Soon after the marriage of Charles, Bill's son, the heir apparent of the Pratt estates, Bill was asked how Charles' wife was getting along, whereupon he was pleased to remark that he believed she was "under conviction." Since then the conviction has become a certainty, and Bill is a grandfather. Commenting on the appearance of his grandchild, he has been heard to say: "She's a pretty child. I say she looks like Charles. Charles says she looks like me."
There are few scenes that abide longer in the student's recollection than those in which Bill is the central figure. It not infrequently happens that, when a number of lovers of fun are gathered around him as he vigorously brandishes axe or saw, one of them, willing, for the sake of drawing him out, to make a martyr of himself for the public good, addresses him. On such occasions a conversation, something as follows, occurs:
Student—"Bill, what do you think of the constitutionality of the configuration, esthetically considered?"
No reply is elicited from Bill, but a scornful "Ottah," as he puts on a new stick and continues his work.
Student, (not discouraged)—"Really, Bill, I should like your opinion on that point."
Bill, (having finished his stick)—"You ain't no kind of a man. You hain't got no elements, no justice of earth. When I see these young men and the monument of liberty imported from Long Island for the benefit of the rising generation, Ottah! Rolling Ottah!! Rang Dang! Du Dah!!!"
Of course a rebuke so scathing and sudden as this, never fails to annihilate its object. Being assured by the rapturous applause which ever succeeds his efforts, that he has made a good hit, Bill suddenly becomes as impenetrable as Gibraltar, and saws vigorously.
If, at a time like this, "the Professor," alias "Niobe," having snatched a few moments from his professional perambulations in search of "Coffee," steps forward, signalizing his debut with the interrogatory: "Do ye think I'm a common laborin' man?" naught is wanting to complete the student's bliss.
"The Professor" is by no means as varied in his accomplishments as Bill, his only quotable utterances being the one already given and another, supposed to be severely sarcastic: "How lang has he been so?" He, however, has, in the recesses of his brain, a dim idea that Bill is weak, viewed from an intellectual standpoint, while Bill has an equally indistinct belief that "the Professor" has very little furniture in his upper story. How far either of them is wrong our space does not permit us to say. Both have a supreme contempt for students, regarding them as effeminate cumberers of the ground. In the presence of Bill, "the Professor" does not appear to advantage. Being entirely unable to compete with him in a war of words, he is usually forced to betake himself to dancing; which, compared with oratory, is frivolous.
Occasionally the adversities of life seem to press upon Bill with peculiar force, rendering him extremely dejected. At such times, though his flow of language does not forsake him, he is without that cheerful aspect and spontaneous expression ordinarily so characteristic. No longer does he cause the campus to ring with his hearty vociferation, but he grumbles very like an ordinary mortal: