"Then you can probably do some repairs for me," said the junior
Bradford "My press needs some tutoring."
"I shall be happy to be its tutor," replied Benjamin, with a smile. "I shall finish Keimer's to-morrow, and then I will take yours in hand. I shall be glad to do something to repay you for your kindness."
"You must have had good school advantages in Boston," remarked the elder Bradford to him. "Your conversation indicates that you are well-read and well-informed."
"But I am not indebted to the schools for it; I never went to school but two years in my life. But I have studied and read as much as any body of my age, in leisure hours and nights; and I have written more for the press, probably, than any one of my age in Boston."
This last remark caused the Bradfords to look at each other with wonder for a moment. But the senior broke the silence by saying:
"You write for the press? How is that?" His astonishment charged his questions with peculiar emphasis.
"Yes, sir; I wrote much for nearly a year for the New England
Courant, one of the newspapers in Boston."
"And only seventeen years old now?"
"I was only sixteen when I wrote the most."
That was as far as Benjamin dared to disclose his history, lest he might make trouble for himself. He had disclosed enough, however, to set his host to thinking. Neither of the Bradfords really believed his story about his writing for the press; and yet there was something about him, composed of intelligence, refinement, and manliness, that impressed them. The more they conversed with him, the more were they satisfied that he was an uncommon youth. While that conviction awakened their curiosity to know more of his history, it served, also, to cause them to respect his boy-manhood, and so not to ply him with too many or close questions. Thus Benjamin escaped the necessity of exposing the objectionable part of his career, and left his good friends wondering over the mysterious young printer they were befriending.