“What, not even a box of paper collars?” asked Benjy.
“Not one, my boy, but you may take a strait-waistcoat in your box if you choose, for you’ll be sure to need it.”
“Oh! father,” returned the boy, remonstratively, “you are severe. However, I will take one, if you agree to leave your woollen comforter behind. You won’t need that, you see, as long as I am with you.”
“Of course,” said Alf, “you will allow us to carry small libraries with us?”
“Certainly not, my lad, only one book each, and that must be a small one.”
“The only book I possess is my Bible,” said Leo, “and that won’t take up much room, for it’s an uncommonly small one.”
“If I only had my Robinson Crusoe here,” cried Benjy, “I’d take it, for there’s enough of adventure in that book to carry a man over half the world.”
“Ay,” said Alf, “and enough of mind to carry him over the other half. For my part, if we must be content with one book each, I shall take Buzzby’s poems.”
“Oh! horrible!” cried Benjy, “why, he’s no better than a maudlin’, dawdlin’, drawlin’, caterwaulin’—”
“Come, Benjy, don’t be insolent; he’s second only to Tennyson. Just listen to this morceau by Buzzby. It is an Ode to Courage—