“I’ll tell you, Sammy,” he said. “You come over to-night, and we’ll each read one—oh Jehoshaphat!” He had suddenly remembered his home work,—a double allowance of fractions because he had failed to-day.
“Make it to-morrow night, Sammy,” he said. “I’ve got home work to-night.”
A window on the fourth floor above was raised, a frowsy head stuck out. “Sammee!” called a strident voice. “Come in and eat.”
“So long. Sorry to leave you,” said Sammy, and departed upward, while Wendell sat and mused on the post. Once more he drifted away into memories of fairy tales. At length he shook himself with a heartfelt though silent, “Gee whiz! I wish I were living in a fairy story right now, here in Boston,” and slid down and went in to dinner.
Wendell’s family consisted of his father and mother and two older brothers, Alden and Otis. Just now there was also a visiting relative, Cousin Virginia, a sprightly young lady from New York, who tolerated Boston because it was only five hours from her delightful home town. She seemed to live in a constant state of amusement at things that Wendell’s people didn’t consider funny at all. Her greeting this time to Wendell was,
“Well, Ralph Waldo Theocritus Shakespeare, how’s the Public Library to-day?”
Wendell didn’t see anything funny in that. He grunted.
“Did you happen to see that interesting new volume of correspondence between Socrates and Lady Jane Grey?”
Wendell didn’t even know that this was intended to be funny.
“I was reading fairy stories,” he said.