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So in the acquisition of more or less useless knowledge, soon happilyto be forgotten, boyhood passes away. The red-brick school-housefades from view, and we turn down into the world's high-road. Mylittle friend is no longer little now. The short jacket has sproutedtails. The battered cap, so useful as a combination ofpocket-handkerchief, drinking-cup, and weapon of attack, has grownhigh and glossy; and instead of a slate-pencil in his mouth there is acigarette, the smoke of which troubles him, for it will get up hisnose. He tries a cigar a little later on as being more stylish--a bigblack Havanna. It doesn't seem altogether to agree with him, for Ifind him sitting over a bucket in the back kitchen afterward, solemnlyswearing never to smoke again.
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