_June_ 1891.
The schoolmasters of this place paid me a visit yesterday.
They stayed on and on, while for the life of me I could not find a word to
say. I managed a question or so every five minutes, to which they offered
the briefest replies; and then I sat vacantly, twirling my pen, and
scratching my head.
At last I ventured on a question about the crops, but being schoolmasters
they knew nothing whatever about crops.
About their pupils I had already asked them everything I could think of,
so I had to start over again: How many boys had they in the school? One
said eighty, another said a hundred and seventy-five. I hoped that this
might lead to an argument, but no, they made up their difference.
Why, after an hour and a half, they should have thought of taking leave, I
cannot tell. They might have done so with as good a reason an hour
earlier, or, for the matter of that, twelve hours later! Their decision
was clearly arrived at empirically, entirely without method.