There was awe in his tone.
Very slightly. I saw something of him then. Principally, I remember his habit, when he was talking, of folding his handkerchief into small squares, then unfolding it. He repeated this process indefinitely.
Show me.
I showed him.
Well, I'm glad I met you tonight.... It was Sister Carrie that set me right; at least I think it was Sister Carrie. What a book! What a masterpiece! No style, no form, just subject. The devils flogged St. Jerome in the fifth century because he was rather a Ciceronian than a Christian in his beautiful writing, but they never will flog Theodore Dreiser! He had an idea, he knew life, and he just wrote what he felt. He wasn't thinking of how to write it; he had something to write. Have you read Sister Carrie?
I explained that Edna Kenton had given me the book to read when it first appeared.
Strange as it may appear to you, for my way is not, perhaps, Dreiser's, that book explains why I am here and why I dress in this manner. It explains why I wander about the streets and talk with the people. It explains why I am hoping for the REVOLUTION (Peter on this occasion invariably pronounced this word in capitals). It explains why I am an I.W.W. I would even join the Elks, if necessary. I think Dreiser at one time must have been an Elk; else how could he describe Hurstwood so perfectly?
It is amusing, however, that you who won't work should become an international worker!
I dare say it is, drawled Peter, stroking George Moore's back, as the superb cat lay purring on his knee. I dare say it is but I'd go a good deal farther to get what I want; I'd even seek employment in a department store or a Chinese laundry. However, it's coming without that, it's coming fast. I found my heroine the other day, a little Jewish girl, who works in a sweat-shop. She has one blue eye and one black one. She has a club-foot, a hare-lip, and she is a hunch-back. I nearly cried for joy when I discovered her. I met her on Rivington Street walking with a stack of men's overcoats three feet high poised on her head. She was limping under her burden. I followed her to the shop and made some inquiries. Her name is Rosie Levenstein. I shall leave in the deformities, but I shall change her name.
Isn't she just a trifle unpleasant, a little unsympathetic, for a heroine?