He walked down the avenue, thinking over what he had seen and heard. It chanced that after walking some time he stepped aside to allow certain ladies to pass him and on looking round saw that he was in the door of Mr. Popples’s establishment. A thought struck him and he went in.
“Mr. Popples——”
“Good morning, Mr. Winton Wood——” Mr. Popples thought that the two names sounded better together.
“Good morning, Mr. Popples. I want to ask you a confidential question.” George laughed a little.
“Anything, Mr. Winton Wood. Something in regard to the sales, no doubt. Well, in point of fact, sir, it is just as well to ask now and then how a book is going, just for the sake of checking the statement as we say, though I will say that Rob Roy and Company——”
“No, no,” George interrupted with a second laugh. “They treat me very well. You know Mr. Craik, do you not?”
“Mr. Craik!” exclaimed the bookseller, with a beaming smile. “Why, dear me! Mr. Craik is your first cousin once removed, Mr. Winton Wood! Of course I know him.” He prided himself on knowing the exact degree of relationship existing between his different customers, which was equivalent to knowing by heart the genealogy of all New York society.
“You are a subtle flatterer,” George answered. “You pretend to know him only because he is my cousin.”
“A great collector,” returned the other, drawing down the corners of his mouth and turning up his eyes as though he were contemplating an object of solemn beauty. “A great collector! He knows what a book is, old or new. He knows, he knows—oh yes, he knows very well.”
“What I want to know is this,” said George. “Does Mr. Craik buy my books or not? Do you happen to remember?”