“Well, not that I know of. Why, the depth of your ignorance about American literature is something appalling. You talk of it so jauntily that you evidently have no idea of it yourself.”
“I wish you would take me in hand, Miss Earle. Isn’t there any sort of condensed version that a person could get hold of? Couldn’t you give me a synopsis of what is written, so that I might post myself up in literature without going to the trouble of reading the books?”
“The trouble! Oh, if that is the way you speak, then your case is hopeless! I suspected it for some time, but now I am certain. The trouble! The delight of reading a new novel by Howells is something that you evidently have not the remotest idea of. Why, I don’t know what I would give to have with me a novel of Howells’ that I had not read.”
“Goodness gracious! You don’t mean to say that you have read everything he has written?”
“Certainly I have, and I am reading one now that is coming out in the magazine; and I don’t know what I shall do if I am not able to get the magazine when I go to Europe.”
“Oh, you can get them over there right enough, and cheaper than you can in America. They publish them over there.”
“Do they? Well, I am glad to hear it.”
“You see, there is something about American literature that you are not acquainted with, the publication of our magazines in England, for instance. Ah, there is the breakfast gong. Well, we will have to postpone our lesson in literature until afterwards. Will you be up here after breakfast?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Well, we will leave our chairs and rugs just where they are. I will take your book down for you. Books have the habit of disappearing if they are left around on shipboard.”