The Black Knight was just then hammering with his battle-axe at the gate of Front de Buef's castle, not minding the stones and beams cast down upon him from above “no more than if they were thistle-down or feathers.” Albert absently admitted that the story was interesting. The housekeeper repeated her request to be told its name.
“Ivanhoe,” replied the boy; adding, as the name did not seem to convey any definite idea to his interrogator's mind: “It's by Walter Scott, you know.”
Mrs. Ellis made no remark immediately. When she did it was to the effect that she used to know a colored man named Scott who worked at the hotel once. “He swept out and carried trunks and such things,” she explained. “He seemed to be a real nice sort of colored man, far as ever I heard.”
Albert was more interested in the Black Knight of Ivanhoe than the black man of the hotel, so he went on reading. Rachel sat down in a chair by the window and looked out, twisting and untwisting the dust-cloth in her lap.
“I presume likely lots and lots of folks have read that book, ain't they?” she asked, after another interval.
“What? Oh, yes, almost everybody. It's a classic, I suppose.”
“What you said the book was. A class-somethin' or other?”
“Oh, a classic. Why, it's--it's something everybody knows about, or--or ought to know about. One of the big things, you know. Like--like Shakespeare or--or Robinson Crusoe or Paradise Lost or--lots of them. It's a book everybody reads and always will.”
“I see. Humph! Well, I never read it. . . . I presume likely you think that's pretty funny, don't you?”
Albert tore himself away from the fight at the gate.
“Yes, you do. You think it's awful funny. Well, you wouldn't if you knew more about how busy I've been all my life. I ain't had time to read the way I'd ought to. I read a book once though that I'll never forget. Did you ever read a book called Foul Play?”
“No. . . . Why, hold on, though; I think I have. By Charles Reade, wasn't it?”
“Yes, that's who wrote it, a man named Charles Reade. Laban told me that part of it; he reads a lot, Laban does. I never noticed who wrote it, myself. I was too interested in it to notice little extry things like that. But ain't that a WONDERFUL book? Ain't that the best book you ever read in all your LIFE?”