"Yes, of course. I'm going to write books—like Dickens and those fellows. Dickens made a pile of money, just by writing down plain every-day things going on around."
"But you can't write!"
Benjamin laughed a superior laugh, "Oh, can't I? What about Our Own, eh?"
"What's that?"
"That's our journal. I edit it. Didn't I tell you about it? Yes, I'm running a story through it, called 'The Soldier's Bride,' all about life in Afghanistan."
"Oh, where could I get a number?"
"You can't get a number. It ain't printed, stupid. It's all copied by hand, and we've only got a few copies. If you came down, you could see it."
"Yes, but I can't come down," said Esther, with tears in her eyes.
"Well, never mind. You'll see it some day. Well, what was I telling you? Oh, yes! About my prospects. You see, I'm going in for a scholarship in a few months, and everybody says I shall get it. Then, perhaps I might go to a higher school, perhaps to Oxford or Cambridge!"
"And row in the boat-race!" said Esther, flushing with excitement.