"It's bad enough for men to fumigate their mouths," he said, with a smile on his lip and a frown in his eye, "but when I see a thing like you trying to make yourself look manly by smoking, I can't help thinking of a monkey putting on the boots and helmet of a Guardsman. The boots and helmet look grand, no doubt, but that makes the monkey seem all the more ridiculous. Your pipe suggests manhood, Pax, but you look much more like a monkey than a man when it's in your mouth." "How severe you are to-night, Phil!" returned Pax, putting the pipe, however, in his pocket; "where did you graduate, now--at Cambridge or Oxford? Because w'en my eldest boy is big enough I'd like to send 'im w'ere he'd acquire sitch an amazin' flow of eloquence." Phil continued to rub the works of the watch, but made no reply. "I say, Phil," observed the little fellow, after a thoughtful pause. "Well?" "Don't it strike you, sometimes, that this is a queer sort of world?" "Yes, I've often thought that, and it has struck me, too, that you are one of the queerest fish in it." "Come, Phil, don't be cheeky. I'm in a sedate frame of mind to-night, an' want to have a talk in a philosophical sort o' way of things in general." "Well, Pax, go ahead. I happen to have been reading a good deal about things in general of late, so perhaps between us we may grind something out of a talk." "Just so; them's my ideas precisely. There's nothin'," said Pax, thrusting both hands deeper into his trousers pockets, and swinging his legs more vigorously--"nothin' like a free an' easy chat for developin' the mental powers. But I say, what a fellow you are for goin' ahead! Seems to me that you're always either workin' at queer contrivances or readin'." "You forget, Pax, that I sometimes carry telegraphic messages." "Ha! true, then you and I are bound together by the cords of a common dooty--p'r'aps I should say an uncommon dooty, all things considered." "Among other things," returned Phil, "I have found out by reading that there are two kinds of men in the world, the men who push and strive and strike out new ideas, and the men who jog along easy, on the let-be-for-let-be principle, and who grow very much like cabbages." "You're right there, Phil--an' yet cabbages ain't bad vegetables in their way," remarked Pax, with a contemplative cast of his eyes to the ceiling. "Well," continued Phil gravely, "I shouldn't like to be a cabbage." "W'ich means," said the other, "that you'd rather be one o' the fellows who push an' strive an strike out noo ideas." Phil admitted that such were his thoughts and aspirations. "Now, Pax," he said, laying down the tool with which he had been working, and looking earnestly into his little friend's face, "something has been simmering in my mind for a considerable time past." "You'd better let it out then, Phil, for fear it should bu'st you," suggested Pax. "Come, now, stop chaffing for a little and listen, because I want your help," said Phil.