The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE * MASSACHUSETTS
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
"The Liberry"
"THE LIBERRY"
I
I first met Mr. Baxter at the fourpenny box outside Mr. Timpenny's
second-hand bookshop in High Street, and was attracted at once by the
loving care with which he handled its contents. Dirty and
dog's-eared as most of them were, he never snatched one up or threw
it down, after the common fashion of patrons of inexpensive
literature, but would gently extract a more than usually disreputable
volume from its heap, blow the dust off, straighten the warped cover,
and smooth out the wrinkled pages before dipping into the
subject-matter. In fact, the last operation struck me as interesting
him least of all.
Becoming aware of my presence, he moved aside with a courtly little
bow. He was a dusty old gentleman, in a very shabby frock-coat. He
looked as if he lived in the fourpenny box himself.
"Am I preventing you from selecting a volume, sir?" he inquired.
I hastened to reassure him. I had no special designs on the
fourpenny box, or indeed on any. I was merely idling.
"I am waiting for the druggist to make up a prescription," I said.
"Then you don't do your own dispensing, sir?"
"As a rule, yes. I have run out of this particular drug, though.
But you know me?"
"Yes, sir; by sight. We do not take long in Broxborough to get to
know every one by sight. You succeeded to Dr. Wiseman's practice, I
think?"
"Yes."
"A good old man, sir, and a lover of books, like myself."
"You're right about yourself," I said. "You handle a book as I would
a delicate patient."
"A very apt comparison, sir. To me, in a manner of speaking, a book
is a human thing. A dilapidated book is a patient; I like to repair
its broken back and gum in its loose pages. In fact, the late
Archdeacon used to rally me upon the subject, sir. He insisted that
I cared more for a book, as a book, than for what was inside it."
I ventured, with immediate success, to draw him out upon the subject
of the late Archdeacon.
"Archdeacon Belford, sir. He died many years ago, and few remember
him now. A great scholar and gentleman. I was associated with him
almost continuously in my younger days. It was he who assisted me to
found my library."
"Your library?"
"Yes, sir." The old gentleman's mild blue eyes suddenly glowed with
pride. "Nothing very pretentious, of course; but I take my little
pleasure in it. And it grows--it grows." He picked a small tattered
volume out of the box--it looked like an ancient school prize--and
turned down a few dog's-ears with a distressed expression.
"A sweet little edition," he said, examining the text, "but small
print. I have left my glasses at home. Would you very kindly
indicate to me the nature of its contents, sir?"