Raabe, Jr. Purty well, thanks! A fellow guzzles his way through.
Schnaase. How many semesters does this make, Mr. Raabe?
Raabe, Jr. Mebbie you'd better not ask about that.
Raabe. How many semesters? Twelve! Isn't that it, my son?
Raabe, Jr. Astoundingly correct!
Schnaase. Then I suppose you'll tackle the examinations one of these days, Mr. Raabe?
Raabe, Jr. There's plenty of time.
Raabe. Just let him study his fill! I'm not at all in favor of too much hurry! He'll get office and emoluments soon enough.
Schnaase. I know one thing, my boy will not get into a gymnasium! The agricultural school for him, till he can qualify for the one year's service and off with him. No big notions for him!
Raabe (holds his side). Outch, there's my stitch again!