"Honest, mister," he said, gazing wistfully into the face of Klondyke, "do you fink I could?"
"Sure," said Klondyke. "Sure as God made little apples."
Sailor decided that he would think it over. It was a very important step to take.
XVIII
Klondyke's library consisted of two volumes: the Bible and "Don Quixote." Sailor knew a bit about the former work. The Reverend Rogers had read it aloud on a famous occasion when Henry Harper had had the luck to be invited to a real blowout of tea and buns at the Brookfield Street Mission. That was a priceless memory, and Henry Harper always thought that to hear the Reverend Rogers read the Bible was a treat. Klondyke, who was not at all like the Reverend Rogers in word or deed, said it was "a damned good book," and would sometimes read in it when he was at a bit of a loose end.
It was by means of this volume that Sailor learned his alphabet. Presently he got to spelling words of two and three letters, then he got as far as remembering them, and then came the proud day when he could write his name with a stump of pencil on a stray piece of the Brooklyn Eagle, in which Klondyke had packed his tooth brush, the only one aboard the Margaret Carey.
"What is your name, old friend?" Klondyke asked.
"Enry Arper."
"H-e-n with a Hen, ry—Henry. H-a-r with a Har, p-e-r—Harper."