Part 3 (1/2)

”Dunno,” said he.

”Sir Walter Scott.”

Paul jumped to his feet. Sir Walter Scott, he knew not why or how, was one of those bright names that starred in his historical darkness, like Caesar and Napoleon and Ridley and Latimer and W. G. Grace.

”Tha' art sure? Sir Water Scott?”

The shock of meeting Sir Walter in the flesh could not have been greater. The man nodded. ”Think I'd tell yer a lie? I do a bit of reading myself in the old 'bus there”-he jerked a thumb--”I've got some books now. Would yer like to see 'em?”

Would a mouse like cheese? Paul started off with his new companion.

”If it wasn't for a book or two, I'd go melancholy mad and bust myself,” the latter remarked.

Paul's spirit leaped toward a spiritual brother. It was precisely his own case.

”You'll find a lot of chaps that don't hold with books. Dessay you've met 'em?”

Paul laughed, precipient of irony.

Barney Bill continued: ”I've heard some on 'em say: 'What's the good of books? Give me nature,' and they goes and asks for it at the public-'ouse. Most say nothing at all, but just booze.”

”Like father,” said Paul.

”Eh?” cried his friend sharply.

”Sam b.u.t.ton, what married mother.”

”Ali! so he boozes a lot, does he?”

Paul drew an impressionistic and lurid picture of Mr. b.u.t.ton.

”And they fight?”

”Like billy-o,” said Paul.

They reached the van. Barney Bill, surprisingly agile in spite of his twisted leg, sprang into the interior. Paul, standing between the shafts, looked in with curiosity. There was a rough though not unclean bed running down one side. Beyond, at the stern, so to speak, was a kind of galley containing cooking stove, kettle and pot. There were shelves, some filled with stock-in-trade, others with miscellaneous things, the nature of which he could not distinguish in the gloom.

Barney Bill presently turned and dumped an armful of books on the footboard an inch or two below Paul's nose. Paul scanned the t.i.tle pages. They were: Goldsmith's ”Animated Nature,” ”Enquire Within Upon Everything,” an old bound volume of ”Ca.s.sell's Family Reader,” ”The Remains of Henry Kirke White,” and ”Martin Chuzzlewit.” The owner looked down upon them proudly.

”I've got some more, but I can't get at 'em.”

Paul regarded him with envy. This was a man of great possessions. ”How long are yo' going to stay here?” he asked hopefully.

”Till sunrise to-morrow.”

Paul's face fell. He seemed to have no luck nowadays.

Barney Bill let himself down to a sitting position on the footboard and reached to the end for a huge pork pie and a clasp knife which lay beside a tin can. ”I'll go on with my supper,” said he; then noticing a wistful, hungry look in the child's eyes, ”Have a bit?” he asked.

He cut off a mighty hunk and put it into Paul's ready hand. Paul perched himself beside him, and they both ate for a long while in silence, dangling their legs. Now and again the host pa.s.sed the tin of tea to wash down the food. The flaming dragon died into a smoky red above the town. A light or two already appeared in the fringe of mean houses. Twilight fell rapidly.