fellow," said Roger, "This is just what I needed. I was
getting into a rut. The explosion has blown out a whole lot of books I
had forgotten about and didn't even know I had. Look, here's an old
copy of How to Be Happy Though Married, which I see the publisher lists
as 'Fiction.' Here's Urn Burial, and The Love Affairs of a
Bibliomaniac, and Mistletoe's Book of Deplorable Facts. I'm going to
have a thorough house-cleaning. I'm thinking seriously of putting in a
vacuum cleaner and a cash register. Titania was quite right, the place
was too dirty. That girl has given me a lot of ideas."

Aubrey wanted to ask where she was, but didn't like to say so
point-blank.

"There's no question about it," said Roger, "an explosion now and then
does one good. Since the reporters got here and dragged the whole yarn
out of us, I've had half a dozen offers from publishers for my book, a
lyceum bureau wants me to lecture on Bookselling as a Form of Public
Service, I've had five hundred letters from people asking when the shop
will reopen for business, and the American Booksellers' Association has
invited me to give an address at its convention next spring. It's the
first recognition I've ever had. If it weren't for poor dear old
Bock---- Come, we've buried him in the back yard. I want to show you
his grave."

Over a pathetically small mound near the fence a bunch of big yellow
chrysanthemums were standing in a vase.

"Titania put those there," said Roger. "She says she's going to plant
a dogwood tree there in the spring. We intend to put up a little stone
for him, and I'm trying to think of an inscription, I thought of De
Mortuis Nil Nisi Bonum, but that's a bit too flippant."

The living quarters of the house had not been damaged by the explosion,
and Roger took Aubrey back to the den. "You've come just at the right
time," he said. "Mr. Chapman's coming to dinner this evening, and
we'll all have a good talk. There's a lot about this business I don't
understand yet."

Aubrey was still keeping his eye open for a sign of Titania's presence,
and Roger noticed his wandering gaze.

"This is Miss Chapman's afternoon off," he said. "She got her first
salary to-day, and was so much exhilarated that she went to New York to
blow it in. She's out with her father. Excuse me, please, I'm going
to help Helen get dinner ready."

Aubrey sat down by the fire, and lit his pipe. The burden of his
meditation was that it was jus