“Do you want a boy?” asked Tom, of the proprietor. “Why? Did you see a sign out in front?” inquired the man. “A sign? No. Why?” “Well, sometimes the boys of the neighborhood hang a sign out in front to annoy me. They know I never hire a boy. They do it for a joke, and several lads, in need of work, have been fooled by it.” “I don’t think that’s a very good joke,” remarked Tom. “Neither do I,” agreed the proprietor. “No, I don’t want a boy, but I’m glad there’s no foolish sign out in front. How did you come to ask in here?” “Well, I used to be in Townsend’s store, and as I need work, and every place seems to be one where experience is needed, I thought I’d try a book store.” “I’m sorry,” went on the man more kindly. “I can’t afford to keep a helper. There’s very little profit in second-hand books, and to hire a boy would eat it all up. I need a boy quite often to deliver books, but I can’t afford to hire one regularly.” “How often do you need one?” “Well, about once a day. In fact I wish I had one now to take some books to a man who lives three miles from here. I’ll give you fifty cents and your car fare if you’ll deliver them.” “I’ll do it,” said Tom, glad of the chance to earn a half dollar. “Wait a minute, and I’ll wrap them up.” Tom was soon ready to start, carrying quite a heavy bundle of books. As he passed out of the store, in front of which were two big tables, with bargains in second-hand books on them, he saw a familiar figure reading a tattered volume. “How do you do, Dr. Spidderkins!” greeted Tom, as he recognized the aged physician. “Eh? What’s that? Oh, it’s--I’ve forgotten--no--I remember now, you’re William Henderson, aren’t you?” “No, sir; I’m Thomas Baldwin.” “Oh, yes. You’re in the Emporium. I remember now. My memory must be coming back.” “I used to be there,” replied Tom, “but there was no work for me after the holidays. I’m doing odd jobs. Just now I’m carrying books for the man who owns this place.” “Ah, that’s a fine job, carrying books,” commented the old gentleman. “You are diffusing knowledge, my young friend. A very noble calling. Now I can only read books, I can’t carry them about any more. I am reading a very fine book now. It seems to be quite rare. It tells how the ancient Greeks had the primitive idea of raising chickens by means of hot water pipes--something on the order of our modern incubators. It’s a very valuable book. I don’t recollect when I have found one more valuable, of its kind. Yes, once; the same day I discovered a copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost, in an old book store, I came across one worth almost as much as this. That was--um--er--dear me--I’m afraid I can’t recall what it was. But I’ll recollect it shortly. I must purchase this book before I forget it.”