He drew my story out of me,--the story of my life, in fact, before the
afternoon wore to dusk.
* * * * *
"Do you think I'm crazy?" I asked him.
"No ... far from it ... " adding gently, with a smile, "sometimes an
awful fool, though, Johnnie--if I may say it."
* * * * *
"Won't you stay overnight?"
"No, thanks just the same, 'Perfesser.'"
"I have room enough ... better hang around a few days and look for a job
here."
"It's too near Haberford."
"But I know you'd take a couple of fresh books, if I gave them to you,
now wouldn't you?"
My eyes lit up as with hunger.
"This Milton and Sterne are too used-up to be worth a nickel a-piece.
Maybe, if I'd keep them, they might be worth something, some day, when
you're famous," he joked.
"If you want to give me a couple of books ... how about this Keats and
this Ossian? I want the Keats for myself. It will renew my courage.
And--the Ossian--will you mail that book on for me, to Eos, to old
Pfeiler?"