lined with them. He seems to be an authority on ancient languages of some sort—Semitic, perhaps. Well, anyway I asked him what it was that induced people to become teachers, or to take up the study of by-gone languages. Why should he, for example, be devoting his life to what brings so little return that he couldn't even afford a Cleaner? He didn't make it clear to me, though he talked a good deal. We have only one life so far as we know at present, why not make the most of it, enjoy it, get somewhere. That's the way I look at it."
"Each to his own taste," I said, rather lamely.
"Yes, I suppose it must be something like that, but I cannot see the attraction myself."
He administered a thump of finality to the chair, and looked around for his hat in preparation for departure.
"I often think," he said, half way to the door, "what a pity it is that all the learning and so on that people get here can't be passed on to others when they're done with it themselves. Lloyd George, for instance, or Mr. Balfour, they're getting along in years.
