"There you annoyingly agree with the authorities," answered Dr. Farnsworth. "You see I wrote to Professor Anthon on the subject, submitting my contentions, and he replied most courteously, suggesting that if I would supplement my obviously rudimentary Latin studies with a more considerable reading of Latin texts,--he mentioned fifteen hundred or so that he thought I might profitably run through in my leisure moments,--I would gain some slight insight into the grammatical problem I had undertaken to settle out of my own inner consciousness and Bullion's Latin Grammar. The thing put me on my mettle, so I wrote to our own University professor, Dr. Gessner Harrison. What do you think? He replied: 'My dear Dr. Farnsworth: You're a sublimated idiot and a good many different kinds of a donkey.' Those weren't his exact words, you understand, but the paraphrase fairly interprets the spirit of his reply. However, we'll leave all that till after supper." So he chattered on, after his habit, and he succeeded not only in preventing talk of depressing things, but in amusing his host so far as to awaken something like jollity in him. But an occurrence during supper threatened to spoil all. A missive arrived from Webb, borne not by a friend commissioned to "act for him," but by a negro servant. Westover tore the envelope open and read the few lines written upon the sheet within. They ran as follows: "Mr. Webb intimated to Mr. Westover today that he would presently send him a hostile note. Upon reflection Mr. Webb has decided that he cannot afford to send anything of the kind. It seems to him and to such friends as he has had time to consult that recent events affecting Mr. Westover's status in society--events which need not be specified in detail--have rendered it unnecessary and unbecoming for any gentleman to pay attention to anything that Mr. Westover may say or do." Having read the insolent message with no sign of anger that would have been observed by anybody, Westover turned to his dining-room servant and said, quite indifferently: "Send the boy who brought that note to me. I wish to speak to him." When the negro messenger entered, Westover asked: "Do you belong to Mr. Webb?" "No, sir. Laws a Massy, Mas' Boyd, he don't own no folks er nothin' else. He jes' hires me to fetch and carry for him sometimes." "I thought so. How much did he pay you to bring this note to me?" "Eighteen pence, sir." "Well, now I want you to carry it back to him and I'll give you two and threepence for the service. I'll make it half a dollar, if you'll tell him just what I say." In old Virginia "eighteen pence" meant a quarter of a dollar, and "two and threepence" meant thirty-seven and a half cents, the shilling then being sixteen and two-thirds cents, as the result of some ancient debasement of coin in England. "Suttenly, sir. Ef what you wants me to say is so superfluous like as to make him mad, I reckon I kin run faster'n he kin."