Miss Price began to speak of books, reaching out with a delicate hesitancy, as if she feared that she might lead into waters too deep for him to follow. He quickly relieved her of all danger of embarrassment on that head by telling her of some books which he had not read, but wished to read, holding to the bars as he talked, looking wistfully toward the spot of sunlight which was now growing as slender as a golden cord against the gray wall. His eyes came back to her face, to find that look of growing wonder there, to see her quick blush mount and consume it in her eyes like a flame.
“You’ve made more of the books that you’ve read than many of us with a hundred times more,” said she warmly. “I’ll be ashamed to mention books to you again.”
“You oughtn’t say that,” said he, hanging his head in boyish confusion, feeling that same sense of shyness and desire to hide as came over him when his mother recounted his youthful campaign against the three books on the Newbolt shelf.
“You remember what you get out of them,” she nodded gravely, “I don’t.” 200
“My father used to say that was one advantage in having a few,” said he.
The colonel joined them then, the loud-spoken benediction of the horse-thief following him. There was a flush of indignation in his face and fire in his eyes.
“I’ll expose the scoundrel; I’ll show him that he can’t rob both the county and the helpless men that misfortune throws into his hands!” the colonel declared.
He gave his hand to Joe in his ceremonious fashion.
“I’ve got some pressing business ahead of me with the sheriff,” he said, “and we’ll be going along. But I’ll manage to come over every few days and bring what cheer I can to you, Joe.”
“Don’t put yourself out,” said Joe; “but I’ll be mighty glad to see you any time.”