Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 95, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 April 1915 — BUYING OLD BOOKS [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

BUYING OLD BOOKS

By WALTER JOSEPH DELANEY.

“On this of all days!” sighed John Pembroke, manager of the antiquarian bookshop of William Abercrombie. He had looked forward to this day as a red letter one in the calendar — as the day, In fact, when he was to ask his circumspect, hard-headed employer for the hand of his daughter, Jessie, whom he had loved in secret ever since he had secured his present position and had surreptitiously courted for the past six months. Mr. Abercrombie has been away for two weeks inspecting a famous private library which a client wished to buy. He had left John in full charge of the bookshop. Business had been good and John felt proud over it and had counted on his report placing his gruff, practical-mind-ed employer in good humor. Then he intended to tell him outright that Jessie and himself were engaged. Late the evening previous, however, John had received a note from Jessie that disturbed him and completely discouraged all his ambitious plans. It ran: “I don’t know why, but papa Is in a dreadful temper. It is something about the old Spectator set of books you bought.” And now John worried and chilled, and tried to guess out where he could possibly have been wrong in the purchase in question as he was summoned to the private office of his employer. Mr. Abercrombie’s brow was like a thundercloud. He had the Spectaftor set in question on his desk. As John entered he pointed at the volumes with an angry stabbing finger. “You bought that trash I understand?” he growled out. “Why, yes, sir,” admitted John. “Arid paid six hundred dollars for it?’’ “That was the price, sir.” “Well, you have been swindled. The set is a copy—a rank forgery. To an old expert like myself, such a bare-faced imposition, seems impossible. I have just this to say: the set would not sell for ten dollars and

I shall expect you to make up my money you have so recklessly squandered.” John’s heart sank fast and deep. He knew that discussion was useless. Six hundred dollars! Why, even if the old man favored his suit concerning Jessie, that would put off all idea of a speedy wedding. “I beg to say—” began John, but the old tyrant waved all explanations aside. John could have reminded him that a standing order had been with the house for the very set in question. The books looked genuine. John had even submitted them to a very good authority. The dictum of his employer, however, was final. “It should be a lesson to you,” observed the old man gruffly. “It would be a very wise and shrewd man who could play such a swindling trick on me!” John had a hasty talk with Jessie, who decided that the momentous question at issue should be postponed until the six hundred dollars was made up. So, John showed no sullenness or resentment to the arbitrary ultimatum of his hard-headed employer, but went cheerfully about his duties as usual, willing to abide a better condition of affairs. One day there came into the bookshop a veritable old fossil, so far as long straggly white beard and oldfashioned goggles and clothes were concerned. When he announced himself as the president of a newly instituted college in far-away Alberta, the bookseller never doubted his word, for he looked the antiquated pedagogue complete. He gave his name as Professor Marsh and' stated that the college trustees had set apart five thousand dollars to buy a library. For a week he inspected the shelves of the bookstore and its catalogues, writing down a list of innumerable volumes and their prices, and old Abercrombie nibbed his hands quite jovially at the prospects of making a big sale with broad profits. ; i ? Several times the/old professor had

spoken of a set of books representing the works of an obscure and well-nigh forgotten German savant. These covered some abstruse psychological ideals, and had been a great favorite with him, he said, in his younger days. “You might take a run around and see if you can find any trace of the set,” Mr. Abercombie suggested to John one day. “Profesor Marsh, seems very eager for It and has offered two thousand dollars if we can deliver the commission.” John went the rounds. The volumes were nowhere to be found, in fact very few*of the booksellers had ever heard of them. One afternoon, however, he was met by the manager of a rival book house. "I say, Pembroke," observed this individual, “I think I have located those books. In fact, I have found a man who has a complete set. If I direct you "up against him, what is there in it for me?” “Ten per cent” “All right. I’ll send the man to you.” He appeared the next day, a seedy, hungry-looklng fellow, who suggested the actor on a forced vacation, or the average literary hack. Mr. Abercrombie cast a look of vain pride at his manager as he “turned the fellow outside out,” as he boasted chucklingly after the bargain was made, and beat the price down from fifteen hundred dollars to eleven hundred and fifty dollars. “Follow my tactics,” he observed to John. “Get your order before you buy, as I have done.” The owner of the set of rarities appeared the following morning in a cab. The volumes in question were unloaded, the man was paid his price. Mr. Abercrombie turned up his nose at the books as he looked them over. “A clear profit on a lot of old truck with no real value,” he observed. Professor Marsh did not appear as usual that morning, nor In the afternoon. Mr. Abercrombie began to get uneasy, the next morning anxious. He sent John to the hotel where the erudite college president had been stopping. “Gone, sir, left last night,” reported John upon his return. “You—you don’t mean permanently?” questioned the bookseller, a quaver of suspicion In his voice. “I do,” replied John. "Then—” “I fear you are swindled, sir,” reminded the young manager. “Professor Marsh left with a man precisely answering to the description of the person who sold us the books. It was a well put up game, I fear.” Mr. Abercrombie looked e bored, more, humiliated. He put on his hat and went out to investigate. He was subdued and crestfallen when he returned. Jessie happened to be present when he returned. The bookseller pottered around for a spell. Then he came up to Jessie and John, who were conversing casually. “Ahem!” flustered fee old man, “I believe we will say no more about that money you invested some time since. In fact, we’ll call that transaction square.” “Why, thank you, sir,” spoke John gratefully. “And I would not let anyone of our rivals know how cleverly I was duped.” “Indeed not, sir.” “And —I have eyes, and perhaps I am getting past my usefulness. A 'mistake like this! We had better discuss our business mutually after this—" Jessie was beaming. She nudged her lover. "Speak now!" she whispered. Then John proffered his request. Surely opportunity was knocking at his door, and quite graciously old Abercrombie smiled upon the engaged pair and blessed them. (Copyright, 1915, by W. G. Chapman.)

He Gave His Name as Professor Marsh.