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“The writing might have been nicer, too,” said Johnny apologetically, “but I had such a scratchy, bad pen.” Preface “You want to help the Big Boss?”.
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Conrad
“Sell your fishing rod? Indeed, you must not think of such a thing.” His mind busy with these thoughts, he found that the long climb to the top did not bother him. After a wash-up he had supper and went out on the hotel piazza. The sun had gone but its last banners of light were flung up against the sky behind the farthest horizon. The depths of the Canyon were black. Out of this rose myriad pinnacles, dim in outline, rich in deep colors. Just at the opposite rim a strip of color spun along, tipping the horizon with a golden glow. “Reckon so,” grinned Bob happily. “Sore?” “No, I was just thinking about that,” replied John. “I was thinking that perhaps I had better say, ‘Now I lay me’ and ‘Our Father’ both tonight, on account of the finger tip and the five cents and everything else today, Mother.” And John looked inquiringly up at his mother to see whether she approved..
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