"Yes," Hamlen replied; surprised that his friend should so abruptly turn the conversation. "What has that to do with our discussion?" "How much did you value it before you discovered what it contained?" "It was a joke; I begrudged even paying the taxes." "Now you consider it well worth including among your investments?" "Naturally. It is one of the best things I own." Huntington smiled at him quietly. "Don't you see the application? It is no reflection on those who walked over that land that they were ignorant of the riches which lay beneath their feet. It is no reflection on the sincerity of your classmates that they like you now and did not know you before. I discovered what you really are, Hamlen, quite as accidentally as you struck oil in that apparently worthless land in Oklahoma. Now I stand simply as the promoter of a property which has proved its worth." When Hamlen unpacked his trunk at Huntington's house he produced a volume of Milton's "Areopagitica" which he placed in his friend's hand. "This is the latest issue from the 'Island Press,'" he said. "It was nearly completed before you all came down to Bermuda and disturbed my peace of mind. I put the covers on after you left, but I haven't been able to produce a thing since. I believe this is the last book I shall ever make." Huntington turned the leaves with great interest. "Exquisite!" he exclaimed. "Quite the best example you have turned out. I love that type of yours, Hamlen, for I feel it is the exemplification of William Morris' definition of the Type Ideal,--'pure in form, severe without needless excrescences, solid without the thickening and thinning of the line, and not compressed laterally.' You have carried out what he set himself to do and failed. How many copies did you print?" "Only fifty." "Splendid! But I am selfish enough to wish there was but one, and that I owned it! I never saw finer presswork in my life." "You may gratify your wish if you like," Hamlen replied indifferently. "I have the whole lot in my trunk up-stairs, and you may destroy the other forty-nine if you choose. They are yours to do with as you will." "You don't mean it!" Huntington cried, enthusiastically. He fondled the copy in his hand, and his face was lighted by the pleasure of the moment. Then he laughed. "It is a frightful temptation, Hamlen! Think of owning the only copy in existence of a book like that! Bibliomania leads one on almost to crime, and it would be nothing less to prevent other collectors from enjoying this wonderful volume. I accept the gift proudly, Hamlen; I will make good use of it."