"This is the latest issue from the 'Island Press,'" he said. "It was nearly completed before you all came down to Bermuda and disturbed my peace of mind. I put the covers on after you left, but I haven't been able to produce a thing since. I believe this is the last book I shall ever make."
Huntington turned the leaves with great interest. "Exquisite!" he exclaimed. "Quite the best example you have turned out. I love that type of yours, Hamlen, for I feel it is the exemplification of William Morris' definition of the Type Ideal,—'pure in form, severe without needless excrescences, solid without the thickening and thinning of the line, and not compressed laterally.' You have carried out what he set himself to do and failed. How many copies did you print?"
"Only fifty."
"Splendid! But I am selfish enough to wish there was but one, and that I owned it! I never saw finer presswork in my life."
"You may gratify your wish if you like," Hamlen replied indifferently. "I have the whole lot in my trunk up-stairs, and you may destroy the other forty-nine if you choose. They are yours to do with as you will."
"You don't mean it!" Huntington cried, enthusiastically.
He fondled the copy in his hand, and his face was lighted by the pleasure of the moment. Then he laughed.
"It is a frightful temptation, Hamlen! Think of owning the only copy in existence of a book like that! Bibliomania leads one on almost to crime, and it would be nothing less to prevent other collectors from enjoying this wonderful volume. I accept the gift proudly, Hamlen; I will make good use of it."
At the next monthly gathering of his fellow-collectors in their attractive club-house Huntington took Hamlen with him as his guest. He introduced him to his friends, but made no reference to the fact that he was the creator of the productions of the Island Press. They listened to an interesting paper, and then seated themselves at the long supper-table to prove that even bibliomaniacs are human. Here Huntington adroitly turned the conversation upon the subject of Hamlen's work.
Huntington had told his friend that when once he heard the opinions of other collectors the words of praise spoken at Bermuda would seem mild; and the prediction proved true. Hamlen's cheeks burned as he heard his work extolled and himself compared to the master-printers of the past. There could be no doubt of the sincerity of the comment, for no one but Huntington knew his identity; and the pleasure he felt was so intense that it almost overcame him.