"Are you sure the beer comes up to its usual standard?" he asked mischievously, turning to Mrs. Benbow at the same time. "Are you sure it has nothing of the beef-tea element about it? We drink beef-tea by the quart in this establishment. I’m allowed nothing else." David laughed, and said it was the best beer in the neighborhood; and with that he left the kitchen and went into the ale-room to exchange a few words with Mr. Howells, the proprietor of the rival inn, who always came to the Green Dragon to have his few glasses of beer in peace, free from the stormy remonstrances of his wife. Every one in Little Stretton knew his secret, and respected it. Hieronymus returned to the parlor, where he was supposed to be deep in study. After a few minutes some one knocked at the door, and David Ellis came in. "Excuse me troubling you," he said, rather nervously, "but there is a little matter I wanted to ask you about." "It’s about that confounded pastry!" thought Hieronymus, as he drew a chair to the fireside and welcomed the exciseman to it. David sank down into it, twisted his whip, and looked now at Hieronymus and now at the books which lay scattered on the table. He evidently wished to say something, but he did not know how to begin. "I know what you want to say," said Hieronymus. "No, you don’t," answered the exciseman. "No one knows except myself." Hieronymus retreated, crushed, but rather relieved too. Then David, gaining courage, continued: "Books are in your line, aren’t they?" "It just does happen to be my work to know a little about them," the historian answered. "Are you interested in them too?" "Well," said David, hesitating, "I can’t say I read them, but I buy them." "Most people do that," said Hieronymus; "it takes less time to buy than to read, and we are pressed for time in this century." "You see," said the exciseman, "I don’t buy the books for myself, and it’s rather awkward knowing what to get. Now what would you get for a person who was really fond of reading: something of a scholar, you understand? That would help me for my next lot." "It all depends on the taste of the person," Hieronymus said kindly. "Some like poetry, some like novels; others like books about the moon, and others like books about the north pole, or the tropics." David did not know much about the north pole or the tropics, but he had certainly bought several volumes of poetry, and Hieronymus’ words gave him courage. "I bought several books of poetry," he said, lifting his head up with a kind of triumph which was unmistakable. "Cowper, Mrs. Hemans--" "Yes," said Hieronymus patiently. "And the other day I bought Milton," continued the exciseman. "Ah," said the historian, with a faint smile of cheerfulness. He had never been able to care for Milton (though he never owned to this). "And now I thought of buying this," said David, taking from his pocket a small slip of paper and showing it to his companion.