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CH. VII books. 'E's got 'eaps of books—'eaps. Besides selling a lot.

"He knows a regular lot of people, and all sorts of things. He's been a dentist, and he's a qualified chemist, an' I seen him often reading German and French. Taught 'imself. He was here"

Sid indicated South Kensington, which had come opportunely outside the carriage windows, with a nod of his head, "—three years. Studying science. But you'll see 'im. When he really gets to talking—he pours it out."

"Ah!" said Kipps, nodding sympathetically, with his two hands on his umbrella knob.

"He'll do big things some day," said Sid. "He's written a book on science already. 'Physiography,' it's called. 'Elementary Physiography'! Some day he'll write an Advanced—when he gets time."

He let this soak into Kipps.

"I can't introduce you to Lords and swells," he went on, "but I can show you a Famous Man, that's going to be. I can do that. Leastways—unless"

Sid hesitated.

"He's got a frightful cough," he said.

"He won't care to talk with me," weighed Kipps.

"That's all right; he won't mind. He's fond of talking. He'd talk to anyone," said KidSid [sic], reassuringly, and added a perplexing bit of Londonized Latin. "He doesn't pute anything, non alienum. You know."

"I know," said Kipps, intelligently, over his