The Librarian started at his words and jumped to his feet. "You give me an idea, my Lord Mayor!" he cried. "Can we not cause him to change his mind? Can we not interest him in our books, enthrall him in the Chronicles of Kisington, so that he will cease to make war? Can we not at least gain time until our King Victor and his allies shall come to our aid?"
Boom! went the cannon, and Crash! the statue of a great poet fell from the portal of the library.
The Lord Mayor shuddered. "It is an idea," he agreed. "There is a faint hope. Something must be done, and that quickly. How shall we begin, Sir Librarian?"
The Librarian turned to the shelves behind him and took down at random a book bound in red-and-gold. "Here, let us begin with this," he said. "It may not be the best of all our Chronicles, but if the warlike King can be induced to read it through, it may serve to hold his wrath for a space."
"Who will go with the volume into the enemy's camp?" asked the Lord Mayor dubiously.
"We must send our best reader," said the Librarian. "Red Rex must hear the tale read aloud, the better to hold his unaccustomed attention."
"Surely, you are the best reader, Sir Librarian," urged the Lord Mayor generously. "How we all admire your style and diction!"
Crash! The rainbow window above their heads was shivered into a thousand pieces.
The Lord Mayor turned pale. "We must make haste!" he urged, pushing the Librarian gently by the elbow.
"Nay," said the Librarian coolly, releasing himself. "There is one who reads far better than I. It is a young boy, the son of a poor widow living on the High Street. Harold is his name, and he reads as sweetly as a nightingale sings. Let us send for him at the same time when our messenger goes to King Victor."