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Coffee and Repartee

<h2>XIII</h2> There was an air of suppressed excitement about Mrs. Smithers and Mr. Pedagog as they sat down to breakfast. Something had happened, but just what that something was no one as yet knew, although the genial old gentleman had a sort of notion as to what it was. "Pedagog has been good-natured enough for an engaged man for nearly a week now," he whispered to the Idiot, who had asked him what he supposed was up, "and I have a half idea that Mrs. S. has at last brought him to the point of proposing." <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/image026.png" width-obs="390" height-obs="541" alt=""'MRS. S. BROUGHT HIM TO THE POINT OF PROPOSING'"" title=""'MRS. S. BROUGHT HIM TO THE POINT OF PROPOSING'"" /> "'MRS. S. BROUGHT HIM TO THE POINT OF PROPOSING'"</div> "It's the other way, I imagine," returned the Idiot. "You don't really think she has rejected him, do you?" queried the genial old gentleman. "Oh no; not by a great deal. I mean that I think it very likely that he has brought her to the point. This is leap-year, you know," said the Idiot. "Well, if I were a betting man, which I haven't been since night before last, I'd lay you a wager that they're engaged," said the old gentleman. "I'm glad you've given up betting," rejoined the Idiot, "because I'm sure I'd take the bet if you offered it—and then I believe I'd lose." "We are to have Philadelphia spring chickens this morning, gentlemen," said Mrs. Smithers, beaming upon all at the table. "It's a special treat." "Which we all appreciate, my dear Mrs. Smithers," observed the Idiot, with a courteous bow to his landlady. "And, by the way, why is it that Philadelphia spring chickens do not appear until autumn, do you suppose? Is it because Philadelphia spring doesn't come around until it is autumn everywhere else?" "No, I think not," said the Doctor. "I think it is because Philadelphia spring chickens are not sufficiently hardened to be able to stand the strain of exportation much before September, or else Philadelphia people do not get so sated with such delicacies as to permit any of the crop to go into other [Pg 123]than Philadelphia markets before that period. For my part, I simply love them." "So do I," said the Idiot; "and if Mrs. Smithers will pardon me for expressing a preference for any especial part of the pièce de résistance, I will state to her that if, in helping me, she will give me two drumsticks, a pair of second joints, and plenty of the white meat, I shall be very happy." "You ought to have said so yesterday," said the School-master, with a surprisingly genial laugh. "Then Mrs. Smithers could have prepared an individual chicken for you." "That would be too much," returned the Idiot, "and I should really hesitate to eat too much spring chicken. I never did it in my life, and don't know what the effect would be. Would it be harmful, Doctor?" "I really do not know how it would be," answered the Doctor. "In all my wide experience I have never found a case of the kind." "It's very rarely that one gets too much spring chicken," said Mr. Whitechoker. "I haven't had any experience with patients, as my friend the Doctor has; but I have lived in many boarding-houses, and I have never yet known of any one even getting enough." "Well, perhaps we shall have all we want this morning," said Mrs. Smithers. "I hope so, at any rate, for I wish this day to be a memorable one in our house. Mr. Pedagog has something to tell you. John, will you announce it now?" "Did you hear that?" whispered the Idiot. "She called him 'John.'" "Yes," said the genial old gentleman. "I didn't know Pedagog had a first name before." "Certainly, my dear—that is, my very dear Mrs. Smithers," stammered the School-master, getting red in the face. "The fact is, gentlemen—ahem!—I—er—we—er—that is, of course—er—Mrs. Smithers has er—ahem!—Mrs. Smithers has asked me to be her—I—er—I should say I have asked Mrs. Smithers to be my husb—my wife, and—er—she—" <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/image027.png" width-obs="410" height-obs="518" alt=""'HOORAH!' CRIED THE IDIOT, GRASPING MR. PEDAGOG BY THE HAND"" title=""'HOORAH!' CRIED THE IDIOT, GRASPING MR. PEDAGOG BY THE HAND"" /> "'HOORAH!' CRIED THE IDIOT, GRASPING MR. PEDAGOG BY THE HAND"</div> "Hoorah!" cried the Idiot, jumping up from the table and grasping Mr. Pedagog by the hand. "Hoorah! You've got in ahead of us, old man, but we are just as glad when we think of your good-fortune. Your gain may be our loss—but what of that where the happiness of our dear landlady is at stake?" Mrs. Smithers glanced coyly at the Idiot and smiled. "Thank you," said the School-master. "You are welcome," said the Idiot. "Mrs. Smithers, you will also permit me to