"Indeed!" said the wizard, with more respect; "that is a long time. I cannot claim more than five centuries. I am but a beginner beside you."
"By hard work you might have learned much in that time."
"I fear I have been lazy," said the wizard, regretfully.
"Perhaps, being, as Shakspere will soon say, 'an older soldier, not a better,' I might be able to give you a useful hint or two. We have still some daylight before us. Suppose we have a lesson?"
"I fear I will only bore you," said the wizard, rather nettled by the patronage of the other.
"I have nothing else to do, and should enjoy teaching so promising a pupil," said the magician, rather pompously.
This was a little too much, for the wizard had graduated with the degree of F. W. (Full Wizard) some three centuries before. He attempted to make excuses, saying: "I am really out of practice; my wand is dusty from disuse."
"Oh, bother your excuses! I can see your true rank at once. Go ahead!" said the magician.
Not seeing how to refuse without being rude, the wizard, after a minute's hesitation, rose and, walking a little apart, drew a circle in the sand. Standing here, he waved his wand slowly in the air and repeated a mystic incantation. The magician, who had only received the degree of P. M. (Passable Magician) when he graduated, looked on very critically.
At the most impressive part of the charm, the wizard suddenly and violently sneezed, in spite of all he could do. Much ashamed, he turned to excuse himself.
"Oh, that's nothing," said the magician, with a condescending smile. "It is a little awkwardness natural to a beginner. No more than I expected! Throwing your arms about creates a draft—makes you chilly; you sneeze, naturally enough. Go on; we won't count this time."
