a crank and a lunatic, and they come here in
turn to see what it is like."
"I should like to come here again myself and browse about," said the
advertising agent. "I should like to have you prescribe for me."
"The first thing needed is to acquire a sense of pity. The world has
been printing books for 450 years, and yet gunpowder still has a wider
circulation. Never mind! Printer's ink is the greater explosive: it
will win. Yes, I have a few of the good books here. There are only
about 30,000 really important books in the world. I suppose about
5,000 of them were written in the English language, and 5,000 more have
been translated."
"You are open in the evenings?"
"Until ten o'clock. A great many of my best customers are those who
are at work all day and can only visit bookshops at night. The real
book-lovers, you know, are generally among the humbler classes. A man
who is impassioned with books has little time or patience to grow rich
by concocting schemes for cozening his fellows."
The little bookseller's bald pate shone in the light of the bulb
hanging over the wrapping table. His eyes were bright and earnest, his
short red beard bristled like wire. He wore a ragged brown Norfolk
jacket from which two buttons were missing.
A bit of a fanatic himself, thought the customer, but a very
entertaining one. "Well, sir," he said, "I am ever so grateful to you.
I'll come again. Good-night." And he started down the aisle for the
door.
As he neared the front of the shop, Mr. Mifflin switched on a cluster
of lights that hung high up, and the young man found himself beside a
large bulletin board covered with clippings, announcements, circulars,
and little notices written on cards in a small neat script. The
following caught his eye:
RX
If your mind needs phosphorus, try "Trivia," by Logan Pearsall Smith.
If your mind needs a whiff of strong air, blue and cleansing, from
hilltops and primrose valleys, try "The Story of My Heart," by Richard
Jefferies.
If your mind needs a tonic of iron and wine, and a thorough
rough-and-tumbling, try Samuel Butler's "Notebooks" or "The Man Who Was
Thursday," by Chesterton.
If you need "all manner of Irish," and a relapse into irresponsible
freakishness, try "The Demi-Gods," by James Stephens. It is a better
book than one deserves or expects.
It's a good thing to turn your mind upside down now and then, like an
hour-glass, to let the particles run th
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