A BOOKMAN'S ARMORY
A BOOKMAN'S ARMORY
Mr. Anthony Gooch, brother of the well-known librarian of East Caraway, owns one of the choicest private libraries it has ever been my good luck to see. I spent an evening with him recently and inspected his books. Mr. Anthony Gooch was highly amused at the account of his brother's literary zoölogical annex, which I wrote for the "Boston Transcript."
"Percival has tacked that barn on his library," he said, "and filled it with all those absurd animals—not one-half of which are genuine. Poor Percy! The dealers have pulled his leg unmercifully. And he spends all his evenings and holidays shoveling hay to those preposterous elephants, and wandering around in that menagerie—I'm afraid the old fellow is getting dotty. Why, what do you think he told me last week?"
I had not the least idea, and I said so.
"Why, he is negotiating with a London dealer for the oysters mentioned in 'The Walrus and the Carpenter'! You remember them, of course?"
And Mr. Gooch, leaning back in his chair and waving the stem of his long pipe in time with the beat of Lewis Carroll's exquisite verses, repeated:
"'But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat—