The old man shook his head. His high voice became querulous.
“I know he’s dead,” he snorted. “I’m talking about his books.”
“They are not for sale,” said George.
“Bless you—I don’t want to buy ’em. But there’s one I want to borrow.”
“Which one is that?”
“What say?”
George’s reply sotto voce was not polite. He was getting impatient.
“I want to borrow a book called Aircraft Power Plants; it’s by a man named Jones.”
Dorothy pricked up her ears.
“All right,” shouted George. “I’ll try to find it.”