Beta Book

"But--what are you to do now about Oxford? Well, I'm afraid
you're taken into captivity a bit late to be trained for that
sort of thing. Do about Oxford? Why, go back, master the world
you understand. By the way, have you seen my book on _Saxon
Derivatives?_ Not that I'm prejudiced in its favor, but it might
give you a glimmering of what this difficile thing `culture'
really is."
The rustics were droning a church anthem. The glow of the ale
was in Mr. Wrenn. He leaned back, entirely happy, and it seemed
confusedly to him that what little he had heard of his learned
and affectionate friend's advice gratefully confirmed his own
theory that what one wanted was friends--a "nice wife"--folks.
"Yes, sir, by golly! It was awfully nice of the Doc." He
pictured a tender girl in golden brown back in the New York he
so much desired to see who would await him evenings with a smile
that was kept for him. Homey--that was what _he_ was going to be!
He happily and thoughtfully ran his finger about the rim of his
glass ten times.


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