"Now he'll smile," thought Yevsey.
"Yes, indeed," said the old man, smiling graciously. "You get used to these books, so that you get to love them. You see they aren't dead wood, but products of the mind. So when a customer also respects books, it is pleasant. Our average customer is a comical fellow. He comes and asks, 'Have you any interesting books?' It's all the same to him. He seeks amusement, play, but no benefit. But occasionally someone will suddenly ask for a prohibited book."
"How's that? Prohibited?" asked the man screwing up his small eyes.
"Prohibited from libraries—published abroad, or secretly in Russia."
"Are such books for sale?"
"Now he will speak real low." Again Yevsey was not mistaken.
Fixing his glasses upon the face of the red-bearded man, the master lowered his voice almost to a whisper.
"Why not? Sometimes you buy a whole library, and you come across everything there, everything."
"Have you such books now?"
"Several."