"He's a strange old fellow," said my companion, "and most of his characteristics are derived from imitations, conscious or unconscious, of a stranger old fellow still." "The late lamented?" "Exactly. Old Belford was a bachelor, and lived alone among his books in his house in the Close for nearly forty years. His only companions were an aged cook-housekeeper and Adam Baxter. He died fifteen or twenty years ago, before I came here. He was nearly ninety, I fancy." "What was Baxter's exact status in the household?" "By his own account, he was the old man's confidential secretary, amanuensis, and librarian. My own belief is that he cleaned the Archidiaconal boots. Of course he may have been allowed to dust the books in the library too. Anyhow, during his period of service in that household he contrived to amass an enormous quantity of more or less useless book-learning. He is regarded hereabouts as quite a savant. His erudition makes him respected by those who have none, and his library of miscellaneous rubbish gives him the status of a man of property." "It's not all rubbish. He has a Shakespeare and a Southey, at least. He has Jowett's Thucydides too, he tells me." "You're right: I retract that part. But his library is rubbish, in the sense that it's an unclassified rag-bag of odds and ends. Still, he's an enlightened old chap in his way. When he settled down in that little house after old Belford's death and began to set up as a sort of provincial Socrates, his conversation and library were mainly classical, as you might expect, considering their origin. He would pull down a Homer, or a Herodotus, or a Vergil, and spout to his audience some favourite passage of his late employer." "You mean to say he translated from the original Latin and Greek?" "Ah! That's what nobody knows. The peculiar thing about Baxter is that, though he will read or quote from any book in his library for your delectation, he practically never permits any one to take the book out of his hands. No human eye, for instance, has ever fallen upon the printed pages of Baxter's Homer. If it did, I suspect it would find that page printed in good plain English. Pope's translation, probably." "You think he is a fraud, then?" "Oh, bless you, no! I think he is a genuine book-lover, and values--in fact lives on--the respect which his literary eminence earns for him in this extremely unliterary township. But candidly I think most of his classical works are common cribs. I have known less pardonable forms of hypocrisy. But I was saying just now he was enlightened. Of late years he has supplemented his Latin and Greek and his Poets and Historians by scientific and technical literature. People go and consult him about all sorts of modern developments and tendencies now." "Adenoids, for instance?"