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Updated: June 11, 2025
"Yes, I remember him," said the Doctor. "Is he an architect?" "He is and a good one. He can take a brown-stone dwelling and turn it into a colonial mansion with a pot of yellow paint. He's a wonder. I submitted the idea to him." "And what was his verdict?" "I don't like to say," said the Idiot, blushing a little. "Ha! ha!" laughed Mr. Pedagog. "I shouldn't think you would like to say.
"I agree with the London divine who says it is the pastime of perdition. It is not prompted by natural instincts. It is only the habit of artificial civilization. Dogs and horses and birds get along without it. Why shouldn't man?" "Hear! hear!" cried Mr. Pedagog, clapping his hands approvingly. "Where? where?" put in the Idiot. "That's a great argument. Dog's don't put up in boarding-houses.
"I only meant that a man who was so given over to long sentences as you are would probably make too severe a judge in a criminal court," replied the Idiot, meekly. "Do you make use of the same phraseology in the class-room that you dazzle us with, I should like to know?" "And why not, pray?" said Mr. Pedagog.
He had finally settled it to his own satisfaction that it was his duty so to do, and he had resolved, as far as lay in his power, to direct the conversation at Sunday morning's breakfast into spiritual rather than into temporal matters. So, as Mrs. Pedagog was pouring the coffee, Mr.
Here he was in accord with Auer, in fact with every teacher seriously deserving of the name. Hubay was a first-class pedagog, and under his instruction one could not help becoming a well-balanced and musicianly player. But there is a higher ideal in violin playing than mere correctness, and Auer is an inspiring teacher.
Pedagog for another lump of sugar, thereby contributing to that good lady's discomfiture, since before their marriage the mere fact that the coffee had been poured by her fair hand had given it all the sweetness it needed; or at least that was what the School-Master had said, and more than once at that. "You are under no obligation to do so," the Idiot returned.
I never did that, and I never shall do it, because I deem it a detestable diversion." "I didn't say anything of the sort," retorted Mr. Pedagog, getting red in the face. "I never said that I chewed tobacco in any form." "Oh, come!" said the Idiot, with well-feigned impatience, "what's the use of talking that way?
"She has a conscience, too," whispered the Idiot; and then he added, aloud, "And wherein lies the difficulty, Mrs. Pedagog?" "The applicant is an actor; Junius Brutus Davenport is his name." "A tragedian or a comedian?" asked the Bibliomaniac. "Or first walking gentleman, who knows every railroad tie in the country?" put in the Idiot. "That I do not know," returned the landlady.
Tragedians make agreeable companions, I can tell you; and if J. Brutus Davenport is a tragedian, I think Mrs. Pedagog would do well to let him have the suite, provided, of course, that he pays for it in advance." "I was about to observe, when our friend interrupted me," said Mr. Whitechoker, with dignity, "that in any event an actor at this board would be to me an extremely objec "
"And I desire to add, that one who criticises the table as much as you do would do well to get his meals outside." "That, Mrs. Pedagog, is not the point. The difficulty I find here lies in getting my meals inside," said the Idiot. "Mary, you may bring in the mush," observed Mrs. Pedagog, pursing her lips, as she always did when she wished to show that she was offended.
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