It's fine. I just don't want
you to be too reckless."
That night Wrenn worked till eight.
After his raise he could afford to go to the theater, since he
was not saving money for travel. He wrote small letters to
Istra and read the books he believed she would approve--a Paris
Baedeker and the second volume of Tolstoi's _War and Peace_,
which he bought at a second-hand book-stall for five cents.
He became interested in popular and inaccurate French and English
histories, and secreted any amount of footnote anecdotes about
Guy Fawkes and rush-lights and the divine right of kings.
He thought almost every night about making friends, which he
intended--just as much as ever--to do as soon as Sometime arrived.
On the day on which one of the Southern merchants wrote him about
his son--"fine young fellow, sir--has every chance of rising
to a lieutenancy on the Atlanta police force"--Mr. Wrenn's eyes
were moist. Here was a friend already. Sure. He would make
friends. Then there was the cripple with the Capitol Corner News
and Souvenir Stand in Austin, Texas.
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