Glad that he had not accused the old gentleman of trying to steal the books, Tom moved away, leaving his employer and Dr. Spidderkins in earnest conversation. Tom could hear them talking about rare editions, first folios, and books or pamphlets that were out of print, and very valuable. “Here, boy, wrap up this bundle,” called a clerk. “Sure,” replied Tom good-naturedly. “Shall I bring it back to you?” “No, mark this address on it, and put it where the expressman will get it. It’s got to be delivered to-day.” “The new boy is better than the other one we had,” observed a second clerk to the one from whom Tom had just taken an order. “He certainly is. I only hope he keeps it up.” The rest of that morning Tom found himself busily occupied. There came a little let-up in the rush, about noon, and the lad ventured to ask the senior clerk something about the queer old man who was still browsing away among the books. “He is one of our best customers,” replied the clerk. “His name is Dr. Lemuel Spidderkins.” “Does he practise medicine?” “He used to, but he is retired now, and about all he does is to collect books. Hardly a day passes but what he buys two or three here, or in other book stores. He spends a lot of money that way. You see he’s so forgetful he dare not risk practising his profession.” “He certainly is queer,” remarked Tom, and he told the clerk his experience with the doctor. “That’s nothing,” was the answer. “He often comes in here, and walks off with three or four books without paying for them. If we see him we always politely call his attention to them. If we don’t, it doesn’t matter, for he generally recollects what he has done when he reaches home, and he sends the money for them. Yes, he is very eccentric.” “Then I did the right thing,” said Tom, “when I offered to wrap them up for him.” “Oh, yes. He and Mr. Townsend are great friends. He has bought books of us for years.” “Here--er--new boy--what’s your name!” suddenly called the book store proprietor, from where he stood talking to Dr. Spidderkins. “Wrap these books up.” Tom hurried to his employer, and took several large and heavy volumes which the old physician had evidently selected from the shelves. “Ah, there is the young man who helped me look up some facts about--er--well now, isn’t that queer, I can’t remember what it was about,” said the doctor, as he caught sight of Tom. “Was it about how the Egyptians used to worship cats?” “It was about belladonna and fruit cake,” answered Tom. “Oh, yes, so it was. Yes, he was quite a help to me--I mean he showed me that I had the wrong memoranda,” went on the physician. “I must get a secretary if my memory keeps on failing me. But I must pay you for these books, Mr. Townsend. I’ll take them right along with me, or I’ll forget all about them.” “Better let me send them,” suggested the proprietor of the Emporium. “They’ll make quite a heavy bundle.”