felicitate you upon this happy event. I, who have so often differed with Mr. Pedagog upon matters of human knowledge, am forced to admit that upon this occasion he has shown such eminently good sense that you are fortunate, indeed, to have won him." "Again I thank you," said the School-master. "You are a very sensible person yourself, my dear Idiot; perhaps my failure to appreciate you at times in the past has been due to your brilliant qualities, which have so dazzled me that I have been unable to see you as you really are." "Here are the chickens," said Mrs. Smithers. "Ah!" ejaculated the Idiot. "What lucky fellows we are, to be sure! I hope, Mrs. Smithers, now that Mr. Pedagog has[Pg 126] cut us all out, you will at least be a sister to the rest of us, and let us live at home." "There is to be no change," said Mrs. Smithers—"at least, I hope not, except that Mr. Pedagog will take a more active part in the management of our home." "I don't envy him that," said the Idiot. "We shall be severe critics, and it will be hard work for him to manage affairs better than you did, Mrs. Smithers." "Mary, get me a larger cup for the Idiot's coffee," said Mrs. Smithers. "Let's all retire from business," suggested the Idiot, after the other guests had expressed their satisfaction with the turn affairs had taken. "Let's retire from business, and change the Smithers Home for Boarders into an Educational Institution." "For what purpose?" queried the Bibliomaniac. "Everything is so lovely now," explained the Idiot, "that I feel as though I never wanted to leave the house again, even to win a fortune. If we turn it into a college and instruct youth, we need never go outside the front door excepting for pleasure." "Where will the money and the instructors come from?" asked Mr. Whitechoker. "Money? From pupils; and after we get going maybe somebody will endow us. As for instructors, I think we know enough to be instructors ourselves," replied the Idiot. "For instance: Pedagog's University. John Pedagog, President; Alonzo B. Whitechoker, Chaplain; Mrs. Smithers-Pedagog, Matron. For Professor of Belles-lettres, the Bibliomaniac, assisted by the Poet; Medical Lectures by Dr. Capsule; Chemistry taught by our genial friend who occasionally imbibes; Chair in General Information, your humble servant. Why, we would be overrun with pupils and money in less than a year." "A very good idea," returned Mr. Pedagog. "I have often thought that a nice little school could be started here to advantage, though I must confess that I had different ideas on the subject of the instructors. You, my dear Idiot, would be a great deal more useful as a Professor Emeritus." "Hm!" said the Idiot. "It sounds mighty well—I've no doubt I should like it. What is a Professor Emeritus, Mr. Pedagog?" "He is a professor who is paid a salary for doing nothing." The whole table joined in a laugh, the Idiot included. "By Jove! Mr. Pedagog," he said, as soon as he could speak, "you are just dead right about that. That's the place of places for me. Salary and nothing to do! Oh, how I'd love it!" The rest of the breakfast was eaten in silence. The spring chickens were too good and too plentiful to admit of much waste of time in conversation. At the conclusion of the meal the Idiot rose from the table, and, after again congratulating Mr. Pedagog and his fiancée, announced that he was going to see his employer. "On Sunday?" queried Mrs. Smithers. "Yes; I want him to write me a recommendation as a man who can do nothing beautifully." "And why, pray?" asked Mr. Pedagog. "I'm going to apply to the Trustees of Columbia College the first thing to-morrow morning for an Emeritus Professorship, for if anybody can do nothing and draw money for it gracefully I'm the man. Wall Street is too wearing on my nerves," he replied. And in a moment he was gone. "I like him," said Mrs. Smithers. "So do I," said Mr. Pedagog. "He isn't half the idiot he thinks he is." <h2>THE END[Pg 131]</h2> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div class='ads'> <h3>By LILIAN BELL</h3> <hr style='width: 45%;' /> A Little Sister to the Wilderness. A Novel. New Edition. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $1 25. <blockquote>The story is a pathetic one in many ways, for it portrays so strongly human lowliness and degradation. The writer is well acquainted with the life and habits and dialect of the West Tennessee bottoms, and her story is written from the heart and with rare sympathy. The lonely dyke roads, the cheerless homes, the shabby "store," the emotional Methodist meeting, which lasts a week, having two sessions daily—all these are vividly sketched. Mag, the heroine, is a well-drawn character. Camden, the hero, is forceful and earnest. 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