There was a time when I could solve an equation of three unknown
quantities, and could even jimmy a quantity out from under a radical
sign, and had the feeling that I was quite a fellow. Then one day I
went into a bookstore to buy a book. I had quite enough money to pay
for one, and had somehow got the notion that a boy of my attainments
ought to have a book. But, in the presence of the blond chap behind
the counter, I was quite abashed, for I did not in the least know
what book I wanted. I knew it wasn't a Bible, for we had one at
home, but further than that I could not go. Now, if knowing how to
buy a book is a part of complete living, then, in that blond
presence, I was hopelessly adrift. I had been taught that gambling
is wrong, but there was a situation where I had to take a chance or
show the white feather. Of course, I took the chance and was
relieved of my money by a blond who may or may not have been able to
solve radicals. I shall not give the title of the book I drew in
that lottery, for this is neither the time nor the place for
confessions.
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