Henry and I were rather deeply impressed by this talk, so new, so different, so suited to our state of mind. It hit us straight between the eyes.
I was in a bad way, and dreadfully worried, without a cent for books or tuition or spending money, or the courage to appeal to my father.
“I've got some money in my pocket, boys,” he went on. “If I could only buy The Little Corporal [our weekly paper] it would be just the jaw bone with which to slay the Philistines. Wholesome publicity is the weapon we need. With it we could both demolish an' build up.”
Black clouds had covered the sky, and now we were walking in darkness, with a damp wind coming out of the west. We were some miles from the village of Griggsby when a drenching rain began to fall. We could see a light in a window close by the road, and we made for it.
A woman timidly opened the door as we rapped. Smead knew her.
“Sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Bradshaw,” said he. “Where is Bill?”
“He an' Sam Reynolds went over to Diddlebury Fair,” said she.
“Well, it is time the prize pumpkins were rollin' home,” said Smead; “but I'm 'fraid we have rolled about as far as we can tonight. A heavy rain has set in, an' we're nearly wet through.”
“We ain't much to offer you,” said the woman, “but if one o' you can sleep with the hired man there's a bed for the other two upstairs.”
“Do you think the hired man would sleep with me?” asked Smead, in playful astonishment.