"Precisely. You would be surprised at the number of my callers who desire information on matters that come between _Prairie Oyster_ and _Zymotic_!" The old gentleman sighed. "But where their requirements are limited to the earlier letters of the alphabet, I can usually find a passage which both interests and enlightens them." He glanced at the number on the back of the book. "This is the first volume of the set--_A--Byzantium_. Many a hungry soul have I fed from it." He turned over the pages. "_Addison--Algebra--Archæology--Adenoids_-- That reminds me, a neighbour is coming in to consult me about adenoids this afternoon. A mother--a woman in quite humble circumstances. I must look up adenoids." "Isn't that rather trespassing on my department?" I asked. "Oh, dear! no, sir. All I shall do will be to find the passage relating to adenoids, and read it aloud to Mrs. Caddick." "Mrs. Caddick? I am treating a child of hers for adenoids at present." "Quite so, sir. And Mrs. Caddick naturally wishes to know what they are. I shall read aloud to her the scientific definition of the ailment. It is surprising what a comfort that will be to her. Poor soul, she's almost illiterate; and the printed word is a sacred mystery to such!" "You are an authority on human nature, Mr. Baxter, I perceive." "You are kind to say so, sir. But I was a mere disciple of the late Archdeacon. It's a strange thing, human nature," he continued pensively. "I have studied it all my life. My recreation is to help it--and it needs all the help it can get. I am at home every evening, and folk look in quite regularly to ask for my guidance on some literary, historical, or scientific point of interest. 'Consulting The Oracle,' they are kind enough to call it. Such visits enable me to gratify at once my hobby and my vanity!" He smiled. "You have one or two bulky-looking volumes up there," I said, approaching the bookcase and inspecting the top shelf. "Who is this big fellow--Number Eighty-Seven?" I half raised my hand; but in a flash Ada Weeks was before me. "It's Shakespeare," she announced, snatching the volume down and holding it to her flat little bosom. "Presentation!" "Ada is always a little jealous about letting the presentation volumes out of her hands," explained Mr. Baxter, from the bed. "That book was conferred upon me as a small token of esteem by a certain literary circle in London in which I was interested before I came here, many years ago. Bring it to me, my dear." Ada Weeks, with a sidelong and defiant glance in my direction, handed the great book to the old man. He opened it at random, and began to read aloud. "This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in a silver sea, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,--" He broke off, and smiled.