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“I have seen many such,” observed the Idiot, suavely. “Even our friend the Bibliomaniac at times has seemed to me to be very absent-minded. And that reminds me, Doctor,” he continued, addressing himself to the medical boarder. “What is the cause of absent-mindedness?”

“That,” returned the Doctor, ponderously, “is a very large question. Absent-mindedness, generally speaking, is the result of the projection of the intellect into surroundings other than those which for want of a better term I might call the corporeally immediate.”

“So I have understood,” said the Idiot, approvingly. “And is absent-mindedness acquired or inherent?”

Here the Idiot appropriated the roll of his neighbor.

“That depends largely upon the case,” replied the Doctor, nervously. “Some are born absent-minded, some achieve absent-mindedness, and some have absent-mindedness thrust upon them.”

“As illustrations of which we might take, for instance, I suppose,” said the Idiot, “the born idiot, the borrower, and the man who is knocked silly by the pole of a truck on Broadway.”

“Precisely,” replied the Doctor, glad to get out of the discussion so easily. He was a very young doctor, and not always sure of himself.

“Or,” put in the School-master, “to condense our illustrations, if the Idiot would kindly go out upon Broadway and encounter the truck, we should find the three combined in him.”

The landlady here laughed quite heartily, and handed the School-master an extra strong cup of coffee.

“There is a great deal in what you say,” said the Idiot, without a tremor. “There are very few scientific phenomena that cannot be demonstrated in one way or another by my poor self. It is the exception always that proves the rule, and in my case you find a consistent converse exemplification of all three branches of absent-mindedness.”

“He talks well,” said the Bibliomaniac, sotto voce, to the Minister.

“Yes, especially when he gets hold of large words. I really believe he reads,” replied Mr. Whitechoker.

“I know he does,” said the School-master, who had overheard. “I saw him reading Webster’s Dictionary last night. I have noticed, however, that generally his vocabulary is largely confined to words that come between the letters A and F, which shows that as yet he has not dipped very deeply into the book.”

“What are you murmuring about?” queried the Idiot, noting the lowered tone of those on the other side of the table.

“We were conversing–ahem! about–” began the Minister, with a despairing glance at the Bibliomaniac.

“Let me say it,” interrupted the Bibliomaniac. “You aren’t used to prevarication, and that is what is demanded at this time. We were talking about–ah–about–er–“

“Tut! tut!” ejaculated the School-master. “We were only saying we thought the–er–the–that the–“

“What are the first symptoms of insanity, Doctor?” observed the Idiot, with a look of wonder at the three shuffling boarders opposite him, and turning anxiously to the physician.

“I wish you wouldn’t talk shop,” retorted the Doctor, angrily. Insanity was one of his weak points.

“It’s a beastly habit,” said the School-master, much relieved at this turn of the conversation.

“Well, perhaps you are right,” returned the Idiot. “People do, as a rule, prefer to talk of things they know something about, and I don’t blame you, Doctor, for wanting to keep out of a medical discussion. I only asked my last question because the behavior of the Bibliomaniac and Mr. Whitechoker and the School-master for some time past has worried me, and I didn’t know but what you might work up a nice little practice among us. It might not pay, but you’d find the experience valuable, and I think unique.”

“It is a fine thing to have a doctor right in the house,” said Mr. Whitechoker, kindly, fearing that the Doctor’s manifest indignation might get the better of him.

“That,” returned the Idiot, “is an assertion, Mr. Whitechoker, that is both true and untrue. There are times when a physician is an ornament to a boarding-house; times when he is not. For instance, on Wednesday morning if it had not been for the surgical skill of our friend here, our good landlady could never have managed properly to distribute the late autumn chicken we found upon the menu. Tally one for the affirmative. On the other hand, I must confess to considerable loss of appetite when I see the Doctor rolling his bread up into little pills, or measuring the vinegar he puts on his salad by means of a glass dropper, and taking the temperature of his coffee with his pocket thermometer. Nor do I like–and I should not have mentioned it save by way of illustrating my position in regard to Mr. Whitechoker’s assertion–nor do I like the cold, eager glitter in the Doctor’s eyes as he watches me consuming, with some difficulty, I admit, the cold pastry we have served up to us on Saturday mornings under the wholly transparent alias of ‘Hot Bread.’ I may have very bad taste, but, in my humble opinion, the man who talks shop is preferable to the one who suggests it in his eyes. Some more iced potatoes, Mary,” he added, calmly.