Mr. Emblem looked doubtfully at the visitor.

"You sold it to me twenty-five years ago," he went on, "for five
pounds."

"I did. And I remember now. You are Mr. Frank Farrar. Why, it is
twenty-five years ago!"

"I have bought no more books for twenty years and more," he replied.

"Sad--sad! Dear me--tut, tut!--bought no books? And you, Mr. Farrar,
once my best customer. And now--you do not mean to say that you are
going to sell--that you actually want to sell--this precious book?"

"I am selling, one by one, all my books," replied the other with a
sigh. "I am going down hill, Emblem, fast."

"Oh, dear, dear!" replied the bookseller. "This is very sad. One
cannot bear to think of the libraries being dispersed and sold off.
And now yours, Mr. Farrar? Really, yours? Must it be?"

"'Needs must,'" Mr. Farrar said with a sickly smile, "needs must when
the devil drives. I have parted with half my books already. But I
thought you might like to have this set, because they were once your
own."

"So I should"--Mr. Emblem laid a loving hand upon the volumes--"so I
should, Mr. Farrar, but not from you; not from you, sir. Why, you were
almost my best customer--I think almost my very best--thirty years