thim so’s not to appear to be bad company.  But Hogan is always at it.  I wudden’t mind if he wint out boldly to readin’-rooms an’ thin let it alone.  But he reads whin he is be himsilf.  He reads in bed.  He reads with his meals.  He is a secret reader.  He nips in second-hand book stores.  He can’t go on a thrain an’ have anny fun lookin’ at th’ other passengers or invyin th’ farmers their fields an’ not invyin’ their houses.  Not a bit iv it.  He has to put a book in his pocket.  He’ll tell ye that th’ on’y readin’ is Doctor Eliot’s cillybrated old blend an’ he’ll talk larnedly about th’ varyous vintages.  But I’ve seen him read books that wud kill a thruckman.  Th’ result iv it is that Hogan is always wrong about ivrything.  He sees th’ wurruld upside down.  Some men are affected diff’rent.  Readin’ makes thim weep.  But it makes Hogan believe in fairies while he’s at it.  He’s irresponsible.  There ain’t annything in th’ wurruld f’r him but dark villyans an’ blond heroes.  An’ he’s always fightin’ these here imaginary inimies an’ frinds, wantin’ to desthroy a poor, tired, scared villyan, an’ losin’ his good money to a hero.  I’ve thried to stop him.  ‘Use ye’er willpower,’ say I.  ’Limit ye’ersilf to a book or two a day,’ says I.  ‘Stay in th’ open air.  Take soft readin’.  How d’ye expict to get on in th’ wurruld th’ way ye are goin’?  Who wud make a confirmed reader th’ cashier iv a bank?  Ye’d divide ye’er customers into villyans an’ heroes an’ ye wudden’t lend money to th’ villyans.  An’ thin ye’d be wrong aven if ye were right.  F’r th’ villyans wud be more apt to have th’ money to bring back thin th’ heroes,’ says I.  ‘Ye may be right,’ says he.  ’But ’tis too late to do annything with me.  An’ I don’t care.  It may hurt me in th’ eyes iv me fellow counthrymen, but look at th’ fun I get out iv it.  I wudden’t thrade th’ injanyous wicked people an’ th’ saints that I see f’r all th’ poor, dull, half-an’-half crathers that ye find in th’ wurruld,’ says he.

“An’ there ye ar-re.  It’s just as his frind, th’ most prom’nent get-rich-quick-man iv his time, wanst said:  ‘Readin’ makes a man full.’  An’ maybe Hogan’s right.  Annyhow, I’m glad to have him advised about his books so that he won’t hurt himsilf with lithrachoor that don’t come undher th’ pure food act.  An’ I’m glad to welcome our young friend Charles Eliot into our ancient univarsity.  He’ll like it f’r awhile.  He is sure to make th’ team an’ I wudden’t mind seein’ him captain iv it.  ‘Tis a gr-reat colledge afther all, an’ if it makes me mad part iv th’ time, because I’m always gettin’ licked f’r what somebody else has done, on th’ whole I injye it.  Th’ coorse is hard.  Ivry man, woman, an’ child is profissor an’ student to ye.  Th’ examinations are tough.  Ye niver know whin they’re goin’ to take place or what they’ll be about.  Profissor Eliot may pass ye on’y to have Profissor Hinnissy turn ye down.  But there’s wan sure thing—­ye’ll be grajiated.  Ye’ll get th’ usual diploma.  Ye’ll grajiate not because iv annything ye’ve done, but because ye’er room is needed.  ‘I like th’ old place,’ says ye.  ‘An’ I’m just beginnin’ to larn,’ says ye.  ‘Pass on, blockhead,’ says th’ faculty.  ‘Pass on, Hinnissy—­ye’ll niver larn annything.’  An’ there ye are.  What’ll ye take?”