How fine to have a brother so solicitous of his sister's
welfare and reputation! And yet, how splendid the little, scrawny
Professor had been! How quick to resent an insult and how bold to
avenge it! His absurd little tweed cap was lying on the seat, and I
picked it up almost sentimentally. The lining was frayed and torn.
From my suit case in the van I got out a small sewing kit, and
hanging the reins on a hook I began to stitch up the rents as
Peg jogged along. I thought with amusement of the quaint life
Mr. Mifflin had led in his "caravan of culture." I imagined him
addressing the audience of Whitman disciples in Camden, and wondered
how the fuss ended. I imagined him in his beloved Brooklyn,
strolling in Prospect Park and preaching to chance comers his gospel
of good books. How different was his militant love of literature
from Andrew's quiet satisfaction. And yet how much they really had
in common! It tickled me to think of Mifflin reading aloud from
"Happiness and Hayseed," and praising it so highly, just before
fighting with the author and giving him a bloody nose.
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