“The one you cut cord with?”
“I’m supposed to use it for that,” Cordie tossed her head. “The thing cuts my finger. All the same, I ought to have it. You’re supposed to turn such things in when they lay you off. But if it’s gone, it’s gone.” Shrugging her shoulders, she promptly forgot it. So did Lucile, but the time came when she was reminded of the loss in a most forceful manner.
“I wonder,” she whispered as she moved away, “I do wonder what she does that for. This is the third time. It’s the strangest thing I ever heard of.” She fingered the crimson thread.
The melting away of great stocks of the year’s most popular book for young people, “Blue Flames,” was most amazing. A fresh truck load, three or four hundred copies, had come down that very morning. By mid-afternoon they were two-thirds gone.
For a time, as she watched, Lucile’s astonishment grew; then it began to ebb. She was learning the secret of it. Laurie Seymour hovered over the pile constantly. Hardly a customer left him without purchasing one or more copies. Apparently well informed regarding the contents of the book, he told still more regarding the personality of the author and how he had gone about the task of gathering the material. All of the local color of the book was penned with minute exactness; the characters were true to life; their actions, while not pedantic, were such as would lead girls and boys to higher thinking and unselfish living. More than that, the story contained precisely the elements which young people of to-day demand. Action, adventure, suspense, mystery—all were here in proper and generous proportions. Thus he would describe the book.
“Yes,” he would assure the prospective purchaser, “it’s this year’s publication; not six weeks off the press and it sells for a dollar. How is that possible? That it might have a large sale the author cut his royalty to one-third, and the publishers cut their profits accordingly. The book compares favorably with many a book selling for nearly twice the price.”
What customer could refuse such a book? Few did. Even more important than this was the fact that the other salespeople, especially those who were new and had little knowledge of the stock but who were zealous for quick sales, listened to his lucid story of the book, and having learned it by heart, joined in selling it. There were times when clerks fluttered as thickly about that pile of books as sparrows around a crust of bread.
“Who is Laurie Seymour; why is he so greatly interested in that particular book, and how does he come to know so much about it?” Having put these questions to herself, Lucile went about the task of asking others about him. She asked Rennie and Donnie, the inseparable two who had worked in that corner so long. She searched out Tommie, the young man of twenty who knew all about boys’ books. She asked Morrison, of the fine bindings section, and even Emmy, the veteran inspector. All shook their heads. They had come down one morning, and there he was selling books. That had been two weeks previous. Someone had pulled some wires and here he was. By-and-by the rush would be over, then out he would go. That was the way things were done at Christmas time. It wasn’t worth while to care too much!
But Lucile did care. Her curiosity had been aroused. She wanted to know more about Laurie Seymour.
Her curiosity was given a trace of satisfaction that very evening. At least she found out who knew about Laurie. Yes, she found out, but then——