“It must be a great bore to teach,” said Fletcher.

“Not at all.  I like it.”

“Every one to his taste,” said Fitzgerald unpleasantly.

“Good-night, Oscar.  Good-night, Mr. Fletcher,” said Harry, and made his exit.

“You’re a strange fellow, Oscar,” said Fletcher, after Harry’s departure.

“Very likely, but what particular strangeness do you refer to now?”

“No one but you would think of giving lessons to a printer’s devil.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“No one, I mean, that holds your position in society.”

“I don’t know that I hold any particular position in society.”

“Your family live on Beacon Street, and move in the first circles.  I am sure my mother would be disgusted if I should demean myself so far as to give lessons to any vulgar apprentice.”

“I don’t propose to give lessons to any vulgar apprentice.”

“You know whom I mean.  This Walton is only a printer’s devil.”

“I don’t know that that is any objection to him.  It isn’t morally wrong to be a printer’s devil, is it?”

“What a queer fellow you are, Oscar.  Of course I don’t mean that.  I daresay he’s well enough in his place, though he seems to be very forward and presuming, but you know that he’s not your equal.”

“He is not my equal in knowledge, but I shouldn’t be surprised if he would be some time.  You’d be astonished to see how fast he gets on.”

“I daresay.  But I mean in social position.”

“It seems to me you can’t think of anything but social position.”

“Well, it’s worth thinking about.”

“No doubt, as far as it is deserved.  But when it is founded on nothing but money, I wouldn’t give much for it.”

“Of course we all know that the higher classes are more refined—­”

“Than printers’ devils and vulgar apprentices, I suppose,” put in Oscar, laughing,

“Yes.”

“Well, if refinement consists in wearing kid gloves and stunning neckties, I suppose the higher classes, as you call them, are more refined.”

“Do you mean me?” demanded Fletcher, who was noted for the character of his neckties.

“Well, I can’t say I don’t.  I suppose you regard yourself as a representative of the higher classes, don’t you?”

“To be sure I do,” said Fletcher, complacently.

“So I supposed.  Then you see I had a right to refer to you.  Now listen to my prediction.  Twenty-five years from now, the boy whom you look down upon as a vulgar apprentice will occupy a high position, and you will be glad to number him among your acquaintances.”

“Speak for yourself, Oscar,” said Fletcher, scornfully.

“I speak for both of us.”

“Then I say I hope I can command better associates than this friend of yours.”

“You may, but I doubt it.”

“You seem to be carried away by him,” said Fitzgerald, pettishly.  “I don’t see anything very wonderful about him, except dirty hands.”