“Yes, beloved one,” said his father, with a mournfulness which was in strange contrast with the exaltation of his own mood. “I think by now you speak the language well enough to do so.”
“And I am growing very learned in the newspaper, am I not, my father?” he said almost joyfully, for although in his heart he still loathed the newspaper, the sense of achievement in being able to read and to understand the less inscrutable of its mysteries was very high.
“Yes, beloved one,” said his father, “I consider your progress is wonderful.”
“I observe, my father,” said the boy proudly, “that according to the newspaper we purchased this morning—no, no, that is not the true way of speaking—no, I meant merely to say that according to this morning’s paper, ‘a bright boy is wanted at No. 12, Webster’s Buildings in the City.’ It is my purpose, my father, to present myself at No. 12, Webster’s Buildings in the City to-morrow morning at the hour of nine.”
“This is indeed Achilles,” said his father. He peered wistfully at the wan cheeks now brilliant with the excitement of resolve.
“If you will embrace me, my father,” said the boy, “I will go now to my chamber all alone by myself. I am grown so powerful with the knowledge I have gained that I feel as if I may do almost anything.”
The white-haired man took the frail form into his embrace.
“I beseech you,” he said, as he held him in his arms, “not to demand too much of the strength that Nature has lent you. I would urge you not to go out among the life of the great city if you have a single misgiving.”
“I have not a single misgiving, my father,” said the boy. “I am able to read and to write and to speak the English tongue. I know how to ask the con—the conductor to stop the horses of the omnibus. I can do sums—compound fractions. I am acquainted with most of the streets in the great city. Have I not walked therein alone several times?”
“Well, well, Achilles,” said his father softly, “if you have really made up your mind!”