It was certainly very quiet in the shop, and for a few moments Betty thought they must be alone. Then some one stirred, and, looking down the room, they saw an old man bent over a book open on a table near a dusty window. He wore big horn spectacles and was evidently extremely nearsighted, for he kept his face so near the book that his nose almost touched the pages.
"That must be Mr. Hale," said Betty. "I wonder if it's all right to interrupt him?"
"I should say the only way to make him understand you're here, would be to go up and take that book away," rejoined Bobby.
"He can't be very anxious to sell anything, or he'd pay more attention to his store," giggled Betty.
"I'll wait here," said Bobby hastily, as Betty moved toward the rear of the store. "I'd probably say the wrong thing anyway. Let me see, I'll be reading this fat brown book. They all look alike to me, but this may be thrilling in spots."
Betty approached the motionless old man, whose lean brown forefinger traced the curious black characters in the book before him so slowly that it did not seem to budge at all.
"I beg your pardon?" she said tentatively.
No response.
"I want to ask you——" Betty began again, a little breathlessly. "I want to ask you about a boy named Bob Henderson."
"Name's Hale," said the old man, without looking up and speaking in a cracked, hoarse voice. "Lockwood Hale, dealer in new and secondhand books. Just look around on the tables and you'll likely come across what you want. I'll wrap it for you when you find it. Just now I'm busy."