indispensable necessity for my communicating with Joe by letter, inasmuch as he sat beside me and we were alone. But I delivered this written communication (slate and all) with my own hand, and Joe received it as a miracle of erudition.
“I say, Pip, old chap!” cried Joe, opening his blue eyes wide, “what a scholar you are! An't you?”
“I should like to be,” said I, glancing at the slate as he held it; with a misgiving that the writing was rather hilly.
“Why, here's a J,” said Joe, “and a O equal to anythink! Here's a J and a O, Pip, and a J-O, Joe.”
I had never heard Joe read aloud to any greater