“Undoubtedly you have,” I agreed with him; “but that is beside the point. I am the author of the book I asked for, and I wish to secure a copy to give to a friend. I am surprised that a store like this does not carry it.”
Leaning nonchalantly on a large, circular pile of books near him, the clerk took upon himself the education of the author.
“It would require a store much larger than this to carry every book that is published, wouldn’t it?” he asked cheerfully. “Of course each author naturally thinks his book should have the place of honor on the bookstalls, but we have to be governed by the demand.”
It was humiliating to learn the real reason why this house failed to carry my book. I had to say something to explain my presumption even in assuming that I might find it there, so in my confusion I stammered,
“But I understood from the publishers that the book was selling very well.”
“Oh, yes,” the clerk replied indulgently; “they have to say that to their authors to keep them satisfied!”
With the matter thus definitely settled, nothing remained but to make my escape as gracefully as circumstances would permit. As I started to leave, the clerk resumed his standing position, and my eye happened to rest on the pile of perhaps two hundred books upon which he had been half-reclining. The jacket was strikingly familiar. Turning to the clerk I said severely,
“Would you mind glancing at that pile of books from which you have just risen?”
“Oh!” he exclaimed, smiling and handing me a copy, “that is the very book we were looking for, isn’t it?”
It seemed my opportunity to become the educator, and I seized it.