The green door on the opposite side of the street, approached by a
single flat step of stone, had a tin sign upon it, on which was painted:

"INFORMATION
OF EVERY VARIETY
FURNISHED WITHIN."

Pushing open the door, Lawrence entered a long, narrow room, not very
well lighted, with a short counter on one side, and some desks,
partially screened by a curtain, at the farther end. A boy was behind
the counter, and to him Lawrence addressed himself, asking permission to
look at a city directory.

"One cent, if you look yourself; three cents, if we look," said the boy,
producing a thick volume from beneath the counter.

"One cent?" said Lawrence, smiling at the oddity of this charge, as he
opened the book and turned to the letter K.

"Yes," said the boy, "and if the fine print hurts your eyes, we'll look
for three cents."

At this moment a man came from one of the desks at the other end of the
room, and handed the boy a letter with which that young person
immediately departed. The new-comer, a smooth-shaven man of about
thirty, with the air of the proprietor or head manager very strong upon
him, took the boy's position behind the counter, and remarked to
Lawrence: "Most people, when they first come here, think it rather queer
to pay for looking at the directory, but you see we don't keep a