When he drops in we do not discuss matters, nor even converse; we talk.  Our talk just oozes out and flows whither it wills, or little wisps of talk drift into the silences, and now and then a dash of homely philosophy splashes into the talking.  Brown is a real comfort.  He is never cryptic, nor enigmatic, at least consciously so, nor does he ever try to be impressive.  If he were a teacher he would attract his pupils by his good sense, his sincerity, his simplicity, and his freedom from pose.  I cannot think of him as ever becoming teachery, with a high-pitched voice and a hysteric manner.  He has too much poise for that.  He would never discuss things with children.  He would talk with them.  Brown cannot walk on stilts, nor has the air-ship the least fascination for him.

One of my teachers for a time was Doctor T. C. Mendenhall, and he was a great teacher.  He could sound the very depths of his subject and simply talk it.  He led us to think, and thinking is not a noisy process.  Truth to tell, his talks often caused my poor head to ache from overwork.  But I have been in classes where the oases of thought were far apart and one could doze and dream on the journey from one to the other.  Doctor Mendenhall’s teaching was all white meat, sweet to the taste, and altogether nourishing.  He is the man who made the first correct copy of Shakespeare’s epitaph there in the church at Stratford-on-Avon.  I sent a copy of Doctor Mendenhall’s version to Mr. Brassinger, the librarian in the Memorial Building, and have often wondered what his comment was.  He never told me.  There are those “who, having eyes, see not.”  There had been thousands of people who had looked at that epitaph with the printed copy in hand, and yet had never noticed the discrepancy, and it remained for an American to point out the mistake.  But that is Doctor Mendenhall’s way.  He is nothing if not thorough, and that proves his scientific mind.

Well, Brown fell to talking about the Isle of Pines, in the course of our verbal exchanges, and I drew him out a bit, receiving a liberal education on the subjects of grapefruit, pineapples, and bananas.  From my school-days I have carried over the notion that the Caribbean Sea is one of the many geographical myths with which the school-teacher is wont to intimidate boys who would far rather be scaring rabbits out from under a brush heap.  But here sits a man who has travelled upon the Caribbean Sea, and therefore there must be such a place.  Our youthful fancies do get severe jolts!  From my own experience I infer that much of our teaching in the schools doesn’t take hold, that the boys and girls tolerate it but do not believe.  I cannot recall just when I first began to believe in Mt.  Vesuvius, but I am quite certain that it was not in my school-days.  It may have been in my teaching-days, but I’m not quite certain.  I have often wondered whether we teachers really believe all we try to teach.