“All right, sir, all right!” said Mr. Brandreth. He laughed out after Mr. Chapley had left them, and then said: “Excuse me, Mr. Ray. You mustn’t mind my smiling rather irrelevantly. We’ve had a great event at my house this week--in fact, we’ve had a boy.” “Indeed!” said Ray. He had the sort of contempt a young man feels for such domestic events; but he easily concealed it from the happy father, who looked scarcely older than himself. “An eight-pounder,” said Mr. Brandreth. “I have been pretty anxious for the last few weeks, and--I don’t know whether you married or not, Mr. Ray?” “No.” “Well, then you wouldn’t understand.” Mr. Brandreth arrested himself reluctantly, Ray thought, in his confidences. “But you will, some day; you will, some day,” he added, gayly; “and then you’ll know what it is to have an experience like that go off well. It throws a new light on everything.” A clerk came in with a pile of opened letters and put them on Mr. Brandreth’s desk, with some which were still sealed; Ray rose again. “No, don’t go. But you won’t mind my glancing these over while we talk. I don’t know how much talk you’ve been having with Mr. Chapley--he’s my father-in-law, you know?” Ray owned that he did not. “Yes; I came into the firm and into the family a little over a year ago. But if there are any points I can give you, I’m quite at your service.” “Thank you,” said Ray. “Mr. Chapley was speaking of the effect of the competition of the big variety stores on the regular booksellers.” Mr. Brandreth slitted the envelope of one of the letters with a slim paper-knife, and glanced the letter over. “Well, that’s a little matter I differ with Mr. Chapley about. Of course, I know just how he feels, brought up the way he was, in the old traditions of the trade. It seems to him we must be going to the bad because our books are sold over a counter next to a tin-ware counter, or a perfume and essence counter, or a bric-à-brac counter. I don’t think so. I think the great thing is to sell the books, and I wish we could get a book into the hands of one of those big dealers; I should be glad of the chance. We should have to make him a heavy discount; but look at the discounts we have to make to the trade, now! Forty per cent., and ten cents off for cash; so that a dollar and a half book, that it costs twenty-five cents or thirty cents to make, brings you in about seventy cents. Then, when you pay the author his ten per cent. copyright, how far will the balance go towards advertising, rent, clerk hire and sundries? If you want to get a book into the news companies, you have got to make them a discount of sixty per cent. out of hand.” “Is it possible?” asked Ray. “I’d no idea it was anything like that!”