Unheeding her, he went on. "Philip Wriford. I'm an author—
"Oh, if you aren't a caution!" cried Essie.
"You don't believe it?"
Essie assumed a very ingenuous air. "Your mistake, pardon me. I wasn't born jus' before supper, you know."
"Will you believe it if I go in here and ask to see some of my books?"
"Oh, wouldn't I like to see you dare!"
"Come along," and he stepped inside the porch of the shop and opened the door.
Essie, half-laughing, half-frightened at this boldness, clutched at his arm. He caught her hand and led her within. "Oh, if you aren't a caution to-night!" Essie whispered. "Don't, Arthur! Arthur, don't be so bold!"
"You've got to believe."
A counter at the end of the shop displayed above it the words "Lending Library." Essie, most terribly red in the face, followed him while he stalked to it, and then stood confounded with his boldness and striving immensely to restrain her laughter while Mr. Wriford addressed the young woman who came towards them.