“You seem to be sort of stuck on America. How's that?”
“What dost mean?”
“I mean you seem to like it.”
“I dunnot loike it nor yet not loike it, but I've heard a bit more about it than I have about th' other places on th' map. Foak goes there to seek their fortune, an' it seems loike there's a good bit doin'.”
“Do you like to read newspapers?” said Tembarom, inspired to his query by a recollection of the vision of things “doin'” in the Sunday Earth.
“Wheer'd I get papers from?” the boy asked testily. “Foak like us hasn't got th' brass for 'em.”
“I'll bring you some New York papers,” promised Tembarom, grinning a little in anticipation. “And we'll talk about the news that's in them. The Sunday Earth is full of pictures. I used to work on that paper myself.”
“Tha did?” Tummas cried excitedly. “Did tha help to print it, or was it th' one tha sold i' th' streets?”
“I wrote some of the stuff in it.”
“Wrote some of th' stuff in it? Wrote it thaself? How could tha, a common chap like thee?” he asked, more excited still, his ferret eyes snapping.