Mr. Ford listened with certain impatient contempt. It was bad enough for
Uncle Ben to have exposed his weakness in inventing fictions about his
early education, but to invest himself now with a contingency of
capital for the sake of another childish vanity, was pitiable as it
was preposterous. There was no doubt that he had lied about his school
experiences; it was barely probable that his name was really d'Aubigny,
and it was quite consistent with all this--even setting apart the fact
that he was perfectly well known to be only a poor miner--that he should
lie again. Like most logical reasoners Mr. Ford forgot that humanity
might be illogical and inconsistent without being insincere. He turned
away without speaking as if indicating a wish to hear no more.

"Some o' these days," said Uncle Ben, with dull persistency, "I'll tell
ye suthen'."

"I'd advise you just now to drop it and stick to your lessons," said the
master sharply.

"That's so," said Uncle Ben hurriedly, hiding himself as it were in
an all-encompassing blush. "In course lessons first, boys, that's the
motto." He again took up his pen and assumed his old laborious attitude.
But after a few moments it became evident that either the master's curt
dismissal of his subject or his own preoccupation with it, had somewhat
unsettled him. He cleaned his pen obtrusively, going to the window for
a better light, and whistling from time to time with a demonstrative
carelessness and a depressing gayety. He once broke into a murmuring,
meditative chant evidently referring to the previous conversation, in
its--"That's so--Yer we go--Lessons the first, boys, Yo, heave O."
The rollicking marine character of this refrain, despite its utter
incongruousness, apparently struck him favorably, for he repeated it