take the book back and get his money, or even exchange it
for some article of neckwear or footwear. In his extremity he thought
he would try giving it to the trainman just before he reached his
stop.

"You want to _give_ it to me? Well, that's something that never
happened to me on _this_ line before. I guess my wife will like it.
I--_1009th Street! Change for East Brooklyn and the Bronx!_" the guard
shouted, and he let Erlcort out of the car, the very first of the tide
that spilled itself forth at the station. He called after him, "Do as
much for you some time."

The incident first amused Erlcort, and then it began to trouble him;
but he appeased his remorse by toying with his old notion of a
critical bookstore. His mind was still at play with it when he stopped
at the bell-pull of an elderly girl of his acquaintance who had a
studio ten stories above, and the habit of giving him afternoon tea in
it if he called there about five o'clock. She had her ugly
painting-apron still on, and her thumb through the hole in her
palette, when she opened her door to him.

"Too soon?" he asked.

She answered as well as she could with the brush held horizontally in
her mouth while she glared inhospitably at him. "Well, not much," and
then she let him in, and went and lighted her spirit-lamp.

He began at once to tell her of his strange experience, and went on
till she said: "Well, there's your tea. _I_ don't know what you've
been driving at, but I suppose you do. Is it the old thing?"

"It's my critical bookstore, if that's what you call the old thing."

"Oh! _That!_ I thought it had failed 'way back in the dark ages."

"The dark ages are not _back_, please; they're all 'round, and you
know very well that my critical bookstore has never been tried yet.
But tell me one thing: should you wish to live with a picture, even
for a few hours, which had been painted by an old lady of seventy who
had never tried to paint before?"

"If I intended to go crazy, yes. What has all that got to do with it?"

"That's the joint commendation of the publisher and the kind little
blonde who united to sell me the book I just gave to that poor Subway
trainman. Do you ever buy a new book?"

"No; I always borrow an old one."

"But if you _had_ to buy a new one, wouldn't you like to know of a
place where you could be sure of getting a good one?"

"I shouldn't mind. Or, yes, I should, rather. Where's it to be?"

"Oh, I know. I've had my eye on