Hark to this:
"'But Othere, the old sea captain,
He neither paused nor stirred
Till the king listened, and then
'Once more took up his pen
And wrote down every word.
"'And to the King of the Saxons
In witness of the truth,
Raising his noble head,
He stretched his brown hand and said,
"Behold this walrus tooth."
By Jove, what chaps those must have been, to go sailing all over
the shop never knowing where they'd fetch the land! Hah!"
"Charlie," I pleaded, "if you'll only he sensible for a minute or two
I'll make our hero in our tale every inch as good as Othere."
"Umph! Longfellow wrote that poem. I don't care about writing
things any more. I want to read." He was thoroughly out of tune
now, and raging over my own ill-luck, I left him.
Conceive yourself at the door of the world's treasure-house
guarded by a child--an idle irresponsible child playing knuckle-bones--on
whose favor depends the gift of the key, and you will
imagine one-half my torment. Till that evening Charlie had
spoken nothing that might not lie within the experiences of a
Greek galley-slave.
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