The new school emits the
scrut into the fingers of its left hand and therewith deposits it on
the rim of the plate. Albert noticed that Emily was of the new school.
But might she not despise as affectation in him what came natural to
herself? On the other hand, if he showed himself as a prop of the old
school, might she not set her face the more stringently against him?
The chances were that whichever course he took would be the wrong one.
It was then that he had an inspiration--an idea of the sort that comes
to a man once in his life and finds him, likely as not, unable to put
it into practice. Albert was not sure he could consummate this idea of
his. He had indisputably fine teeth--"a proper mouthful of grinders"
in local phrase. But would they stand the strain he was going to
impose on them? He could but try them. Without a sign of nervousness
he raised his spoon, with one scrut in it, to his mouth. This scrut he
put between two of his left-side molars, bit hard on it, and--eternity
of that moment!--felt it and heard it snap in two. Emily also heard
it. He was conscious that at sound of the percussion she started
forward and stared at him. But he did not look at her. Calmly,
systematically, with gradually diminishing crackles, he reduced that
scrut to powder, and washed the powder down with a sip of beer.
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