"I see that Bunyan wrote another book, the 'Holy War,'" said Mr. Podley to his wife. "I never heard of it and I'm a bit doubtful. I don't like the name, shall I enter it up or not?"
The good lady shook her head. "Not knowing, can't say," she remarked. "But if it is the same man who wrote 'Pilgrim's Progress' then it's sure to be pure."
"It's the 'Holy' that puzzles me," he answered, "that's a papist word—'Holy Church' 'Holy Mary' and that."
"Then I should leave it out. But I tell you what, my dear, choosing these books'll take up a lot of your valuable time, especially if each one's got to be chose separate. You might have to read a lot of them yourself, there's no knowing! And why should you?"
"Why, indeed?" said Mr. Podley. "But I don't see how——"
"Well, I do then, John. It's as simple as A. B. C. You want to establish a library in which there shan't be any wicked books."
"That is so?"
"Yes, my dear. Pure, absolutely pure!"
"Well, then, have them bought for you by an expert—like you do the metal for the pins. You don't buy metal yourself any more. You pay high wages to your buyers to do it. Treat the books the same!"
"There's a good deal in that, dear. But I want to take a personal interest in the thing."