The tutor must have derived great pleasure from his own smile, for he prolonged and deepened and variously modified it while his shiny little calculating eyes travelled from one to the other of his ruddy scholars. He coughed, consulted his notes, and went through all the paces of superiority. “I can find nothing about a body’s being unable to stop,” said he, gently. “If logic makes no appeal to you, gentlemen--”
“Oh, bunch!” exclaimed the second tennis boy, in the slang of his period, which was the early eighties. “Look here. Color has no existence outside of our brain--that’s the idea?”
“And sound hasn’t? and smell hasn’t? and taste hasn’t?”
The tutor had repeated his little bow after each.
“And that’s because they depend on our senses? Very well. But he claims solidity and shape and distance do exist independently of us. If we all died, they’d he here just the same, though the others wouldn’t. A flower would go on growing, but it would stop smelling. Very well. Now you tell me how we ascertain solidity. By the touch, don’t we? Then, if there was nobody to touch an object, what then? Seems to me touch is just as much of a sense as your nose is.” (He meant no personality, but the first boy choked a giggle as the speaker hotly followed up his thought.) “Seems to me by his reasoning that in a desert island there’d be nothing it all--smells or shapes--not even an island. Seems to me that’s what you call logic.”
The tutor directed his smile at the open window. “Berkeley--” said he.
“By Jove!” said the other boy, not heeding him, “and here’s another point: if color is entirely in my brain, why don’t that ink-bottle and this shirt look alike to me? They ought to. And why don’t a Martini cocktail and a cup of coffee taste the same to my tongue?” “Berkeley,” attempted the tutor, “demonstrates--”
“Do you mean to say,” the boy rushed on, “that there is no eternal quality in all these things which when it meets my perceptions compels me to see differences?”
The tutor surveyed his notes. “I can discover no such suggestions here as you are pleased to make” said he. “But your orriginal researches,” he continued most obsequiously, “recall our next subject,--Berkeley and the Idealists.” And he smoothed out his notes.