Kansas University Weekly.
215
"Can't be the price mark, but whose look-out is that. Hope the old man won't show up." And he didn't. The student kept close watch of his time-piece and when the five minutes were up he arose as if to go. The girl was looking anxiously into the street. What a pretty face she had in that dim half-light. "I'd be sorry to get her into trouble," thought the student, "but I guess the old man won't do anything worse than swear a little, even if he finds out that his clerk has been making a rather dear sale for him."
"Well?" he said.
"Oh dear. Well, I guess I'll do it up," she answered after a moment's hesitation. She took the volume from his hands and hurriedly wrapped it up in a sheet of old yellow paper, tying the bundle with a narrow strip of faded calico which she unwound from a ball enclosed in a small wicker basket. The student handed her the money and passed out of the shop. He experienced a delightful feeling of elation at his good luck, and yet he could not help being apprehensive about what the old man would do when he found out what had happened. In fact he felt a little like a thief for taking the book under the circumstances, and as he stepped out upon the sidewalk he glanced quickly up and down the street.
Not three doors away was the shop-keeper. The student knew that it was he by the manner in which he looked at him and then at the bundle in his hand. For an instant the student felt impelled to wait and settle matters; but only for an instant did he hesitate, then turned and walked rapidly up the street. The old man ran into his shop paying no attention to his hat which blew off as he entered the door. He was a queer little dwarf of a man, perhaps sixty years old. His head was as round as a ten-pin ball, and his large face was as yellow as the back of his oldest leather cover, and had an evil, crafty look. It rested in a semi-circle of reddish grey bristles which passed from ear to ear under his chin, and reminded one of the new moon holding the old moon in its arms. A dozen other grey hairs stood out on his head.
As he entered the shop he cried angrily at the girl, "What have you sold ?"
The bright color in her cheeks—which had proved to the student that she was not a product of the fog and gloom of London—quickly faded. "A book,"she answered falteringly. "The price was marked."
"Which book ? "
She indicated the vacant place on the shelf. "That one."
"That one!" he demanded hoarsely, his yellow countenance growing dark with passion, "How much?"
The girl's face was ghastly white against the dingy back ground of books. Oh that she had known her uncle better! "It was marked nine shillings," she said weakly.
"Nine shillings!" he almost howled. "Nine shillings" and he siezed from the counter a heavy volume with large brass buckles and corners and hurled it at the girl's head. Then he turned and rushed out of the store and up the street after the receding purchaser. He overtook the student near the end of the block and took hold of his arm roughly. "The book," he said angrily, "you must pay me for that book."
The student glanced back at him and stopped; the ugly face, the menacing glare in the eyes, and the jaw clenched in anger filled him with repulsion and uneasiness. He shook off the rough grasp of the shop-keeper and said firmly, "I did pay for it."
"You stole it. Pay for it or give it back." "I tell you I did pay for it. I paid the price."
"You paid the price, you thief! The price is twelve pounds. You pay or I'll make trouble for you. I'll call for somebody that will put you with the rest of the thieves. Give me back the book or you'll suffer, you'll suffer. Do you know what that means, do you understand?"
The student was trying to decide what to do. He did not want to get into trouble, and the old man was beside himself with anger and likely to do almost anything. But no more was he willing to give up the book. Perhaps if he went back to the shop and talked matters over with the proprietor and his clerk he might be able to