'll--I'll take these two, anyway"--meaning Prescott's Conquest--"and
let me see", he looked hungrily over the titles--"And this one 'David
Copperfield'." It was hard to select from so many tempting ones. Here
was one he had missed: "Ben Hur"--, a fine new copy in blue and gold. He
had read the Chariot Race, and if the whole story was as interesting as
that, he must have it. He handed the volume to the salesman. Then his
hand touched lovingly a number of other books, but he resisted the
temptation, and said: "That's all--this time."

The clerk wrapped the purchase in a newspaper and handed the package to
Dorian who paid for them with his two silver dollars, receiving some
small silver in change. Then, with his package under his arm, the boy
walked on down the street.

Well, what now? He was a little afraid of what he had done. How could
he face his mother? How could he go home without shoes? Books might be
useful for the head, but they would not clothe the feet. He jingled the
coins in his pocket as he walked on down to the end of the business
section of the city. He could not buy any kind of shoes to fit his big
feet for a dollar and twenty cents. There was nothing more to do but to
go home, and "face the music", so he walked on in a sort of fearsome
elation. At a corner he discovered a new candy store. Next to books,
Dorian liked candy. He might as well buy some candy for the twenty
cents. He went into the store and took his time looking at the tempting
display, finally buying ten cents worth of chocolates for himself and
ten cents worth of peppermint lozenges for his mother.

You see, Dorian Trent, though sixteen years old, was very much a child;
he did many childish things, and yet in some ways, he was quite a man;
the child in him and the man in him did not seem to merge into the boy,
but were somewhat "separate and apart," as the people of Greenstreet
would say.

Dorian again took the less frequented road home. The sun was still high
when he reached the river. He was not expected home for some time yet,
so there was no need for hurry. He crossed the footbridge, noticing
neither birds nor fish. Instead of following the main path, he struck
off into a by-trail which led him to a tiny grass plat in the shade of a
tree by the river. He sat down here, took off his hat, and pushed back
from a freckled, sweating forehead a mop of wavy, rusty-colored hair.
Then he untied his package of books and spread his treasures bef