"Oh," broke in the other, "don't suppose that I am a scholar in any
sense of the word, or a man of more than average culture. My own
regular education came to an end pretty much at the same age, and
only a certain stubbornness has forced me into an intellectual life,
if you can call it so. Not much intellect required in my every-day
business, at all events. The school in which I teach is a fair type
of the middle-class commercial 'academy;' the headmaster a
nincompoop and charlatan, my fellow-assistants poor creatures, who
must live, I suppose,--though one doesn't well understand why. I
had always a liking for Greek and Latin and can make shift to read
both in a way satisfactory to myself, though I dare say it wouldn't
go for much with college examiners. Then, as for my scribbling,
well, it has scarcely yet passed the amateur stage. It will some
day; simply because I've made up my mind that it shall; but as yet I
haven't got beyond a couple of weak articles in weak magazines, and
I don't exactly feel sure of my way. I rather think we shall
approach most nearly in our taste for poetry. I liked much what you
had to say about Keats. It decided me that we ought to go on."

Julian looked up with a bright smile.

"What did you think at first of my advertisement, eh?" cried
Waymark, with a sudden burst of loud laughter. "Queer idea, wasn't
it?"

"It came upon me curiously. It was so like a frequent thought of my
own actually carried out."

"It was? You have felt that same desperate need of congenial
society?"