They'll pay a lot for a separator or a buggy
top, but they've never been taught to worry about literature! But
it's surprising how excited they get about books if you sell 'em the
right kind. Over beyond Port Vigor there's a farmer who's waiting
for me to go back--I've been there three or four times--and he'll
buy about five dollars' worth if I know him. First time I went there
I sold him 'Treasure Island,' and he's talking about it yet. I sold
him 'Robinson Crusoe,' and 'Little Women' for his daughter, and
'Huck Finn,' and Grubb's book about 'The Potato.' Last time I was
there he wanted some Shakespeare, but I wouldn't give it to him.
I didn't think he was up to it yet."
I began to see something of the little man's idealism in his work.
He was a kind of traveling missionary in his way. A hefty talker,
too. His eyes were twinkling now and I could see him warming up.
"Lord!" he said, "when you sell a man a book you don't sell him
just twelve ounces of paper and ink and glue--you sell him a whole
new life. Love and friendship and humour and ships at sea by
night--there's all heaven and earth in a book, a real book I mean.
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