He had never seen anything that he couldn't get the hang of when he wanted to and it was about time for him to want to learn to talk the things that were inside of him so that she could understand.

_She_ was bulking large on his horizon.
"Now Longfellow--" she was saying.
"Yes, I've read 'm," he broke in impulsively, spurred on to exhibit and make the most of his little store of book knowledge, desirous of showing her that he was not wholly a stupid clod.

"'The Psalm of Life,' 'Excelsior,' an'.

.

.