Just then there appeared in the door a gentleman. He was quite shabby, and even ragged in his dress, but he was clearly a gentleman. He was no longer young; his shoulders were bent, and he had the unmistakable stamp and carriage of a student.
"Guv'nor's at home," said the assistant briefly.
The visitor walked into the sanctum. He had under his arm half-a-dozen volumes, which, without a word, he laid before Mr. Emblem, and untied the string.
"You ought to know this book," he said without further introduction.
Mr. Emblem looked doubtfully at the visitor.
"You sold it to me twenty-five years ago," he went on, "for five pounds."
"I did. And I remember now. You are Mr. Frank Farrar. Why, it is twenty-five years ago!"
"I have bought no more books for twenty years and more," he replied.
"Sad—sad! Dear me—tut, tut!—bought no books? And you, Mr. Farrar, once my best customer. And now—you do not mean to say that you are going to sell—that you actually want to sell—this precious book?"