KIPPS
Travel and Books. . . . And they're both so easy nowadays, and so cheap!"
"I've often wanted to 'ave a good go in at reading," Kipps replied.
"You'd hardly believe," Coote said, "how much you can get out of books. Provided you avoid trashy reading, that is. You ought to make a rule, Kipps, and read one Serious Book a week. Of course, we can Learn even from Novels, Nace Novels that is, but it isn't the same thing as serious reading. I made a rule, One Serious Book and One Novel—no more. There's some of the serious books I've been reading lately—on that table; 'Sartor Resartus'— Mrs. Twaddletome's 'Pond Life,' the 'Scottish Chiefs,' 'Life and Letters of Dean Farrar.'. . ."
§ 2
There came at last the sound of a gong, and Kipps descended to tea in that state of nervous apprehension at the difficulties of eating and drinking that his Aunt's knuckle rappings had implanted in him for ever. Over Coote's shoulder he became aware of a fourth person in the Moorish cosy corner, and he turned, leaving incomplete something incoherent he was saying to Miss Coote about his modest respect and desire for literature, to discover this fourth person was Miss Helen Walshingham, hatless and looking very much at home.
She rose at once with an extended hand to meet his hesitation.
"You're stopping in Folkestone, Mr. Kipps?"
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