Little Redbeard was no
mere wandering crank--he was a real man, cool and steady of brain,
with the earmarks of a hero. I felt a sudden gush of warmth as I
recalled his comical ways.
Mrs. Pratt lit a fire in her Franklin stove and I racked my head
wondering how I could tread worthily in the Professor's footsteps.
Finally I fetched the "Jungle Book" from Parnassus and read them
the story of Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. There was a long pause when I had
finished.
"Say, Pa," said Dick shyly, "that mongoose was rather like
Professor, wasn't he!"
Plainly the Professor was the traditional hero of this family,
and I began to feel rather like an impostor!
I suppose it was foolish of me, but I had already made up my mind
to push on to Woodbridge that night. It could not be more than four
miles, and the time was not much after eight. I felt a little twinge
of quite unworthy annoyance because I was still treading in the
glamour of the Professor's influence. The Pratts would talk of
nothing else, and I wanted to get somewhere where I would be
estimated at my own value, not merely as his disciple.
Pages:
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112