[…] and without the least show of embarrassment, or, to be just, of embarrassingness, he advanced to the bedside and held out his hand.

Crop the photo for emphasis and composition.

Yet it was some time before Teddy would admit him into anything like what one might call intimacy, and premature attempts at gamesome familiarity were checked by the gathering thunder of a lazy growl that unmistakably bade the youngster keep his place.

Much of the time, when no customers came, he spent reading the yellow-jacketed trash that the library contained. Books of that type you could read at the rate of one an hour.