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Updated: May 2, 2025
I read even at meals, despite my father's protests that it was bad-mannered. Breasted's book store, down in Newark, was where I was nearly always to be found, in the late afternoons. It was there, in the murky light of a dying twilight, that I came Upon the book that has meant more to my life than any other book ever written....
And my father, for the first few weeks, allowed me to have all I earned, to do with as I wished. Later on he made me save two dollars a week. Each Saturday I went down to Newark and bought books ... very cheap, second hand ones, at Breasted's book store. Every decisive influence in life has been a book, every vital change in my life, I might say, has been brought about by a book.
I walked ahead a few miles, then sat down and studied my Milton, or dug deep into Tristram Shandy. Hungry, I went up to farmhouse or backdoor of city dwelling, and asked for food.... I found myself in the outskirts of Newark again. I took my Sterne and Milton to Breasted's, hoping to trade them for other books. I stood before the outside books, on the stand, hesitating.
"Come, Gregory, it's time to close" a voice at my elbow. It was Breasted's assistant, a little, curious man who reminded me of my sky-pilot at Sydney. He, also, wore a black, long-tailed coat. He was known as "the perfessor." "You've been standing here as quiet as a crane for three hours." "How much do you want for this book?" "A quarter ... for you!"
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