"Tell me, Timothy, if a man earns four shillings and sixpence halfpenny a day, how much does he make in a week of six days ?" This enormous problem Tim takes due time to cogitate.

Of course he could tell you straight off if he chose; but as it is the practice to work out sums in the head, he condescends to the common prejudice.

At length the oracle speaks.
"One pound three and two pence halfpenny." "Quite wrong; what do you make it, Edward ?" "One pound four." "Wrong.

Next ?" "One pound seven and threepence." "That's right." "Oh yes, to be sure!" exclaims Tim, with the gesture of one who clutches at the very words of his own lips uttered by another; "of course, _that's what I meant_!" "Timothy," says the master, gravely, "if you meant it, why did you not say it ?" Why not, indeed?
That is one of the very few questions, reader, in all this world's philosophy which Timothy is unable to answer.
Of course every one laughs at Timothy, but that does not afflict him.
So fortified is he in the assurance of his own infallibility, that the scorn of the ignorant is to him but as the rippling of water at the base of a lighthouse.
Do not mistake me, Tim is not a dunce.

For every question he answers wrongly, perhaps he answers half a dozen correctly.