jine 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.