“It wouldn’t take much of a library, Colonel Price, to have a great many books in it that I’ve never read,” said he. “I haven’t been easy enough in my mind since this thing came up to think about reading–I’ve got a book in my pocket that I’d forgotten all about until you mentioned books.” He lifted the skirt of his short coat, his pocket bulging from the volume wedged into it. “I’ll have a job getting it out, too,” said he.
“It don’t seem to be a very heavy volume,” smiled the colonel. “What work is it?”
“It’s the Book,” said Joe.
Colonel Price laid his hand on the lad’s shoulder and looked him straight in the face.
“Then you’ve got by you the sum and substance of all knowledge, and the beginning and the end of all philosophy,” said he. “With that work in your hand you need no other, for it’s the father of all books.” 185
“I’ve thought that way about it myself sometimes,” said Joe, as easy and confident in his manner with the colonel, who represented a world to which he was a stranger from actual contact, as a good swimmer in water beyond his depth.
“But if you happen to be coming over this way in a day or two you might stop in if it wouldn’t trouble you, and I could name over to you a few books that I’ve been wanting to read for a long time.”
“I intend to lighten your brief period of confinement as much as it is in my power to do,” declared the colonel, “and I can speak for my daughter when I say that she will share my anxiety to make you as comfortable as human hands can make you in this place, Joe. We’ll come over and cheer you every little while.”
Mrs. Newbolt had sat by, like one who had been left behind at a way-station by an express-train, while the colonel and Joe had talked. They had gone beyond her limited powers; there was nothing for her to do but wait for them to come back. Now the colonel had reached her point of contact again.
“You’ll be rewarded for your kindness to the widow’s son,” said she, nodding her head earnestly, tears shining in her eyes.