Mrs. Smith bent confidentially toward him, and laid one hand on the copy of Jarby's, which he had placed across his knees. In quick, crowding words she bade him hope—which wasn't necessary—and told him of the coming of Guthrie and Skinner, and of their demands. She laid before him all she knew of the affair of the fire-extinguishers, of the horror of the threatened legal attack on Miss Sally, and the disgrace that would overwhelm her should T. J. Jones publish an article mentioning her name. Eliph' Hewlitt must prevent the publication of the article; he must save Miss Sally.
The book agent was willing. As the appeal was spoken his eyes brightened and the book agent instinct—the instinct that knows no defeat, but will talk a book into any man's library, or die in the attempt—flowed full and free through his soul. Mrs. Smith saw him take fire, and she ventured the question she had been leading up to.
“Now, Mr. Hewlitt,” she said, “I have sent for Mr. Jones, and I will do what I can to persuade him not to publish the article. I depend on you to do what you can in that, too, but I am going to trespass on your good nature in another thing also. It is something I know Miss Sally would never allow me to ask, and I myself would not ask it but that I happen to be waiting for a check from my publisher, and am quite out of funds at the moment. I am going to ask you to lend me sixty dollars! Not for myself, but to me. I believe Miss Sally would be willing to borrow it of me, and I know, dear Mr. Hewlitt, you will be willing to lend it to me.”
Eliph' coughed softly behind his hand.
“Gladly!” he said. “Gladly any amount. I have quite a little money laid away, quite a little; some thousands, in fact; I might be called a wealthy man—in Kilo. And it would be a pleasure, a real pleasure, to spend all for Miss Sally. She is a fine woman, Mrs. Smith. I admire her.”
“I knew I could depend on YOU,” said Mrs. Smith, putting her white hand on his scarcely less white one.
“But I can appreciate Miss Sally's-ah-maidenly dislike, in fact, her quite proper dislike of a loan from-ah-one who aspires—— In fact,” he said, boldly breaking away from all attempt to speak bookishly, “from me. She don't want to borrow from me, and it would be the same thing if you borrowed for her from me. The same thing. I am courting Miss Sally, and such a loan would be irregular. There is nothing, Mrs. Smith, in the chapter on 'Courtship—How to Win the Affections,' et cetery, about loaning money to the lady. It would derange the directions given in this book, which is——”
“I don't want to hear about the book,” said Mrs. Smith with annoyance. “I know all about the book. So you refuse to lend me sixty dollars? You, like these other men, are willing to desert Miss Sally at a time like this?”
“No,” said the book agent. “Not desert. Rescue. Rescue her from the hands of these—these men. Jarby's Encyclopedia of Knowledge and Compendium of Literature, Science and Art should be in every home, in every store, in every office. To be without it is to be like a rudderless air ship tossed by the waves of the relentless ocean. It contains a fact for every day in the year, for every moment of life, any one of which is worth the price of the book many times over. This book,” he said—and then his eyes, which had been gazing far into the sky over Miss Sally's house, returned to the eyes of Mrs. Smith—“I am going to sell Mr. Skinner a copy of this book.”
In spite of her disappointment in him, Mrs. Smith, the authoress, felt a thrill of pleasure in the discovery of such an admirable type—a book agent who could see in the midst of love, courtship, conspiracy and trouble only his book and a chance to sell it. But she was deeply disappointed.