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. I
feel a pity for poor Sisyphus, poor fellow, rolling that stone to the
top of the hill, and then having to do the work all over when the
stone rolled to the bottom. But that is not much worse than trying
to teach Caribbean Sea and Mt. Vesuvius, if we can't really believe
in them. But here is Brown, metamorphosed into a psychologist who
begins with the known, yea, delightfully known grapefruit which I had
at breakfast, and takes me on a fascinating excursion till I arrive,
by alluring stages, at the related unknown, the Caribbean Sea. Too
bad that Brown isn't a teacher.

Brown has the gift of holding on to a thing till his