And then they both began heaving
rocks at me--one of which I caught dexterously
in the dexter hand. Yesterday, as I was
pacing the deck with the professor, I put my hand
in my pocket and found this stone. So I asked the
professor what it was.
He looked at it and said it was gneiss.
"Is it?" said I. "Well, if a small but energetic
youth had taken you on the back of the head
with it, you would not think it so nice!"
And then, O Squib, he set out to explain that he
meant "gneiss," not "nice!" The ignorance of
these English about a joke is really wonderful. It
is easy to see that they have never been brought
up on them. But perhaps there was some excuse
for the professor that day, for he was the president
_pro tem._ of our projected temperance society, and
as such he head been making a quantitative and
qualitative analysis of another kind of quartz.
So much for the chemist or metallurgist or
something scientific. The gentleman and I get on
better.
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