He paused here and there gazing idly into shop windows, he stood gaping
at a man who was having trouble with his auto, and at last he wandered
into the public library. The place seemed like a tomb on that Saturday
morning in the springtime. Not a boy was there to be seen. "Gee whiz,
they've got something better to do than read books," he thought to
himself.

There at the desk sat the librarian, silent, preoccupied. In the
reading room were a few scattered readers intent on newspapers and
magazines. The place, familiar and pleasant enough to Pee-wee at other
times, seemed alien and uninviting at a time of day when he was usually
too busy to call upon its quiet resources of treasure.

On this balmy holiday it seemed almost like school; it had a booky,
studious atmosphere which turned him against it. And to complete this
impression and make the place abhorrent to him there sat Miss Bunting,
the history teacher, in a corner of the reference room with several
books spread about her. To Pee-wee on Saturday morning this seemed
nothing less than an insult.

He approached a shelf near the librarian's desk above which was a sign
that read BOOKS ESPECIALLY RECOMMENDED. Here were always a few old
time favorites, worth while books made readily available. From these
Pee-wee half-heartedly drew out a copy of Treasure Island and took it
to a table. He knew his Treasure Island. In a disgruntled mood he
sank far down in his chair and opened the book at random. He was too
familiar with the enthralling pages of the famous story to seek solace
in it now, but there was nothing else to do and he was too out of sorts
to search further. Presently he was idly skimming over the page before
him.