"These are snippers, cutters, clippers, gougers and extra-illustrators. They vary all the way from men who cut 'want ads' out of the newspapers in the reading-rooms, to those who go into the alcoves and lift valuable plates by the wet-string method. You see they come from all classes of society—and there are men and women, girls and boys. You notice they are all a little round-shouldered, and they keep glancing suspiciously right and left. This is because they got into the habit of sinking down in their chairs to get behind a newspaper, and watching to see if anyone was looking. There is one man who was interested in heraldry. He extended his operations over five or six libraries, public and private. When they found him out and visited his room it looked like the College of Heralds. He had a couple of years in prison, but here he is now, just the same. The man next to him is—well, no need to mention names,—you recognize him. Famous millionaire and politician. Never went into a library but once in his life. Then he went to see an article in a London newspaper, decided he wanted to keep it, and tore out half the page. Library attendant saw him, called a policeman, and tried to have him arrested. You see, the attendant didn't know who he was."
"Did anything come of it?" I asked.
"Yes," replied the guide, "there did. The library attendant was discharged. Blank simply told the Board of Trustees that he had been insulted by a whippersnapper who didn't look as if he had ever had a square meal in his life. One or two of the board wanted to investigate, but the majority would have jumped through hoops if Blank had told them to. He is in this section for five years, but he has over eight hundred to work off in other departments. The men on the end of the line, five or six dozen of them, used to cut plates out of the art magazines—a common habit. Woman standing next, used to steal sermons. Man next but one to her was a minister. He was writing a book on the Holy Land, and he cut maps out of every atlas in a library. Said he didn't mean to keep them long."
This group interested me, and I wondered what was to be done with them.
"You will see in a minute," said the guide; "they are going to begin work right away."
As he spoke, a number of officials came down the hill with enormous sheets of sticky fly-paper. These were distributed among the "snippers, cutters, clippers, gougers and extra-illustrators," who thereupon set to work with penknives, cutting small bits out of the fly-paper. In a few minutes the wretched creatures were covered from head to foot with pieces of the horrible stuff; pulling it off one hand to have it stick on the other, getting it in their hair, on their eyebrows, and plastering themselves completely.
"That is not very painful," I observed.
"No," said my companion, "perhaps not. Gets somewhat monotonous after four years, though. Come over to the end of this valley. I want you to see a dinner party that is taking place."
We left the sticky fly-paper folks behind us, and proceeded through the valley. On the side of the hill I noticed a small body of people, mostly men.
The guide pointed over his shoulder at them, remarking: "Reformed Spellers."