To return to the writer of the letter, whose career was momentarily
cut off by the episode of the horse trade (who, if he had
previously received a letter written by somebody else would have
been an entirely different person and not in this novel at all):
John Lummox--known to his family as "the perfect Lummox"--had been
two years in college, but thought it rather fine of himself--a
habit of thought in which he frequently indulged--to become a
clerk, but finally got tired of it, and to his father's relief went
to Europe for a couple of years, returning with some knowledge of
French and German, and the cutting end of a German student's
blunted dueling sword. Having, as he felt, thus equipped himself
for the hero of an American "Good Society" novel, he went on board
a "liner," where there would naturally be susceptible young ladies.
One he thought he recognized as a girl with whom he used to play
"forfeits" in the vulgar past of his boyhood. She sat at his
table, accompanied by another lady whose husband seemed to be a
confirmed dyspeptic. His remarks struck Lummox as peculiar.

"Shall I begin dinner with pudding and cheese or take the ordinary
soup first? I quite forget which I did last night," he said
anxiously to his wife.

But Mrs. Starling hesitated.

"Tell me, Mary," he said, appealing to Miss Bike, the young lady.

"I should begin with the pudding," said Miss Bike decisively, "and
between that and the arrival of the cheese you can make up your
mind, and then, if you think better, go back to the soup."