“What! what!” sputtered the old gentleman, pettishly. “Get out of my way, boy! My fault! beg your pardon!” Roger moved aside, bewildered by the sudden shock.
“Will you buy some Physical Geographies, sir?” he asked. “See how fresh they are? They are the loveliest—”
“This boy is a lunatic!” said the old gentleman, fiercely, “and ought to be shut up. How dare you talk to me about Physical Geography, sir?”
Roger stared at him blankly, and then grew crimson with shame and confusion. “I—I beg your pardon, sir!” he faltered, “I meant to say ‘lilies.’ I was thinking so hard about the geography that it slipped out without my knowing it. I suppose. I—”
“What! what!” cried the old gentleman, catching him by his arm. “Thinking about Physical Geography, hey? What d’ye mean? This is a remarkable boy. Come here, sir! come here!”
He dragged Roger to one side, and made him sit down beside him on a convenient doorstep. “What d’ye mean?” he repeated, fixing his piercing gray eyes upon the boy in a manner which made him feel very uncomfortable. “What do you know about Physical Geography?”
“Nothing yet, sir,” replied Roger, modestly. “But I am very anxious to study it, and I am selling these lilies and cat-tails to try and get money enough to buy the book.”
“This is a most remarkable boy!” cried the old gentleman. “What geography is it you want, hey? Merton’s, I’ll warrant. Trash, sir! unspeakable trash!”
“No, sir; Willison’s,” replied the boy, thinking that the old gentleman was certainly crazy.
But on hearing this, his strange companion seized him by the hand, and shook it warmly. “I am Willison!” he exclaimed. “It is my Geography! You are a singularly intelligent boy. I am glad to meet you.”