"The worse for you, I should say. Besides, there are not so many now as there will be a thousand years hence. How about that, old fellow?"
"I can't read what there'll be a thousand years hence," said Roswell.
"You couldn't read what there are now, if you had them. You could not live long enough."
"What a musty old fogy he would be, by the time he had gone half through!" said Judy. "He would have used up his eyes; his spectacles would have made a ridge on his nose; he would live in an old coat that was never brushed; and his books would be all coffee stains, because he would take his breakfast over them. Poor old creature!"
"You'll be old then yourself, Judy," said some one.
"I won t," said the young lady promptly. "I mean to keep young."
"Ben Johnson—go ahead," said Norton. "It's your turn."
"I'd like to go supercargo in the China trade," said Ben; a lively-looking fellow enough.
"Good," said Norton. "Say why. Love of the sea wouldn't take you to China, I suppose."
"Not exactly," said Ben, with a confidential gleam in his eyes. "I should have nothing to do—and smoke seventy cigars a day."