My opportunity came at last when Bob Brackett, the manager of the leaf department, discovered me one afternoon tucked away with the half of Johnson's Dictionary in a corner of the stemming room, where the negroes were singing "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot." "I say, Ben, why ain't you out on the floor?" he asked. I laid the book face downwards on the window-sill, and came out, embarrassed and secretive, to where he stood. "I just dropped down there a minute ago to rest," I replied. "You weren't resting, you were reading. Show me the book." Without a word I handed him the great dictionary, and he fingered the dog-eared pages with a critical and reflective air. "Holy Moses! it ain't a blessed thing except words!" he exclaimed, after a minute. "Do you mean to tell me you can sit down and read a dictionary for the pure pleasure of reading?" "I wasn't reading, I was learning," I answered. "Learning how?" "Learning by heart. I've already got as far as the _d_'s." "You mean you can say every last word of them _a_'s, _b_'s, and _c_'s straight off?" I nodded gravely, my hands behind my back, my eyes on the beams in the ceiling. "As far as the _d_'s." "And you're doing all this learning just to get an education, ain't you?" My eyes dropped from the beams and I shook my head, "I don't believe it's there, sir." "What? Where?" "I don't believe an education is in them. I did once." For a moment he stood turning over the discoloured leaves without replying. "I reckon you can tell me the meaning of 'most any word, eh, Ben?" he demanded. "Not unless it begins with _a_, _b_, or _c_, sir." "Well, any word beginning with an _a_, then, that's something. There're a precious lot of 'em. How about allelujah, how's that for a mouthful?" Instinctively my eyes closed, and I began my reply in a tone that seemed to chime in with the negro's melody. 'Falsely written for Hallelujah, a word of spiritual exultation, used in hymns; signifies, _Praise God. He will set his tongue, to those pious divine strains; which may be a proper præludium to those allelujahs, he hopes eternally to sing._ "'_Government of the Tongue._'" "Hooray! That's a whopper!" he exclaimed, with enthusiasm. "What's a præ-lu-di-um?" "I told you I hadn't got to _p_'s yet," I returned, not without resentment. The hymn changed suddenly; the negro in the red shirt, with the scar on his neck, turned his great oxlike eyes upon me, and the next instant his superb voice rolled, rich and deep, as the sound of an organ, from his bared black chest. "A-settin' in de kingdom, Y-e-s, m-y-L-a-w-d!" "Well, you've got gumption," said Bob, the manager. "That's what I always lacked--just plain gumption, and when you ain't got it, there's nothing to take its place. I was talking to General Bolingbroke about you yesterday, Ben, and that's what I said. 'There's but one word for that boy, General, and it's gumption.'"