“Well, I’ll be twenty-four when I get through studying and become a lawyer.”
“Then what’ll ye do?”
“I’ll work at my profession and make money.”
“How long’ll ye do that?”
“Why, I don’t know particularly—till I have a fair fortune, I suppose.”
“How old’ll ye be then?”
“Around sixty, I guess.”
“Then what’ll ye do?”
“What does every man do eventually? Die.”
“Then ye’ve spent all them years learnin’ to die, eh? Does a felly go off any easier ef his head is crammed full of algebray or physical g’ography? Mighty souls! Why my pap couldn’t ’a’ tol’ ye, ef ye dewided an apple in two halves an’ et one how many was left, yit ’hen his time come he jest emptied out his ole pipe, leaned back in his rocker, stretched his feet toward the fire an’ went.”