me was always that of pupil to teacher, yet I saw at times traces of the Socratic method in the long series of questions that he put to me, and I was compelled, not infrequently, to squirm out of some inconsistency in most undignified fashion.

This inquisition continued for a number of days after my return, and I could not close my eyes to the fact that I was failing to hold my own in the estimation of Ulysses. From a cyclopedia of literature, which happened to be in my library, Ulysses had stored his mind with an enormous fund of information on subjects of which I was completely ignorant. In this field I was continually falling into traps. There were also translations of Comte and Hegel, to which he had devoted considerable study, but I checkmated him there by talking wordy nonsense, which I was sure he could not distinguish from metaphysics. It was evident, however, that he was beginning to appreciate that something was the matter. Although he had not come to the point of ranking me with Briggs, still my position was getting to be a precarious one, and I saw the necessity for great care.

For some time I avoided being drawn into conversation with Ulysses, keeping him at bay with a number of new books, which I had brought with me from Madras. He was not long in appreciating that there was some purpose lying back of this policy, and demanded an explanation of me. I was confused by his point blank questions, and only managed to make things worse. After that I was clay in his hands. Every day he branched out into some new field of discussion, tested me and found me wanting. I tried in vain to conceal my failures under a dignified exterior. Ulysses at first seemed pained and surprised, but there finally showed itself in his bearing toward me an air of satisfaction and triumph, which was not easy to endure. To have been arrogantly treated by a member of my own species would have been a new experience to me, and one which I would have vigorously resented; this exhibition of superciliousness from an animal below me in the scale of creation was more than I proposed to put up with.

One morning, as I sauntered out to the banyan tree, wondering what was to be the outcome of this absurd situation, Ulysses motioned to me, and pointed to the blackboard, which I saw was covered with finely written characters.

“No, Ulysses,” I said, “I am tired this morning, and it is very hot. I do not wish to get into a discussion with you.”

Ulysses waved his trunk emphatically, and pointed again to the blackboard. Then he gave a fierce 

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