THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
Jules Verne, Dickens, Hugo, James Whitcomb Riley, Mark Twain, and Nick Carter." There was a sly twinkle in his eye.
"I don't quite recollect Mr. Carter."
"Aw, you haven't been a school-teacher without running up against good old Nick in between geographies."
"But I haven't admitted that I'm a school-teacher."
"Well, aren't you?"
He was a direct young man. "I see that there is no escape. Yes, I've met Mr. Carter, but I've never gone further than to stuff him into the paper-chutes."
"Poor old Nick! There's another guy I like—O. Henry."
"And why do you like him?" she asked, curious to learn why O. Henry interested this young man who worked in the cellar of a plumber's shop. The whole affair was so rich in novelty—to have watched her feet flit past his window for three years!
"Well," said the happy William, "he never tells me anything I don't already know. You see, I know his people—friends of mine, next-door neighbors, and all that."
She nodded. "Did you ever read a book called The Life of Benvenuto Cellini?"
"Nope."
"It is an autobiography."
"Nothing doing. When I read I want action."
"But this is like The Three Musketeers, only it's real. It's the most exciting book you ever read."
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