ls so thickly stacked with dusty volumes, and wondered why the
youngster was not cleaning them or arranging the bundles on the floor,
instead of sitting on the stool swaying his legs idly.

How different it all was from what he had expected! The books were there
and in abundance, yet they were heaped about more like potatoes in a
greengrocer's than things worthy of respect. It was difficult to connect
this youthful dog-fancier with literary pursuits, and Henry could only
hope that Mr. Griggs in his person would make up for what his
establishment had lost in contrast with his ideal picture of it.

It was some little time before the shuffle of slip-shod feet was heard
behind the back-door. The new assistant grew expectant. The shuffle
suggested the approach of the venerable book-lover himself. There was a
pause, during which Henry's heart thumped against his bosom, and then a
large and tousled head was thrust inquiringly beyond the door, in a way
that suggested a desire to conceal the absence of a collar and tie.

The head belonged to Mr. Ephraim Griggs, dealer in second-hand books and
prints.

"Oh, it's young Charles, is it?" said Mr. Griggs, displaying a little
more of his person, and showing that he was in the act of drying his
hands. "Just come in here, will you?" he went on, jerking his head back
towards the passage. "I want your advice."

Wondering on what subject he might be capable of advising the veteran,
he went through to the passage, where Mr. Griggs, having finished with
the towel, offered him a cold and flabby hand.

Henry felt tempted to laugh, and probably a little inclined to cry, when
he stood before his employer, and found that his mental portrait of the
man tallied in no particular with the person facing him.

There was little of the book-worm about Mr. Griggs. He did not even wear
spectacles; an offence which Henry found hardest to forgive. Not so tall
as Edward John, nor yet so stout, he was a long-bearded fellow, with a
nasty habit of breathing heavily through his nose, as if that organ were
clogged with dust from his books. As he stood before Henry he was in his
shirt-sleeves, and, judging by the latter, the garment as a whole was
ready for the wash. His waistcoat was glossy with droppings of snuff;
his trousers, Henry noticed, were very baggy at the knees and appeared
to be a size too large for him; while his feet were encased in ragged
carpet slippers.

Evidently Mr. Griggs was in some tr