More than once they were near an upset, as when they began to talk of Indians.
Ambrose had related the anecdote of Tom Beavertail who, upon seeing a steamboat for the first time, had made a paddle-wheel for his canoe, and forced his sons to turn him about the lake.
"Exactly like them!" said John Gaviller with his air of amused scorn.
"Ingenious in perfectly useless ways! Featherheaded as schoolboys!" "But I like schoolboys!" Ambrose protested.

"It isn't so long since I was one myself." "Schoolboys is too good a word," said Gaviller.

"Say, apes." "I have a kind of fellow-feeling for them," said Ambrose smiling.
"How long have you been in the north ?" "Two years." "I've been dealing with them thirty years," said Gaviller with an air of finality.
Ambrose refused to be silenced.

Looking around the luxurious room he felt inclined to remark, that Gaviller had made a pretty good thing out of the despised race, but he checked himself.
"Sometimes I think we never give them a show," he said with a deprecating air, "We're always trying to cut them to our own pattern instead of taking them as they are.

They are like schoolboys, as you say.
"Most of the trouble with them comes from the fact that anybody can lead them into mischief, just like boys.