d Aubrey. "Where has he gone? I've been
hunting him all over town, the scoundrel!"

The bookseller, douce man, had seen too many eccentric customers to be
shocked by the vehemence of his questioner.

"He was here a moment ago," he said gently, and gazed with a mild
interest upon the excited young advertising man. "I daresay you'll
find him just outside, in Ludlow Street."

"Where's that?"

The tall man--and I don't see why I should scruple to name him, for it
was Philip Warner--explained that Ludlow Street was the narrow alley
that runs along one side of Leary's and elbows at right angles behind
the shop. Down the flank of the store, along this narrow little
street, run shelves of books under a penthouse. It is here that
Leary's displays its stock of ragamuffin ten-centers--queer dingy
volumes that call to the hearts of gentle questers. Along these
historic shelves many troubled spirits have come as near happiness as
they are like to get . . . for after all, happiness (as the
mathematicians might say) lies on a curve, and we approach it only by
asymptote. . . . The frequenters of this alley call themselves
whimsically The Ludlow Street Business Men's Association, and Charles
Lamb or Eugene Field would have been proud to preside at their annual
dinners, at which the members recount their happiest book-finds of the
year.

Aubrey rushed out of the shop and looked down the alley. Half a dozen
Ludlow Street Business Men were groping among the shelves. Then, down
at the far end, his small face poked into an open volume, he saw Roger.
He approached with a rapid stride.

"Well," he said angrily, "here you are!"

Roger looked up from his book good-humouredly. Apparently, in the zeal
of his favourite pastime, he had forgotten where he was.

"Hullo!" he said. "What are you doing in Brooklyn? Look here, here's
a copy of Tooke's Pantheon----"

"What's the idea?" cried Aubrey harshly. "Are you trying to kid me?
What are you and Weintraub framing up here in Philadelphia?"

Roger's mind came back to Ludlow Street. He looked with some surprise
at the flushed face of the young man, and put the book back in its
place on the shelf, making a mental note of its location. His
disappointment of the morning came back to him with some irritation.

"What are you talking about?" he said. "What the deuce business is it
of yours?"

"I'll make it my business," said Aubrey, and shook his fist in the
bookseller's face. "