The Osceola times., 1888-06-23
well" said the old man. 81 mu,,


dishonerablo thing.
The door had scarcely closed behind
him, when the bookseller pounced on
the portfolio like tiger on its prey.
"Esad" he cried. 'what luck, A
'Pucclle' for quarter, and the plates
to illustrate it for"
lie packed the prints carefully back
in their portfolio, wrapped the portfolio
in paper. and before he began his din
ncr at Delmonico's had the cashier lock
the package in the safe, to make sure
nothing should happen to it during the
progress of the feast
with the recurrence of spring. en-
broidered with the usual New York ac-
cessories of snow storms and May morn
ings. the bookseller started on kts IAN
nual trip TO Europe" as his circulars
put it At the bottom of his trunk,
trebly wrapped in paper and oiled silk,
were book and some prints done up
in one package. On this package,
which had originally cost the owner
two dollars and twenty five cents. there
was an insurance of two hundred and
fifty dollars.
Deep in the slums of Belleville, a
haggard, unkempt man worke in a
dirty little room, with dirty bed in
one corner, at n book kbinder's bench
There were tools of the book binders
trade on rickety table. There was
also an absinthc bott and tumbler
half full Of grecn-gray compound
that bore strange resemblance to the
complexion Of the man himself, or
which his complexion strangely re-
sembled. As he worked, the man sang.
in croaking voice. one of those foul
songs common in the low concert halls
Of Paris.
Sacred name of a blue hog" said
the bookbinder, breaking off in his
chant "Why don't you come in,
IDIOT"
The door opened, and the person
who had knocked entered. The book
binder looked at him, and growlcd:
"Well. you are back, as usual. ch?
You come, like the cholera at Marseil-
les, with summer What is it now?"
His visitor was the New York book
seller, and he had package under his
arm. He looked calmly around him,
with the expression of man not quite
stranger to the place, and sat down
on the only stool.
80 you haven't drunk yourself
crazy yet" he remarked, pleasantly.
Upon my soul. Lurat. yon must be
made of gutta-percha.
Have you come all the way from
New York to tell Inc that?" demanded
the book-binder. sourly.
mo such fool" replied tho book
seller. "Are you busy2"
"Am not always, when i choose to
be?"
True enough. Well, do you choose
to be little busier'"
The bookseller had united his pack
age, and now spread out a book and
some prints upon his knee.
Here is book" said he. "that
would be really fine in a fifty-franc
binding by Tout" ..
The book binder, who had laid by his
work. took the prints and the volumes
up, and examined them with a profess
sional interest even his sottishness
could not overcome.
at would look better, said he, Sin
a hundred-franc binding"
.'Scventy-fve, you mean." corrected
the bookseller.
"No; mean n hundred"
'I think you mean eighty"
"a will mean hundred and fifty
next time" replied the book-binder,
holding the package out to him.
The book seller motioncd him TO keep
it. and got up.
"Do your best with it, Lurat." he
said, "and when shall | come for it?'
Lurat named date and the book
seller departed. The book-binder
watched him out with scornful flash
in his alcohol-reddencd eye, and NUT
tered to his back, vanishing down the
unclean stairs:
What q swindler! ! wonder if
there are any people in America but
swindlers and fools. AMI it is for such
scum that am rascal, who might lie
an honest man"
He drowned the reflection with
gulp of absnthe, and set TO work nurs-
ing another tumbler full.
Ten days later. the bookseller was
writing letters in his room in the
Hotel des Deux Mondes, when fat
man, with n flat solid-looking package
in his hand, was ushercd in by a SER
want of the house. The bookseller
greeted HIM with a curt nod. motioned
the servant out, and bade his caller
open the package. 1t contained box
of polished wood, with brass mount
ings, and in the center OF tho lid an
elaborate coat-of-arms in brass.
''You are sure the arms are corrcct''
asked the bookseller, pushing the satin
lining with his forefingcr, and work.
ing the hinges to test them.
The fat man pulled a little book from
his pocket, turned few leaves. and
pointed to an engraving entitled aims
of Baron Rothschild, amateur and coll
lector." The bookseller nodded.
glanced at the slip of paper inclosed in
the box, and counted out some small
silver and a gold piece on the table.
The fat man counted the money care
fully for himself, made his adicux and
Isau4aL ILa haal snller tnnk from