The man was sixty and more, but there was no appearance of age in eye,
complexion, form or gesture--only the whitened hair! He greeted me as if
we had always known each other, and Ellis and piles of Chaucer proof led
straight to old Professor Child of Harvard, whose work Ellis criticized
and Morris upheld. They fell into a hot argument, which was even continued
as we walked across the street to the Doves Bindery.

The Doves Bindery, as all good men know, is managed by Mr.
Cobden-Sanderson, who married one of the two daughters of Richard Cobden
of Corn-Law fame.

Just why Mr. Sanderson, the lawyer, should have borrowed his wife's maiden
name and made it legally a part of his own, I do not know. Anyway, I quite
like the idea of linking one's name with that of the woman one loves,
especially when it has been so honored by the possessor as the name of
Cobden.

Cobden-Sanderson caught the rage for beauty from William Morris, and began
to bind books for his own pleasure. Morris contended that any man who
could bind books as beautifully as Cobden-Sanderson should not waste his
time with law. Cobden-Sanderson talked it over with his wife, and she
being a most sensible woman, agreed with William Morris.

So Cobden-Sanderson, acting on Th' Ole Man's suggestion, rented the quaint
and curious mansion next door to the old house occupied by the Kelmscott
Press, and went to work binding books.

When we were once inside the Bindery, the Chaucerian argument between Mr.
Ellis and Th' Ole Man shifted off into a wrangle with Cobden-Sanderson. I
could not get the drift of it exactly--it seemed to be the continuation of