“I think they’re bunk.”
“Then why did you get them?”
“Oh, I suppose I was looking for something,” he returned; and though his tone was careless, she noticed for the first time a tinge of self-consciousness.
“Did you find it there?”
“No. It isn’t there.”
“Here?” She laid both hands on the “windfall.”
His face lighted subtly.
“It is there, isn’t it! If one has the sense to get it out.”
“I wonder,” mused the girl. And again, “I wonder.” She rose, and taking out “March Hares” held it up. “I could hardly believe this when I saw it. Did it also drop out of a car window?”
“No. I never heard of that until I wrote for it. I wrote to a Boston bookstore that I’d heard about and told ’em I wanted two books to cheer up a fool with the blues, and another to take him into a strange world—and keep the change out of five dollars. They sent me ‘The Bab Ballads’ and this, and ‘Lavengro.’”