“Wait a minute, and I’ll wrap them up.”
Tom was soon ready to start, carrying quite a heavy bundle of books. As he passed out of the store, in front of which were two big tables, with bargains in second-hand books on them, he saw a familiar figure reading a tattered volume.
“How do you do, Dr. Spidderkins!” greeted Tom, as he recognized the aged physician.
“Eh? What’s that? Oh, it’s—I’ve forgotten—no—I remember now, you’re William Henderson, aren’t you?”
“No, sir; I’m Thomas Baldwin.”
“Oh, yes. You’re in the Emporium. I remember now. My memory must be coming back.”
“I used to be there,” replied Tom, “but there was no work for me after the holidays. I’m doing odd jobs. Just now I’m carrying books for the man who owns this place.”
“Ah, that’s a fine job, carrying books,” commented the old gentleman. “You are diffusing knowledge, my young friend. A very noble calling. Now I can only read books, I can’t carry them about any more. I am reading a very fine book now. It seems to be quite rare. It tells how the ancient Greeks had the primitive idea of raising chickens by means of hot water pipes—something on the order of our modern incubators. It’s a very valuable book. I don’t recollect when I have found one more valuable, of its kind. Yes, once; the same day I discovered a copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost, in an old book store, I came across one worth almost as much as this. That was—um—er—dear me—I’m afraid I can’t recall what it was. But I’ll recollect it shortly. I must purchase this book before I forget it.”
Tom watched the old gentleman start into the store, reading on the way the book in which he was so interested. Then Tom saw something else. Dr. Spidderkins’ pocketbook—an old-fashioned wallet—was half-way out of his pocket, and likely to drop to the sidewalk.
Our hero sprang forward to reach the wallet before it should fall. He grasped it, and was pulling it from the doctor’s pocket, intending to restore it to him, when he was startled to hear a voice exclaim: