With a glass of light beer in his hand the instructor walked about looking at the books on the shelves. “Kipling ... Lawrence ... Hergesheimer ... Hardy ... aw shucks! Say, ma’am, you interested in classical literature?”
Edward, who hated beer, was not happy. The situation seemed to him only evanescently comfortable. Besides, the opening—Say mother, what are you doing for your boy?—was plainly ruled out here.
“I’ll say I am,” replied the help. “That is to say—I’m not one of these highbrows, but I get a lot of kick out of a good tale.”
“You’ve read all the British classics of course,” continued the instructor. “Say listen, you know it’s a fact that although these Britishers neglect their teeth and don’t know the first thing about sanitation or democracy, their classic authors do surely deliver the goods. Some guys is so darn narrowminded they could pretty near meet their ears at the back of their heads, but I say hand over credit where credit is due. You know any of the dope by this guy they call John Milton?”
“Does he write for the movies?”
“May have done, for all me,” replied the instructor cautiously. “Anyway, he’s dead now. But his tales certainly are red-meat tales. I’ll ask you to give these books the once over—John Milton put into good peppy American prose and illustrated by one of the swellest artists in Kansas city.”
The help at last became suspicious. “What you carrying those books around for?” she asked. “You one of these fresh agent nuts? I thought you said you was a friend of Mrs. Watson.”
“I’m a friend of everyone that’s got a taste for classical literature,” replied the instructor courageously. “I’m a public benefactor. I tell you I’m ready to put into your hands this minute this illustrated Milton Dee Lux for one dollar down. It’s a unique opportunity——”
“Now you can just quit right away,” shouted the help, snatching up her O-Cedar mop with a threatening gesture. “You got no business to of came. Ef Mrs. Winton S. Watson was to come into this room and find a coupla two-cent drummers drinking her beer—well, good-night. No, I won’t hear another word, you can just get busy moving, the quicker the better.”