"All the fools are down on him. That's why I go to his house."
"Don't the fellows—uh—kind of——"
"Yes," piped Genie in his most childish tone of anger, his tendency to stammer betraying him, "they k-kid me for liking Frazer. He's—he's the only t-teacher here that isn't p-p-p——"
"Spit!"
"——provincial!"
"What d'you mean by 'provincial'?"
"Narrow. Villagey. Do you know what Bernard Shaw says——?"
"Never read a word of him, my son. And let me tell you that my idea of no kind of conversation is to have a guy spring 'Have you read?' on me every few seconds, and me coming back with: 'No, I haven't. Ain't it interesting!' If that's the brand of converse at Prof Frazer's you can count me out."
Genie laughed. "Think how much more novelty you get out of roasting me like that than telling Terry he's got 'bats in his belfry' ten or twelve times a day."
"All right, my son; you win. Maybe I'll go to Frazer's with you. Sometime."