“You advertised that you had found an old book.”
“Yes, sir. Somebody left it in the post-office.”
“Ah; that must have been when I went to mail some letters to New York,” said the other glibly. “From the advertised description, the book is without doubt mine. Now as to the reward—”
“Excuse me, but you wouldn’t expect me to give it up without any identification, sir?”
“Certainly not. It was the De Meritis Libror—”
“I can’t read Latin, sir.”
“But you could make that much out,” said the visitor with rising exasperation. “Come; if it’s a matter of the reward—how much?”
“I wouldn’t mind having a good reward; say ten dollars. But I want to be sure it’s your book. There’s something about it that you could easily tell me sir, for any one could see it.”
“A very observing shoemaker,” commented the other with a slight sneer. “You mean the—the half split cover?”
“Swish-swish; whish-swish,” sounded from the rear room.