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Pap Briggs had put his hands on the arm of his chair, preparing to run away, but the landlord leaned forward and looked in Eliph' Hewlitt's face. "Say," he said, "is your name Mills?" "Hewlitt," said the book agent, "Eliph' Hewlitt." He turned to the landlord and looked him fairly in the face, and as he looked the air of suspicion that had suddenly shone in his eyes vanished.
She glanced back at the eager face of Eliph' Hewlitt, and mistook the glow of "Affection, How to Hold it When Won," for the intense glance of the predatory book seller. "I'll take a copy," she said recklessly. Eliph' Hewlitt's face clouded, and he put out his hand as if to ward off a blow. "No, you won't!" he said, with distress. "You don't want one, and I won't sell you one."
Lenox's leave was nearly over; Giles would be due in London next week; and Mr. Hewlitt's business in Paris was not yet concluded. After another day's enjoyment they parted at Cheltenham, and sent the girls back to school by train. "We shan't forget you, dear," said Mrs. Hewlitt to Loveday, as she saw them off. "You must come and see us again some time perhaps in America.
I sent the hull shootin'-match around to the house by a small boy with a hand sleigh and a card sayin' 'Peace on Earth' on top of it. "After this, havin' done my duty by my fambly, as I saw it at the time, I wandered into Mr. George Hewlitt's emporium of chance, armed with six iron dollars and a gold collar-button.
"I don't want one," said Miss Sally, backing away. "I don't live here, and you might do better selling it to someone who does." Eliph' Hewlitt's eyes beamed kindly through his spectacles. "It is just as useful to them that is traveling as to them that is home," he said, "if not more so. If you ever took a copy along with you on your travels you would never travel again without it.
In Eliph' Hewlitt's eyes glowed the fire of conquest that always shone in them when he was "talking book," a glitter such as shines in the eyes of the enthusiast, and they fell upon Miss Sally Briggs, who had been drawn by his eloquence to the edge of the ring of ladies.
Of course the poet may choose it, with open eyes, as the Marlowe of Miss Peabody's imagination does, or as the minstrel in Hewlitt's Cormac, Son of Ogmond. The long engagements of Rossetti and Tennyson are often quoted as exemplifying this idiosyncrasy of poets. Browning, Sonnet VII.
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