season, or perhaps once a week when
trade was dull, Abner Skipp journeyed from the suburbs to the city with
his pack of books on his back, and made the rounds of the second-hand
shops, disposing of his wares for whatever they would fetch. Novels,
especially what are known as the "best sellers," commanded good prices
if they were handled, like fruit, without delay; but they were such
perishable merchandise that oftentimes a best seller was dead before
Abner could get it to market; and as he frequently reviewed the same
novel for half a dozen employers, and therefore had half a dozen copies
of it in his pack, the poor wretch was sadly out of pocket, being
compelled to sell the dead ones to the junkman for a few pennies.

Abner Skipp was an industrious artisan and very skillful at his trade;
working at top speed, he could review more than a hundred books in a day
of eight hours. In a contest of literary critics held in Madison Square
Garden, New York, Abner won first prize in all three events--reviewing
by publisher's slip, reviewing by cover, and reviewing by title page.
But shortly after this achievement he had had the misfortune to sprain
his right arm in reviewing a new edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica,
which accident so curtailed his earning power that he fell behind in a
money way, and was compelled to mortgage his home. But Abner Skipp was a
cheerful, buoyant soul; and as his arm grew better and he was again able
to wield the implements of his trade, he set bravely to work to mend his
broken fortunes.

II.

If Abner Skipp had had nothing but popular novels to review he would
assuredly have perished of starvation, but frequently he received a
medical work, or a history, or a volume of sportive philosophy by
William James, or some such valuable work, which he could sell for a
round sum. There was always plenty to do--all the best magazines
employed him, and twice in the year--a month in spring and a month in
fall--books came to him in such numbers that the expressman dumped them
into the house through a shute like so many coals.

Mrs. Skipp assisted her husband all she could, but being a frail little
woman she was able to work on only the lightest fiction. Angelica, the
oldest daughter, cleared the book bin of a good deal of poetry and gift
books, and even Grandpa Skipp was intrusted with a few juveniles.

But none of the family was more helpful than little Harold, who, after
school time, worked side by