CHAPTER IX
I LEARN A LITTLE LATIN AND A GREAT DEAL OF LIFE
My opportunity came at last when Bob Brackett, the manager of the leaf department, discovered me one afternoon tucked away with the half of Johnson's Dictionary in a corner of the stemming room, where the negroes were singing "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot."
"I say, Ben, why ain't you out on the floor?" he asked.
I laid the book face downwards on the window-sill, and came out, embarrassed and secretive, to where he stood. "I just dropped down there a minute ago to rest," I replied.
"You weren't resting, you were reading. Show me the book."
Without a word I handed him the great dictionary, and he fingered the dog-eared pages with a critical and reflective air.
"Holy Moses! it ain't a blessed thing except words!" he exclaimed, after a minute. "Do you mean to tell me you can sit down and read a dictionary for the pure pleasure of reading?"
"I wasn't reading, I was learning," I answered.
"Learning how?"