“Do you care about reading?” the colonel inquired, scarcely supposing that he did, considering the chances which had been his for development in that way.
Mrs. Newbolt answered for Joe, who was slow and deliberative of speech, and always stopped to weigh his answer to a question, no matter how obvious the reply must be.
“Oh, Colonel Price, if you could see him!” said she proudly. “Before he was ten years old he’d read the Cottage Encyclopedy and the Imitation and the Bible–from back to back!”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re of a studious mind,” said the colonel.
As often as Joe had heard his mother boast of his achievements with those three notable books, he had not yet grown hardened to it. It always gave him a feeling of foolishness, and drowned him in blushes. Now it required some time for 184 him to disentangle himself, but presently he looked at the colonel with a queer smile, as he said:
“Mother always tells that on me.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” comforted the colonel, marking his confusion.
“And all the books he’s borrowed since then!” said she, conveying a sense of magnitude by the stress of her expression. “He strained his eyes so when he was seventeen readin’ Shuckspur’s writings that the teacher let him have I thought he’d have to put on specs.”
“My daughter and I have a considerable number of books,” said the colonel, beginning to feel about for a bit more elegance in his method of expression, as a thing due from one man of culture to another, “and if you will express your desires I’m sure we shall be glad to supply you if the scope of our library permits.”
Joe thanked him for the offer, that strange little smile coming over his face again.