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Updated: May 15, 2025
She put the book down, and looked up as she heard some one sigh deeply near her. "Have you Hodden's new book?" she asked. "Yes, miss. Six shillings." The clerk quickly put Buel's book beside its lone companion, and took down Hodden's. "Thank you," said the girl, giving him a half sovereign; and, taking the change, she departed with her bundle of literature to the train.
Perhaps Hodden's persistent ignoring of him, and the elder man's air of conscious superiority, irritated Buel; but if he had had the advantage of mixing much in the society of his native land he would have become accustomed to that. People thrive on the condescension of the great; they like it, and boast about it. Yet Buel did not seem to be pleased.
My name is Buel, and I happened to notice that was the name on the book; in fact, if you remember, when you were looking over it at the stall, the clerk mentioned the author's name, and that naturally caught my attention." The girl glanced with renewed interest at the volume. "Was this the book I was looking at? The story I bought was Hodden's latest.
Then she said to herself, with a sigh, "I do wish I had bought this book instead of Hodden's." At first Mr. Hodden held somewhat aloof from his fellow-passengers; but, finding perhaps that there was no general desire to intrude upon him, he condescended to become genial to a select few. He walked the deck alone, picturesquely attired.
You will be making me apologise by-and-by, and I don't want to do that." Buel laughed, and resumed his walk. "It's all right," he said; "Hodden's loss is my gain. I've got in with a jolly lot, who took the trouble last night to teach me the great American game at cards and counters." Miss Jessop sighed.
"Really, gentlemen," said the embarrassed Englishman, "you have made a mistake. It is Mr. Hodden you want to see. I will take you to him." "Hodden's played," said one of the young men in an explanatory way, although Buel did not understand the meaning of the phrase. "He's petered out;" which addition did not make it any plainer. "You're the man for our money every time."
It seems strange in the light of our after-knowledge that there ever was a day when Hodden's books were selling by the thousand, and Buel was tramping the streets of London fruitlessly searching for a publisher. Not less strange is the fact that Buel thought Hodden's success well deserved. He would have felt honoured by the touch of Hodden's hand.
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