Creeping back into a dark corner and seating herself upon the floor, Lucile added up her sales and then returned to assist in straightening up the tables which had taken on the appearance of a chip yard.
“People have a wonderful respect for books,” she murmured to Laurie.
“Yes, a lot of respect for the one they buy,” smiled Laurie. “They’ll wreck a half dozen of them to find a spotless copy for their own purchasing.”
“Yes, they do that, but just think what a shock to dear Rollo or Algernon if he should receive a book with a slightly torn jacket-cover for a Christmas present!”
“That would be a shock to his nervous system,” laughed Laurie.
For a time they worked on in silence. Lucile put all the Century classics in order and filled the gaps left by the frenzied purchasers. Laurie, working by her side, held up a book.
“There,” he said, “is a title for you.”
She read the title: “The Hope for Happiness.”
“Why should one hope for it when they may really have it?” Laurie exclaimed.
“May one have happiness?” Lucile asked.