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"Going home to read?" asked Mr. Tolman. "Well, no," said the other. "It's rather cold this afternoon to read. I think I'll take a brisk walk." "Can't you leave your book until you return!" asked Mr. Tolman. "That is, if you will come back this way. It's an awkward book to carry about." "Thank you, I will," said Glascow. "I shall come back this way." When he had gone, Mr.
Tolman sold out his stock, good will, and fixtures, together with the furniture and lease of the house. And who should he sell out to but to Mr. Glascow! This piece of business was one of the happiest points in the whole affair.
It was a terrible time for the ensconced one: sometimes he thought of coming out, and treating the affair as a bit of pleasantry: but then the devil had taken off his shoes as a Glascow captain deals with his cargo of refractory Irishers; how could he explain that? his abominable old aunt was shrewd, and he knew how clearly she would guess at the truth; if he desired to make sure of losing every chance, he could come out now, and reveal himself; but if he nourished still the hope of counting out that crock of gold, he'll bide where he is, and trust to to to fate.
From this it fell out we were the only passengers; the Captain, McMurtrie, was a silent, absorbed man, with the Glascow or Gaelic accent; the mates ignorant rough seafarers, come in through the hawsehole; and the Master and I were cast upon each other's company. THE NONESUCH carried a fair wind out of the Clyde, and for near upon a week we enjoyed bright weather and a sense of progress.
"Why, she would not understand two pages out of the whole of it. It is too bad. I didn't suppose any one would want this book." "Do not disturb yourself too much," said Mr. Tolman. "I am not sure that you ought to give it up." "I am very glad to hear you say so," said Glascow. "I have no doubt it is only a passing fancy with her. I dare say she would really rather have a good new novel."
"Oh, no," said Glascow, gazing solemnly into the stove. "I will take up some other books on the diapason which I have, and so will keep my ideas fresh on the subject until this lady is done with the book. I do not really believe she will study it very long."
It was one very wild night, after supper, and when we had been making more than usually merry, that the blow fell on me. "This is all very fine," says the Master, "but we should do better to be buckling our valise." "Why so?" I cried. "Are you leaving?" "We are all leaving to-morrow in the morning," said he. "For the port of Glascow first, thence for the province of New York."
The next day he went to several second-hand stores, but no "Dormstock" could he find. When he came back he spoke to Glascow on the subject. He was sorry to do so, but thought that simple justice compelled him to mention the matter. The night druggist was thrown into a perturbed state of mind by the information that some one wanted his beloved book. "A woman!" he exclaimed.
It was the middle of the afternoon, and Mr. Tolman was alone. This investigator of musical philosophy was a quiet young man of about thirty, wearing a light-brown cloak, and carrying under one arm a large book. P. Glascow was surprised when he heard of the change in the proprietorship of the library.
"And considering this," continued Mr. Tolman, "I think it would be well for you to bring your love matters to a conclusion while I am here to help you." "My love matters!" exclaimed Mr. Glascow, with a flush. "Yes, certainly," said Mr. Tolman. "I have eyes, and I know all about it. Now let me tell you what I think.
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