He coughed, consulted his notes, and went through all the paces of
superiority. "I can find nothing about a body's being unable to stop,"
said he, gently. "If logic makes no appeal to you, gentlemen--"

"Oh, bunch!" exclaimed the second tennis boy, in the slang of his
period, which was the early eighties. "Look here. Color has no
existence outside of our brain - that's the idea?"

The tutor bowed.

"And sound hasn't? and smell hasn't? and taste hasn't?"

The tutor had repeated his little bow after each.

"And that's because they depend on our senses? Very well. But he
claims solidity and shape and distance do exist independently of us. If
we all died, they'd he here just the same, though the others wouldn't. A
flower would go on growing, but it would stop smelling. Very well. Now
you tell me how we ascertain solidity. By the touch, don't we? Then, if
there was nobody to touch an object, what then? Seems to me touch is
just as much of a sense as your nose is." (He meant no personality, but
the first boy choked a giggle as the speaker hotly followed up his
thought.)" Seems to me by his reasoning that in a desert island there'd
be nothing it all--smells or shapes--not even an island. Seems to me
that's what you call logic."

The tutor directed his smile at the open window. "Berkeley--" said he.

"By Jove!" said the other boy, not heeding him, "and here's another
point: if color is entirely in my brain, why don't that ink-bottle and