He had a swelling on his
lip that he said he got "tusslin' with the boys somehow or nuther."
After breakfast Raften said:
"Yahn, I want you to come with me to the schoolhouse."
"It's come at last," thought Yan, for the schoolhouse was on the road
to the railroad station. But why did not Raften say "the station"?
He was not a man to mince words. Nothing was said about his handbag
either, and there was no room for it in the buggy anyway.
Raften drove in silence. There was nothing unusual in that. At length
he said:
"Yahn, what's yer father goin' to make of ye?"
"An artist," said Yan, wondering what this had to do with his
dismissal.
"Does an artist hev to be bang-up eddicated?"
"They're all the better for it."
"Av coorse, av coorse, that's what I tell Sam. It's eddication that
counts. Does artists make much money?"
"Yes, some of them. The successful ones sometimes make millions."
"Millions? I guess not. Ain't you stretchin' it just a leetle?"
"No, sir. Turner made a million. Titian lived in a palace, and so did
Raphael."
"Hm. Don't know 'em, but maybe so--maybe so. It's wonderful what
eddication does--that's what I tell Sam."
They now drew near the schoolhouse.
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