I
don't suppose there's a publisher in the country will take it!"
"Try Mr. Decameron," I said. "He's always been very nice to Andrew."
"Think what it would mean," he cried, waving an eloquent hand,
"if some rich man would start a fund to equip a hundred or so
wagons like this to go huckstering literature around through
the rural districts. It would pay, too, once you got started.
Yes, by the bones of Webster! I went to a meeting of
booksellers once, at some hotel in New York, and told 'em
about my scheme. They laughed at me. But I've had more fun
toting books around in this Parnassus than I could have had in
fifty years sitting in a bookstore, or teaching school, or
preaching. Life's full of savour when you go creaking along
the road like this. Look at today, with the sun and the air
and the silver clouds. Best of all, though, I love the rainy
days. I used to pull up alongside the road, throw a rubber
blanket over Peg, and Bock and I would curl up in the bunk and
smoke and read. I used to read aloud to Bock: we went
through `Midshipman Easy' together, and a good deal of
Shakespeare. He's a very bookish dog. We've seen some queer
experiences in this Parnassus.
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