Coffee and Repartee | Page 4

wish you wouldn't talk shop," retorted the Doctor, angrily. Insanity
was one of his weak points.
"It's a beastly habit," said the School-master, much relieved at this turn
of the conversation.
"Well, perhaps you are right," returned the Idiot. "People do, as a rule,
prefer to talk of things they know something about, and I don't blame
you, Doctor, for wanting to keep out of a medical discussion. I only
asked my last question because the behavior of the Bibliomaniac and
Mr. Whitechoker and the School-master for some time past has worried
me, and I didn't know but what you might work up a nice little practice
among us. It might not pay, but you'd find the experience valuable, and
I think unique."
"It is a fine thing to have a doctor right in the house," said Mr.
Whitechoker, kindly, fearing that the Doctor's manifest indignation
might get the better of him.
"That," returned the Idiot, "is an assertion, Mr. Whitechoker, that is
both true and untrue. There are times when a physician is an ornament
to a boarding-house; times when he is not. For instance, on Wednesday
morning if it had not been for the surgical skill of our friend here, our
good landlady could never have managed properly to distribute the late
autumn chicken we found upon the menu. Tally one for the affirmative.
On the other hand, I must confess to considerable loss of appetite when
I see the Doctor rolling his bread up into little pills, or measuring the
vinegar he puts on his salad by means of a glass dropper, and taking the
temperature of his coffee with his pocket thermometer. Nor do I

like--and I should not have mentioned it save by way of illustrating my
position in regard to Mr. Whitechoker's assertion--nor do I like the cold,
eager glitter in the Doctor's eyes as he watches me consuming, with
some difficulty, I admit, the cold pastry we have served up to us on
Saturday mornings under the wholly transparent alias of 'Hot Bread.' I
may have very bad taste, but, in my humble opinion, the man who talks
shop is preferable to the one who suggests it in his eyes. Some more
iced potatoes, Mary," he added, calmly.
[Illustration: "'READING WEBSTER'S DICTIONARY'"]
"Madame," said the Doctor, turning angrily to the landlady, "this is
insufferable. You may make out my bill this morning. I shall have to
seek a home elsewhere."
"Oh, now, Doctor!" began the landlady, in her most pleading tone.
"Jove!" ejaculated the Idiot. "That's a good idea, Doctor. I think I'll go
with you; I'm not altogether satisfied here myself, but to desert so
charming a company as we have here had never occurred to me.
Together, however, we can go forth, and perhaps find happiness. Shall
we put on our hunting togs and chase the fiery, untamed hall-room to
the death this morning, or shall we put it off until some pleasanter
day?"
"Put it off," observed the School-master, persuasively. "The Idiot was
only indulging in persiflage, Doctor. That's all. When you have known
him longer you will understand him better. Views are as necessary to
him as sunlight to the flowers; and I truly think that in an asylum he
would prove a delightful companion."
"There, Doctor," said the Idiot; "that's handsome of the School-master.
He couldn't make more of an apology if he tried. I'll forgive him if you
will. What say you?"
And strange to say, the Doctor, in spite of the indignation which still
left a red tinge on his cheek, laughed aloud and was reconciled.

As for the School-master, he wanted to be angry, but he did not feel
that he could afford his wrath, and for the first time in some months the
guests went their several ways at peace with each other and the world.

III
There was a conspiracy in hand to embarrass the Idiot. The
School-master and the Bibliomaniac had combined forces to give him a
taste of his own medicine. The time had not yet arrived which showed
the Idiot at a disadvantage; and the two boarders, the one proud of his
learning, and the other not wholly unconscious of a bookish life, were
distinctly tired of the triumphant manner in which the Idiot always left
the breakfast-table to their invariable discomfiture.
It was the School-master's suggestion to put their tormentor into the pit
he had heretofore digged for them. The worthy instructor of youth had
of late come to see that while he was still a prime favorite with his
landlady, he had, nevertheless, suffered somewhat in her estimation
because of the apparent ease with which the Idiot had got the better of
him on all points. It was necessary, he thought, to rehabilitate himself,
and a deep-laid plot, to