xclaimed. "Quite the best example you have turned out. I love that type
of yours, Hamlen, for I feel it is the exemplification of William
Morris' definition of the Type Ideal,--'pure in form, severe without
needless excrescences, solid without the thickening and thinning of the
line, and not compressed laterally.' You have carried out what he set
himself to do and failed. How many copies did you print?"

"Only fifty."

"Splendid! But I am selfish enough to wish there was but one, and that I
owned it! I never saw finer presswork in my life."

"You may gratify your wish if you like," Hamlen replied indifferently.
"I have the whole lot in my trunk up-stairs, and you may destroy the
other forty-nine if you choose. They are yours to do with as you will."

"You don't mean it!" Huntington cried, enthusiastically.

He fondled the copy in his hand, and his face was lighted by the
pleasure of the moment. Then he laughed.

"It is a frightful temptation, Hamlen! Think of owning the only copy in
existence of a book like that! Bibliomania leads one on almost to crime,
and it would be nothing less to prevent other collectors from enjoying
this wonderful volume. I accept the gift proudly, Hamlen; I will make
good use of it."

At the next monthly gathering of his fellow-collectors in their
attractive club-house Huntington took Hamlen with him as his guest. He
introduced him to his friends, but made no reference to the fact that he
was the creator of the productions of the Island Press. They listened to
an interesting paper, and then seated themselves at the long
supper-table to prove that even bibliomaniacs are human. Here Huntington
adroitly turned the conversation upon the subject of Hamlen's work.

Huntington had told his friend that when once he heard the opinions of
other collectors the words of praise spoken at Bermuda would seem mild;
and the prediction proved true. Hamlen's cheeks burned as he heard his
work extolled and himself compared to the master-printers of the past.
There could be no doubt of the sincerity of the comment, for no one but
Huntington knew his identity; and the pleasure he felt was so intense
that it almost overcame him.

As the discussion waned Huntington made his dramatic play. Each member
present was handed a copy of the "Areopagitica," on the fly-leaf of
which Hamlen had written his autograph.

"A gift from our guest," Huntington explained; "and each copy is
inscribed by the master-printer of t