In the meantime Theobald and Ernest were with Dr Skinner in his
library--the room where new boys were examined and old ones had up for
rebuke or chastisement. If the walls of that room could speak, what an
amount of blundering and capricious cruelty would they not bear witness
to!
Like all houses, Dr Skinner's had its peculiar smell. In this case the
prevailing odour was one of Russia leather, but along with it there was a
subordinate savour as of a chemist's shop. This came from a small
laboratory in one corner of the room--the possession of which, together
with the free chattery and smattery use of such words as "carbonate,"
"hyposulphite," "phosphate," and "affinity," were enough to convince even
the most sceptical that Dr Skinner had a profound knowledge of chemistry.
I may say in passing that Dr Skinner had dabbled in a great many other
things as well as chemistry. He was a man of many small knowledges, and
each of them dangerous. I remember Alethea Pontifex once said in her
wicked way to me, that Dr Skinner put her in mind of the Bourbon princes
on their return from exile after the battle of Waterloo, only that he was
their exact converse; for whereas they had learned nothing and forgotten
nothing, Dr Skinner had learned everything and forgotten everything.
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