"Was it any good?"
"Rotten. But Danny Corrigan, the bootblack, told me about a place, a liberry in back of Schmidt's cigar store where you can get Alger's an' Old Sleuth, and Di'mond Dick, an' Bowery Billy. Gee, the teacher'd have a fit if she sees them—she took one of Old Sleuth's away from Jimmy Goodrich, an' burned it up, an' wrote to his mother about it."
"I'm goin' down to the children's room, now. Do you s'pose I can work that gag now, an' get 'By England's Aid'?"
"Sure. I'll go down, too, an' show yer how."
Whereupon these two nuisances departed. Really it seems amazing that children and frivolous persons should be allowed in libraries. As it was four o'clock now, I did hope to be allowed to study in peace for what remained of the afternoon. But the hope was vain, for inside of five minutes two women came into that alcove, that Cave of the Winds, as I may call it.
They apparently brought some books with them, and they instantly began to discuss them in a manner that drove every idea from my head. There was nothing left for me to do but to record their talk in order to make my complaint perfectly clear to your honorable board. This was the conversation:
"Well, now, this says that Daniel Pingree died at Marblehead in 1703. If that's so, how under the sun, I'd like to know, was he married to Pamela Perkins in 1706?"
"Why, it doesn't say that, does it?"
"Look for yourself. There it is. And who was Pamela Pingree who died in 1689?"