"Yes," Huntington replied, glancing critically at it and then at several of the other books; "your father must have known his subject well, for these examples follow the supremacy of printing from Italy down to modern times. See, starting with Aldus, you have one of Étienne's, then one of Plantin's, representing the period when Belgium snatched the prestige from France, then here is a 'Terence' of Elzevir's, printed when Holland was supreme; then Baskerville's 'Vergil,' which gave England the crown in the eighteenth century—"
"Where does Caxton come in?" Merry asked.
"He belongs to the period of Aldus, but his work was distinctly inferior to that of his Italian rival.—I say, Hamlen, where did your father go, after Baskerville?"
Huntington, continuing his examination of the volumes, answered his own question. "Here it is,—a beautiful example of Didot's 'Racine,' printed in that type which he and Bodoni cut together. Splendid judgment your father showed! This explains everything: you come naturally by your genius. What you have called instinct is really inheritance. Now the next; what is it?" Huntington became impatient in his eagerness.
"That is as late as my father's collection went."
"But surely you have a Kelmscott 'Chaucer'?"
"Yes; I bought one when I was in England."
"Put it up here just after the 'Racine.' There you are: except for Gutenberg's 'Mazzarine Bible,' which you may be excused for not possessing because of its rarity, you have a complete set representing the best printing which has been done in each epoch."
"You see how little I realized it," Hamlen apologized.
"You expressed your realization in the most tangible way possible, my dear fellow! You produced examples which are worthy to stand on the same shelf with those masterpieces. We won't put any living printer's work there yet, until Time has placed its value upon it, but I'll wager that when the next selection is made the books of Philip Hamlen will receive consideration."