"And you are not a soldier—one of the ten that left the School Board for the more or less tented field?"
"I am not—nor a sailor."
Then the collector of statistics paused for a moment, and spoke with a measure of hesitation.
"You have not gone to the bad?"
"Like my 333 schoolfellows?"
"Yes."
Then the red blood of the visitor mounted to the roots of his hair and suffused his cheeks with crimson. He indignantly denied the imputation. He might be poor, but at any rate he was honest. "No, he had never been in prison."
"Then what are you?" asked the collector, in a tone not entirely free from traces of annoyance. "Surely you must be something!"
"I am more than something!" returned the visitor, proudly. "I am unique—I am a curiosity."
"What may you be?"