“Books are like water. Some are like foam, the white caps of the sea; pure enough but effervescent. They pass in a moment and are lost forever. Others are like scum from a stagnant pool; they are poison. Then there are those blessed others which are like the cool, pure, refreshing water that comes bubbling up from a mountain spring. Reading has an untold and lasting influence on a child. Do you believe that? When you have put one of those better books into the hand of a boy or girl, you have conferred a lasting blessing upon someone. Do you believe that?”
“Ye—yes.”
“Of course you do. Now, when you go back to your work this afternoon, do it with the consciousness that you are really being a benefactor to your generation. Say to yourself: ‘See all those people. Some of these are to go away from here this afternoon richer because I have been here to serve them, to advise them, to select for them the thing they really need.’ Then watch the little annoyances, the petty troubles that tempt you to fret, ‘Fold their tents like the Arabs and silently steal away.’
“Sales-people?” Rennie continued. “Why, we are far more than that. We may, if we will, take our place beside teachers, nurses, librarians, and all those whose names will be written high on the tablet of the future where will appear all those who have truly benefited their race.
“Pardon me,” she smiled again, “I didn’t mean to preach, but really I hope it may do you good.”
“I—I’m sure it will.” There was a mist in the girl’s eyes as she said this. She had caught a vision of what real life work meant to this frail woman. Once more she was tempted to give up her education in favor of a career as a vendor of juvenile books.
At ten minutes before closing time Lucile, having promised to meet Cordie at the northeast door, hurried down the stairs to the first floor. Then things began to happen with lightning-like rapidity.
She had just started on her little journey across the store to the northeast entrance when, all in a flash, she caught sight of a hand, such a hand as she had seen but once and would never forget. The long, slim, muscular fingers and the ring of the dragon’s head were there. She could not be mistaken. Somewhere in that jostling throng was the Mystery Lady. And—yes, Lucile was sure of it, there she was off there to the right. She could not mistake that face. With a bound she was after her.
“Not so fast there! Not so fast!” exclaimed a floor man. “There isn’t any fire. What made you think there was?”
Wedged in between a tall lady from the city and a very broad-shouldered, bear-skin coated man from the country, Lucile could but heed the floorman’s admonition.