior wall. A murderous bell will assassinate your innocent sleep at seven in the morning. The time that you arise will be determined by the length of time it takes you to dress and your estimate of the value of late marks. Breakfast, my Socrates, is at half-past seven. Are the problems too much for you?”
Tony smiled. “I reckon I can figure them out.”
“You are both tautological and verbose. The single word ‘reckon’ would have expressed your meaning quite as accurately and not less elegantly.”
“Oh, I don’t go in for elegance.”
Carroll lifted his eyebrows with an air of feigned surprise, and surveyed Tony for a moment or so with languid interest. When it appeared that his new acquaintance had nothing further to say, the older boy leaned his head wearily back upon his chair, and took up his book again, holding it open with an air of heroic patience.
“I think I’ll turn in,” said Tony at last.
“Ah!” murmured Carroll, “in that case, I may bid you good-night.”