But he was as friendly as possible, for he continued the conversation.
"Nice looking lot of books," he observed. "Don't you think so?"

Johnnie nodded again. "What kind of a place would y' call this?" he
inquired.

"A store," informed the other. Now he stared harder than ever, so that
Johnnie grew uneasy under the scrutiny, and began to consider rounding
the nearest corner to get away. "Never seen a bookstore before, eh?"

Johnnie shook his head. "Don't have 'em where I live," he explained.

"No? And where do you live?"

Johnnie felt more uneasy than ever. He determined to be vague. "Me? Oh,
just over that way," he answered, with a swing of the arm that took in a
full quarter of the horizon--including all territory from Beekman Place
to the Aquarium.

The woman rejoined them. In one hand she carried a book. It was a blue
book, not quite so large as the story of Aladdin, but in every way
handsomer. She held it out to Johnnie. "Here's another book for you,"
she said. "You'll love it. All boys do. It's called _Robinson Crusoe_."

Afterwards he liked to remember that he had said "Thank you" when she
placed the book in his hands. He was too overcome to look up at her,
however, or smile, or exclaim over the gift. He stood there, thrilled
and gaping, and holding his breath, while the ends of his red fingers
went white with holding the new book so tight, and his pale face turned
red with emotions of several kinds, all of them pleasant. At last, when
he raised his eyes from the book to her face, that face was gone. The
millionaire was gone, too.

Johnnie opened the book. It did not open easily, being so new. But how
good it smelled! And, oh, what a lot of it there was, even though it was
smaller than the other! For the letters were tiny, and set close
together on every page. Twenty to thirty pages Johnnie turned at a time,
and found that there were six hundred in all. Also, there was one
picture--of a man wearing a curious, peaked cap, funny shoes that tied,
and knee trousers that seemed to be made of skins.

It was while he was turning the pages for a second time that he chanced
upon the dollar bill. It was between two pages toward the back of the
book, and he thought for a moment that it was not there, really, but
that he was just thinking so. But it was there, and looked as crisply
new as the book. He ran to the corner and stared in every direction,
searching for the millionaire and the woman.

Then he felt sure