“Yes. Do you think you could propose a list? I should like to know that the first books I publish had been selected by you. I don’t think they ought to be exactly theological, but they must be good in every sense of the word.” “Why not begin with the book from whose in traduction I just quoted?” “Why not indeed?” said Sam, who hadn’t the faintest idea of the source of the quotation. “Very well,” said Peter. “Suppose you put that down for one.” Same made vague scratches on paper. He had a bookish reputation to sustain and he was not going to betray ignorance prematurely. “Then,” said Feter, “there is Law’s ‘Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life.’” “I’m letting myself in for something,” thought Sam, but he wrote it down. “‘The Imitation of Christ,’ and ‘The Little Flowers of St. Francis,’” Peter went on. “I think those should be enough to begin with,” said Sam hurriedly. “Four, isn’t it?” said Peter, recapitulating. “The ‘Pilgrim’s Progress ‘“----(“Thank God,” thought Sam, “I needn’t give myself away.”) “Yes, four,” he interrupted, reading the now completed list. “And I am very much obliged to you.” He wasn’t, though, quite sure about it. He had “nobbled” Peter, but he feared those books would be a millstone round his neck. There might be a steady sale for the “Pilgrim’s Progress” as a prize, but the others----! Still, he need not print many copies of them, and--consoling thought--they would be good window-dressing tor his list. He hoped it would include other, very different, books. “I’m sorry Ada is out,” Peter was saying, and Sam was rather startled to realize that he had not missed her. But he was sure of his position with her: it was his position for her which he had to consolidate. He proceeded to consolidate it by going in search of Stewart, and found him where he expected to find him, in a bar. “I want your advice,” said Sam. “Whisky for the gentleman, Flora,” said Stewart. “That’s my advice and you’ll get no other till you’ve taken this.” Sam took it. Business is business and, beyond that, his thrifty prejudices were less necessary now. “You’re not unteachable,” said Stewart. “It’s a point in your favour. The proper thing when you’ve drunk that is to ask me if I will have another. My reply will be in the affirmative and we shall then retire, with sustaining refreshment, into that corner, where I will advise you for as long as you can continue to buy whisky for me and drink level. I hate a shirker.” Sam told him of his partnership with Carter. “I’m always troubled about you,” said Stewart. “I can never make up my mind whether you’re too clever to live or whether you were born with luck instead of brain. Obviously, you will publish novels.” “There are so many kinds,” said Sam.