Thomas: O, no wonder he thinks he'd like it, he doesn't know anything about it. I thought it was fun, too, when I was in the primer class.
John: Yes, so did I.
Helen: Well, he's beyond the primer class, I tell you. He knows the old Webster spelling book all by heart, father says.
John: How'd he learn it if he hasn't been to school? Your stories don't hitch very well, Miss Preachie.
Helen: He learned it all by himself, lying on the floor nights in front of the big fireplace. They are too poor to have even a grease light.
Thomas: Must think a lot of that old spelling book. (Both laugh.)
Helen: Of course he thinks a lot of it. He thinks a lot of any book. Father heard a man telling down at the store that this boy cut four cords of wood for some one, just to get a piece of a book.
John: O, wanted to read the Arabian Nights, probably.
Helen: But it wasn't the Arabian Nights that he bought; it was the Life of Washington.
Thomas: What's the use of his reading the Life of Washington? He's nothing but poor, white trash—too poor, you say, even to have a grease light. He'll never be anybody.