"Look!" she exclaimed. "There is Wren's promise book."
"For sale here!" gasped Clip.
"I—hope so—" faltered Cora quickening her steps into the shop.
The little bewhiskered man was rubbing his wrinkled hands in apparent satisfaction. He was in no hurry to wait on his customers.
"What is that album I see in the window?" asked Cora. "Some foreign postcard book?"
"Oh, that! No, that is not foreign. It is a sacred relic of some child saint."
"For sale?" asked Cora, her voice a-tremble.
"Oh, no! No! No!" and the man shook his head gravely. "I always keep relics—for curiosities."
"Might I look at it?" pressed the motor girl, while Clip picked up something with pretended interest.
"Oh, yes, of course. But it is only filled with names, and I got it in a deal with another sale. The party who brought it here," went on the curio dealer, "the same who bought the table gave me the book in the bargain, with the understanding that I should not sell it but keep it on exhibition. They were very particular about me not selling it."