“I hold with Aristotle,” replied Bob modestly, “that music and political economy are at the head of all the sciences. But it is very seldom that one can meet with so accomplished a partner as Miss Binkie.”
“Oh, ho,” thought I. But here the entrance of the Provost diverted the conversation, and we all sat down to breakfast. Old Binkie was evidently dying to know the result of my interview on the previous evening, but I was determined to keep him in the dark. Bob fed like an ogre, and made prodigious efforts to be polite.
After breakfast, on the pretext of business we went out for a walk. The economist lighted his cigar.
“Snug quarters these, Dunshunner, at the Provost’s.”
“Very. But, Bob, things are looking rather well here. I had a negotiation last night which has as good as settled the business.”
“I am very glad to hear it.—Nice girl, Miss Binkie; very pretty eyes, and a good foot and ankle.”
“An unexceptionable instep. What do you think!—I have actually discovered the Clique at last.”
“You don’t say so! Do you think old Binkie has saved money?”
“I am sure he has. I look upon Dreepdaily as pretty safe now; and I propose going over this afternoon to Drouthielaw. What would you recommend?”
“I think you are quite right; but somebody should stay here to look after your interests. There is no depending upon these fellows. I’ll tell you what—while you are at Drouthielaw I shall remain here, and occupy your quarters. The Committee will require some man of business to drill them in, and I don’t care if I spare you the time.”