Mr. Wrenn felt excitedly sure of that, and imparted: "Yes, I
guess I have.... And I've always wanted to travel a lot."
"So have I! Isn't it wonderful to go around and see new places!"
"Yes, _isn't_ it!" he breathed. "It was great to be in
England--though the people there are kind of chilly some ways.
Even when I'm on a wharf here in New York I feel just like I was
off in China or somewheres. I'd like to see China. And
India.... Gee! when I hear the waves down at Coney Island or
some place--you know how the waves sound when they come in.
Well, sometimes I almost feel like they was talking to a
guy--you know--telling about ships. And, oh say, you know the
whitecaps--aren't they just like the waves was motioning at
you--they want you to come and beat it with you--over to China
and places."
"Why, Mr. Wrenn, you're a regular poet!"
He looked doubtful.
"Honest; I'm not teasing you; you are a poet. And I think it's
fine that Mr. Teddem was saying that nobody could be a poet or
like that unless they drank an awful lot and--uh--oh, not be
honest and be on a job.
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