"Yes, indeed," said the old man, smiling graciously. "You get used to these books, so that you get to love them. You see they aren't dead wood, but products of the mind. So when a customer also respects books, it is pleasant. Our average customer is a comical fellow. He comes and asks, 'Have you any interesting books?' It's all the same to him. He seeks amusement, play, but no benefit. But occasionally someone will suddenly ask for a prohibited book." "How's that? Prohibited?" asked the man screwing up his small eyes. "Prohibited from libraries--published abroad, or secretly in Russia." "Are such books for sale?" "Now he will speak real low." Again Yevsey was not mistaken. Fixing his glasses upon the face of the red-bearded man, the master lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "Why not? Sometimes you buy a whole library, and you come across everything there, everything." "Have you such books now?" "Several." "Let me see them, please." "Only I must ask you not to say anything about them. You see it's not for the sake of profit, but as a courtesy. One likes to do favors now and then." The stooping man stopped whistling, adjusted his spectacles, and looked attentively at the old man. To-day the master was utterly loathsome to Yevsey, who kept looking at him with cold, gloomy malice. And now when Raspopov went over to the corner of the shop to show the red-bearded man some books there, the boy suddenly and quite involuntarily said in a whisper to the stooping customer: "Don't buy those books." Yevsey trembled with fright the moment he had spoken. The man raised his glasses, and peered into the boy's face with his bright eyes. "Why?" With a great effort Yevsey answered after a pause: "I don't know." The customer readjusted his glasses, moved away from him, and began to whistle louder, looking sidewise at the old man. Then he raised his hand, which made him straighter and taller, stroked his grey mustache, and without haste walked up to his companion, from whom he took the book. He looked it over, and dropped it on the table. Yevsey followed his movements expecting some calamity to befall himself. But the stooping man merely touched his companion's arm, and said simply and calmly: "Well, let's go." "But the books?" exclaimed the other. "Let's go. I won't buy any books here." The red-bearded man looked at him, then at the master, his small eyes winking rapidly. Then he walked to the door, and out into the street. "You don't want the books?" demanded Raspopov. Yevsey realized by his tone that the old man was surprised. "I don't," answered the customer, his eyes fixed upon the face of the master. Raspopov shrank. He went to his chair, and suddenly said with a wave of his hand in an unnaturally loud voice, which was new to Yevsey: "As you please, of course. Still--excuse me, I don't understand." "What don't you understand?" asked the stooping man, smiling.