"Ok," said Paul, "we have classes to teach, so we'll see you at the cafeteria at lunchtime."
"Yeah, yeah," said Swindle while glancing at the college buildings. He had never been in that place, so he could waste a day or two checking it out.
"You better have stayed with our mother," said John.
Swindle felt bored just by hearing that idea.
"The nurse's taking care of her," he said, "and if she's not enough, I can hire another one."
John glared at him for a moment, and then, with Paul and George, headed to his respective classroom.
Swindle, then, started to check out all the college buildings. There were a lot of young students he could swindle so easily—they seemed as innocent and pretencious as his brothers—he only needed to think how.
When he got to the library, he found a very well dressed old man. He seemed to be very busy investigating something. Swindle was a little curious to know why a man so old was wasting his time with school work.
He sat beside him and asked:
"Sorry to bother you, but what are you doing?"
He, without looking up from the sheet of paper on which he was writing on and all the books that he had open around him and that he read from time to time, replied:
"A thesis about postmodernism and its relationship with the 20th century absurd presented in James Joyce's Ulysses, chapter 15," Swindle didn't understand a single Word the old man said, but, thanks to his experience dealing with his brothers, he knew all those words didn't have any meaning to him because those words had no importance in the real world. "It's for my PhD."
"So, what's your PhD about?"
"James Joyce."
"So, you're studying a PhD about only one writer?"
"Yes."
"And it's there a lot of demand for James Joyce PhD's?"
The old man smiled.
"I guess not," he confessed, "but I really love it, even though I'll only end up as a tutor for those who want a James Joyce PhD."
At that very moment, Swindle had an idea."
"Hey, be a good man and lend me a piece of paper and a pen," he said, the old man obeyed.
And Swindle Jones began to write.