Books and Bookmen [39]
shrank back like a child
abashed. The Stranger glided to him and whispered, "Buy these."
"These" were a complete set of Auerbach's novels, in English, which,
I need not say, Blinton would never have dreamt of purchasing had he
been left to his own devices.
"Buy these!" repeated the Adept, or whatever he was, in a cruel
whisper. Paying the sum demanded, and trailing his vast load of
German romance, poor Blinton followed the fiend.
They reached a stall where, amongst much trash, Glatigny's 'Jour de
l'An d'un Vagabond' was exposed.
"Look," said Blinton, "there is a book I have wanted some time.
Glatignys are getting rather scarce, and it is an amusing trifle."
" Nay, buy THAT," said the implacable Stranger, pointing with a
hooked forefinger at Alison's 'History of Europe' in an indefinite
number of volumes. Blinton shuddered.
"What, buy THAT, and why? In heaven's name, what could I do with
it?"
"Buy it," repeated the persecutor, "and THAT" (indicating the
'Ilios' of Dr. Schliemann, a bulky work), "and THESE" (pointing to
all Mr. Theodore Alois Buckley's translations of the Classics), "and
THESE" (glancing at the collected writings of the late Mr. Hain
Friswell, and at a 'Life,' in more than one volume, of Mr.
Gladstone).
The miserable Blinton paid, and trudged along carrying the bargains
under his arm. Now one book fell out, now another dropped by the
way. Sometimes a portion of Alison came ponderously to earth;
sometimes the 'Gentle Life' sunk resignedly to the ground. The
Adept kept picking them up again, and packing them under the arms of
the weary Blinton.
The victim now attempted to put on an air of geniality, and tried to
enter into conversation with his tormentor.
"He DOES know about books," thought Blinton, "and he must have a
weak spot somewhere."
So the wretched amateur made play in his best conversational style.
He talked of bindings, of Maioli, of Grolier, of De Thou, of Derome,
of Clovis Eve, of Roger Payne, of Trautz, and eke of Bauzonnet. He
discoursed of first editions, of black letter, and even of
illustrations and vignettes. He approached the topic of Bibles, but
here his tyrant, with a fierce yet timid glance, interrupted him.
"Buy those!" he hissed through his teeth.
"Those" were the complete publications of the Folk Lore Society.
Blinton did not care for folk lore (very bad men never do), but he
had to act as he was told.
Then, without pause or remorse, he was charged to acquire the
'Ethics' of Aristotle, in the agreeable versions of Williams and
Chase. Next he secured 'Strathmore,' 'Chandos,' 'Under Two Flags,'
and 'Two Little Wooden Shoes,' and several dozens more of Ouida's
novels. The next stall was entirely filled with school-books, old
geographies, Livys, Delectuses, Arnold's 'Greek Exercises,'
Ollendorffs, and what not.
"Buy them all," hissed the fiend. He seized whole boxes and piled
them on Blinton's head.
He tied up Ouida's novels, in two parcels, with string, and fastened
each to one of the buttons above the tails of Blinton's coat.
"You are tired?" asked the tormentor. "Never mind, these books will
soon be off your hands."
So speaking, the Stranger, with amazing speed, hurried Blinton back
through Holywell Street, along the Strand, and up to Piccadilly,
stopping at last at the door of Blinton's famous and very expensive
binder.
The binder opened his eyes, as well he might, at the vision of
Blinton's treasures. Then the miserable Blinton found himself, as
it were automatically and without any exercise of his will, speaking
thus:-
"Here are some things I have picked up,--extremely rare,--and you
will oblige me by binding them in your best manner, regardless of
expense. Morocco, of course; crushed levant morocco, double, every
book of them, petits fers, my crest and coat of arms, plenty of
gilding. Spare no cost. Don't keep me waiting, as you generally
do;" for indeed book-binders are the most dilatory of the human
species.
Before the astonished binder could ask the
abashed. The Stranger glided to him and whispered, "Buy these."
"These" were a complete set of Auerbach's novels, in English, which,
I need not say, Blinton would never have dreamt of purchasing had he
been left to his own devices.
"Buy these!" repeated the Adept, or whatever he was, in a cruel
whisper. Paying the sum demanded, and trailing his vast load of
German romance, poor Blinton followed the fiend.
They reached a stall where, amongst much trash, Glatigny's 'Jour de
l'An d'un Vagabond' was exposed.
"Look," said Blinton, "there is a book I have wanted some time.
Glatignys are getting rather scarce, and it is an amusing trifle."
" Nay, buy THAT," said the implacable Stranger, pointing with a
hooked forefinger at Alison's 'History of Europe' in an indefinite
number of volumes. Blinton shuddered.
"What, buy THAT, and why? In heaven's name, what could I do with
it?"
"Buy it," repeated the persecutor, "and THAT" (indicating the
'Ilios' of Dr. Schliemann, a bulky work), "and THESE" (pointing to
all Mr. Theodore Alois Buckley's translations of the Classics), "and
THESE" (glancing at the collected writings of the late Mr. Hain
Friswell, and at a 'Life,' in more than one volume, of Mr.
Gladstone).
The miserable Blinton paid, and trudged along carrying the bargains
under his arm. Now one book fell out, now another dropped by the
way. Sometimes a portion of Alison came ponderously to earth;
sometimes the 'Gentle Life' sunk resignedly to the ground. The
Adept kept picking them up again, and packing them under the arms of
the weary Blinton.
The victim now attempted to put on an air of geniality, and tried to
enter into conversation with his tormentor.
"He DOES know about books," thought Blinton, "and he must have a
weak spot somewhere."
So the wretched amateur made play in his best conversational style.
He talked of bindings, of Maioli, of Grolier, of De Thou, of Derome,
of Clovis Eve, of Roger Payne, of Trautz, and eke of Bauzonnet. He
discoursed of first editions, of black letter, and even of
illustrations and vignettes. He approached the topic of Bibles, but
here his tyrant, with a fierce yet timid glance, interrupted him.
"Buy those!" he hissed through his teeth.
"Those" were the complete publications of the Folk Lore Society.
Blinton did not care for folk lore (very bad men never do), but he
had to act as he was told.
Then, without pause or remorse, he was charged to acquire the
'Ethics' of Aristotle, in the agreeable versions of Williams and
Chase. Next he secured 'Strathmore,' 'Chandos,' 'Under Two Flags,'
and 'Two Little Wooden Shoes,' and several dozens more of Ouida's
novels. The next stall was entirely filled with school-books, old
geographies, Livys, Delectuses, Arnold's 'Greek Exercises,'
Ollendorffs, and what not.
"Buy them all," hissed the fiend. He seized whole boxes and piled
them on Blinton's head.
He tied up Ouida's novels, in two parcels, with string, and fastened
each to one of the buttons above the tails of Blinton's coat.
"You are tired?" asked the tormentor. "Never mind, these books will
soon be off your hands."
So speaking, the Stranger, with amazing speed, hurried Blinton back
through Holywell Street, along the Strand, and up to Piccadilly,
stopping at last at the door of Blinton's famous and very expensive
binder.
The binder opened his eyes, as well he might, at the vision of
Blinton's treasures. Then the miserable Blinton found himself, as
it were automatically and without any exercise of his will, speaking
thus:-
"Here are some things I have picked up,--extremely rare,--and you
will oblige me by binding them in your best manner, regardless of
expense. Morocco, of course; crushed levant morocco, double, every
book of them, petits fers, my crest and coat of arms, plenty of
gilding. Spare no cost. Don't keep me waiting, as you generally
do;" for indeed book-binders are the most dilatory of the human
species.
Before the astonished binder could ask the