ask you for a book of poems about a
typewriter, and by and by you'll learn that what they want is
Stevenson's Underwoods. Yes, it's a complicated life. Never argue
with customers. Just give them the book they ought to have even if
they don't know they want it."

They went outside the front door, and Roger lit his pipe. In the
little area in front of the shop windows stood large empty boxes
supported on trestles. "The first thing I always do----," he said.

"The first thing you'll both do is catch your death of cold," said
Helen over his shoulder. "Titania, you run and get your fur. Roger,
go and find your cap. With your bald head, you ought to know better!"

When they returned to the front door, Titania's blue eyes were
sparkling above her soft tippet.

"I applaud your taste in furs," said Roger. "That is just the colour
of tobacco smoke." He blew a whiff against it to prove the likeness.
He felt very talkative, as most older men do when a young girl looks as
delightfully listenable as Titania.

"What an adorable little place," said Titania, looking round at the
bookshop's space of private pavement, which was sunk below the street
level. "You could put tables out here and serve tea in summer time."

"The first thing every morning," continued Roger, "I set out the
ten-cent stuff in these boxes. I take it in at night and stow it in
these bins. When it rains, I shove out an awning, which is mighty good
business. Someone is sure to take shelter, and spend the time in
looking over the books. A really heavy shower is often worth fifty or
sixty cents. Once a week I change my pavement stock. This week I've
got mostly fiction out here. That's the sort of thing that comes in in
unlimited numbers. A good deal of it's tripe, but it serves its
purpose."

"Aren't they rather dirty?" said Titania doubtfully, looking at some
little blue Rollo books, on which the siftings of generations had
accumulated. "Would you mind if I dusted them off a bit?"

"It's almost unheard of in the second-hand trade," said Roger; "but it
might make them look better."

Titania ran inside, borrowed a duster from Helen, and began
housecleaning the grimy boxes, while Roger chatted away in high
spirits. Bock already noticing the new order of things, squatted on
the doorstep with an air of being a party to the conversation. Morning
pedestrians on Gissing Street passed by, wondering who the bookseller's
engaging assistant might be