“Pa,” he remarked, “there’s a circus comin’, ain’t they?”
“Yes,” said his father; “I see some bills down at the mine.”
“When’s it comin’?”
“I don’t know. You kin ask somebody. Want t’ go?”
Mrs. Remington snorted to show her disapproval of the proposed extravagance.
“No, it ain’t that,” answered Tommy, in a choked voice. “I don’t keer a cent about th’ circus. Pa, I want t’ go t’ school.”
Mr. Remington sat suddenly upright, as though something had stung him on the back, and rubbed his head in a bewildered way. His brother stared at Tommy, awe-struck.
“Go t’ school!” repeated his father, at last, when he had conquered his amazement sufficiently to speak. “What on airth fer?”
“T’ learn how t’ read,” said Tommy, gathering courage from his father’s dismay. “Pa, I want t’ know how t’ read an’ write. Why, I can’t even read th’ show-bill!”
“Well,” said his father, “neither kin I.”