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Updated: May 9, 2025
And after all, I rather inclined to his opinion. When two or three days had passed, curiosity drew me towards the Christophersons' dwelling. Walking along the opposite side of the street, I looked up at their window, and there was the face of the old bibliophile. Evidently he was standing at the window in idleness, perhaps in trouble.
And spluttering and growling, he made known what he had just learnt at his aunt's home. On the previous afternoon the Christophersons had been surprised by a visit from their relatives and would-be benefactress, Mrs. Keeting. Keeting spoke loudly as she descended the stairs. 'Impossible! Quite impossible! I couldn't think of it!
How could you dream for a moment that I would let you fill my house with musty old books? Most unhealthy! I never knew anything so extraordinary in my life, never! And so she went out to her carriage, and was driven away. And the landlady, presently having occasion to go upstairs, was aware of a dead silence in the room where the Christophersons were sitting.
One spring day I was making up the paper, while the Christophersons' little tow-headed boy watched me. "Are you going to be a printer when you grow up, Heine?" "Nope. I don't want no little types," he replied. "I like traction machines better they go. My Pa's got one." A tractor coming on the Strip! I ran to tell Ida Mary.
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