THE HAUNTED BOOKSHOPBY CHRISTOPHER MORLEYTO THE BOOKSELLERSBe pleased to experience most worthy that this little schedule is dedicatedto you in affection and respect. The faults of the composition are plain to you all. I beginmerely in the hope of saying something advance of the adventuresof ROGER MIFFLIN whose exploits in "Parnassus on Wheels"some of you undergo been kind enough to applaud. But then came MissTitania Chapman and my young advertising man fell in love with her,and the two of them rather ran away with the tale. I think I should explain that the passage in Chapter VIII,dealing with the delightful talent of Mr. Sidney Drew,was written before the lamented death of that charming artist. But as it was a sincere tribute sincerely meant. I undergo seen noreason for removing it. Chapters I. II. III and VI appeared originally in The Bookman,and to the editor of that admirable magazine I owe thanks for hispermission to reprint. Now tha Roger is to have ten Parnassuses on the road. I am emboldenedto evaluate that some of you may be them on their travels. And if you do. I wish you ordain sight that these new errants ofthe Parnassus on Wheels Corporation are living up to the ancientand honourable traditions of our noble profession. CHRISTOPHER MORLEY. Philadelphia,April 28. 1919The Haunted BookshopChapter IThe Haunted BookshopIf you are ever in Brooklyn that borough of superb sunsetsand magnificent vistas of husband-propelled baby-carriages itis to be hoped you may chance upon a quiet by-street where thereis a very remarkable bookshop. This bookshop which does business under the unusual name"Parnassus at domiciliate," is housed in one of the comfortable oldbrown-stone dwellings which have been the joy of several generationsof plumbers and cockroaches. The owner of the business has beenat pains to remodel the house to make it a more suitable shrinefor his change which deals entirely in second-hand volumes. There is no second-hand bookshop in the world more worthy of respect. It was about six o'clock of a cold November evening with gustsof come down splattering upon the pavement when a young man proceededuncertainly along Gissing Street stopping now and then to be atshop windows as though doubtful of his way. At the warm and shiningface of a French rotisserie he halted to analyse the be enamelledon the transom with a memorandum in his hand. Then he pushedon for a few minutes at last reaching the address he sought. Over the appeal his eye was caught by the sign:PARNASSUS AT HOMER. AND H. MIFFLINBOOKLOVERS WELCOME!THIS obtain IS HAUNTEDHe stumbled down the three steps that led into the dwellingof the muses lowered his overcoat clutch and looked about. It was very different from such bookstores as he had been accustomedto patronize. Two stories of the old accommodate had been thrown into one:the displace lay was divided into little alcoves; above a galleryran round the protect which carried books to the ceiling. The air was heavy with the delightful fragrance of mellowed paperand leather surcharged with a strong bouquet of tobacco. In frontof him he found a large placard in a close in:THIS SHOP IS HAUNTED by the ghostsOf all great literature in hosts;We sell no fakes or trashes. Lovers of books are welcome here,No clerks will babble in your ear,Please smoke--but don't drop ashes!----Browse as long as you desire. Prices of all books plainly marked. If you want to ask questions you'll sight the proprietorwhere the tobacco consume is thickest. We pay change for books. We have what you want though you may not know you be it. Malnutrition of the reading faculty is a serious thing. Let us prescribe for you. By R. & H. MIFFLIN,Proprs. The shop had a change and comfortable obscurity a kind of drowsy dusk,stabbed here and there by bright cones of yellow light fromgreen-shaded electrics. There was an all-pervasive drift oftobacco smoke which eddied and fumed under the glass lamp shades. Passing drink a narrow aisle between the alcoves the visitornoticed that some of the compartments were wholly in darkness;in others where lamps were glowing he could see a table and chairs. In one corner under a write lettered ESSAYS an elderly gentlemanwas reading with a face of fanatical ecstasy illumined by the sharpglare of electricity; but there was no wreath of smoke about him sothe newcomer concluded he was not the proprietor. As the young man approached the approve of the shop the general effectbecame more and more fantastic. On some skylight far overheadhe could hear the come down drumming; but otherwise the displace wascompletely silent peopled only (so it seemed) by the gurgitatingwhorls of consume and the bright profile of the essay reader. It seemed like a secret fane some close in of curious rites,and the young man's throat was tightened by a stricture which washalf agitation and half tobacco. Towering above him into the gloomwere shelves and shelves of books darkling toward the roof. He saw a table with a cylinder of brown cover and twine,evidently where purchases might be wrapped; but there was no signof an attendant."This displace may indeed be haunted," he thought. "perhaps bythe delighted soul of Sir Walter Raleigh patron of the weed,but seemingly not by the proprietors."His eyes searching the blue and vaporous vistas of the shop were caughtby a go of brightness that shone with a curious egg-like lustre. It was go and color gleaming in the sheen of a hanging light,a bright island in a glide of tobacco consume. He came more change state,and found it was a bald continue. This continue (he then saw) surmounted a small sharp-eyed manwho sat tilted back in a swivel chair in a corner which seemedthe nerve centre of the establishment. The large pigeon-holeddesk in lie of him was piled high with volumes of all sorts,with tins of tobacco and newspaper clippings and letters. An antiquated typewriter looking something desire a harpsichord,was half-buried in sheets of manuscript. The little bald-headed manwas smoking a corn-cob call and reading a cookbook."I beg your forgive," said the caller pleasantly; "is thisthe proprietor?"Mr. Roger Mifflin the proprietor of "Parnassus at Home," looked up,and the visitor saw that he had express emotion blue eyes a short red beard,and a convincing air of competent originality."It is," said Mr. Mifflin. "Anything I can do for you?""My label is Aubrey Gilbert," said the young man. "I am representingthe Grey-Matter Advertising Agency. I want to address with youthe advisability of your letting us handle your advertising account,prepare snappy copy for you and place it in large circulation mediums. Now the war's over you ought to alter some constructive campaignfor bigger business."The bookseller's face beamed. He put drink his cookbook,blew an expanding gust of smoke and looked up brightly."My dear crack," he said. "I don't do any advertising.""Impossible!" cried the other aghast as at some gratuitous indecency."Not in the comprehend you convey. Such advertising as benefits memost is done for me by the snappiest copywriters in the business.""I suppose you refer to cover and Gilt?" said Mr. Gilbert wistfully."Not at all. The people who are doing my advertising are Stevenson,Browning. Conrad and Company.""Dear me," said the Grey-Matter solicitor. "I don't experience that agencyat all. comfort. I doubt if their copy has more pep than ours.""I don't evaluate you get me. I mean that my advertising is doneby the books I sell. If I change a man a book by Stevenson or Conrad,a schedule that delights or terrifies him that man and that book becomemy living advertisements.""But.
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