se thoughts were it not for lack of training
in thinking and lack of the thought-tools with which to think. He
guessed this, and for a while entertained the idea of reading nothing but
the dictionary until he had mastered every word in it.

Poetry, however, was his solace, and he read much of it, finding his
greatest joy in the simpler poets, who were more understandable. He
loved beauty, and there he found beauty. Poetry, like music, stirred him
profoundly, and, though he did not know it, he was preparing his mind for
the heavier work that was to come. The pages of his mind were blank,
and, without effort, much he read and liked, stanza by stanza, was
impressed upon those pages, so that he was soon able to extract great joy
from chanting aloud or under his breath the music and the beauty of the
printed words he had read. Then he stumbled upon Gayley's "Classic
Myths" and Bulfinch's "Age of Fable," side by side on a library shelf. It
was illumination, a great light in the darkness of his ignorance, and he
read poetry more avidly than ever.

The man at the desk in the library had seen Martin there so often that he
had become quite cordial, always greeting him with a smile and a nod when
he entered. It was because of this that Martin did a daring thing.
Drawing out some books at the desk, and while the man was stamping the
cards, Martin blurted out:-

"Say, there's something I'd like to ask you."

The man smiled and paid attention.

"When you meet a young lady an' she asks you to call, how soon can you
call?"

Martin felt his shirt press and cling to his shoulders, what of the sweat
of the effort.

"Why I'd say any time," the man answered.

"Yes, but this is different," Martin objected. "She--I--well, you see,
it's this way: maybe she won't be there. She goes to the university."

"Then call again."

"What I said ain't what I meant," Martin confessed falteringly, while he
made up his mind to throw himself wholly upon the other's mercy. "I'm
just a rough sort of a fellow, an' I ain't never seen anything of
society. This girl is all that I ain't, an' I ain't anything that she
is. You don't think I'm playin' the fool, do you?" he demanded abruptly.

"No, no; not at all, I assure you," the other protested. "Your request
is not exactly in the scope of the reference department, but I shall be
only too pleased to assist you."

Martin looked at him admiringly.

"If I could tear it off that way, I'd be