"I don't quite understand," I said, noting out of the corner of my eye that Mr. Pettigrew, the druggist next door, had emerged from behind the carved wooden screen which masks the mysteries of his dispensing department from the layman's eye, and was now visible through the shop window, busy with white paper and sealing-wax.
"When a seeker after knowledge calls upon me," explained the indefatigable Mr. Baxter, "I select from my library the appropriate volume and read, or recite, to him such passages as appear to me most applicable to his case. In this way I ensure the safety and cleanliness of my literary property—
"So here you are! I thought so. Have you been buying another of those dirty things?"
A small, alert, slightly shrewish girl of about fifteen had suddenly appeared from nowhere, and was now transfixing my flinching companion with the eye of the Ancient Mariner.
"Only fourpence, my dear," replied Mr. Baxter deferentially.
"That's right. Throw money about!" said the young lady. "Have you got fourpence?" she added, with a slight softening of manner.
"Well, to be exact, I rather think all I have at the moment is threepence."
The Ancient Mariner produced a penny.
"Here you are," she said, handing him the coin with a not altogether successful attempt at an indulgent smile. "You haven't bought anything for a fortnight. Go in and pay for it, and then come home to dinner, do!"
"Good-morning, Mr. Baxter! How's the library this morning?"