Our conversations (it is no fault of mine) are
always dialectical. They take the following form. Light-heartedly I
enunciate a proposition. Smithson is interested and asks for a clearer
statement. I modify my original position. Smithson purrs. Seeing trouble
imminent, I modify my modification, and from that point onwards I make a
foredoomed but not (as I flatter myself) an unplucky fight against
relentless logic. The elenchus comes soon or late, but it always comes.
Only in dreams am I ever one up on Smithson. The old trick of cramming up
hard parts of the Encyclopaedia overnight is no good. I tried it once with
"Hegesippus" and "The Hegira." You don't know what either of these words
mean? Smithson did--and he knew the articles. No doubt he and Mr. GLADSTONE
had written them in collaboration.
Well, yesterday, Smithson and I were in the neighbourhood of the cottage
which I have told you of. Having an hour to spare from work of national
importance, we took our sandwiches and were eating them in view of the
jolly old house.
"What's that thing over the door?" I said.
"That I take to be a sun-dial," said Smithson with his accustomed reserve
of strength.
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