Page:MacGrath--The luck of the Irish.djvu/70

 Jules Verne, Dickens, Hugo, James Whitcomb Riley, Mark Twain, and Nick Carter." There was a sly twinkle in his eye.

"I don't quite recollect Mr. Carter."

"Aw, you haven't been a school-teacher without running up against good old Nick in between geographies."

"But I haven't admitted that I'm a school-teacher." "Well, aren't you?"

He was a direct young man. "I see that there is no escape. Yes, I've met Mr. Carter, but I've never gone further than to stuff him into the paper-chutes."

"Poor old Nick! There's another guy I like—O. Henry."

"And why do you like him?" she asked, curious to learn why O. Henry interested this young man who worked in the cellar of a plumber's shop. The whole affair was so rich in novelty—to have watched her feet flit past his window for three years!

"Well," said the happy William, "he never tells me anything I don't already know. You see, I know his people—friends of mine, next-door neighbors, and all that."

She nodded. "Did you ever read a book called The Life of Benvenuto Cellini?"

"Nope."

"It is an autobiography."

"Nothing doing. When I read I want action."

"But this is like The Three Musketeers, only it's real. It's the most exciting book you ever read."